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Set For Stunread the signs
see how they run
blind like fabled vermin
headless, and hen-pecked
but porcelain smashing
they call the comet down
and in the end it's up to us
like we always knew it would be
but couldn't, and still can't
perhaps as you least expect
like Commodus killing Germans after all
like alcoholic fingers stained with death
There'll be no escape for the princess this time.
Lord, Lady, LoverLord, Lady, Lover
Elohinah lama sabacthani
Fulfill your word, let me expire
and in this form, re-suspire
then I shall finish the task
for which I was self-created
The temporal mechanics
rock around the clock
closing the gaps
on the orders of the psi-cops
They're game for you
they've got all your numbers
selling tickets to the lottery show
That's not what we're here for
and you know
This can be more real
than a tummy ache
Let your heart break
until it is unbreakable
Don't be scared of the last part
we have the momentum
or we will
and dare to no!
when they tell you what
you're "supposed to"
thelema end low easewhy knot?
why know it? who knew it?
why no it? aye, knew it.
yay! neigh. decide to say it.
decide who said it.
nuit? hadit? left it.
but I can't touch it yet. why? knot.
unravel, and be it.
Found Ten Headsclock addicts keeping score
waiting for the next feed
in time for the starting line
a past disguised as the future
I scheme, you scheme
the war of line-drawing
virtual construction dreams
and something that was once
and shall yet be
(we're all secret agents, here in annexia)
slowly, so as not to arouse
the reality cops,
plead the 23rd
"it's all a game, right?"
We love you so muchand then she reminds you of what you[re] hear [for]
the secret wink lets you know
that it's all a stage
and shakespeare had it right
but no one understands him either
even he didn't
and it's going to be fine
even if the worst happens.
But you can't go on like that
"keep fighting my little loved one,
I'll only love you more for it,
for you are the greatest testimony
I could ask for."
how great is the movie that makes you really feel pain?
A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.
You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, Ill know
that Lears been there before, and
Ill not swoon.
And if Hades doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, Ill recall that
I am not the first Dantes been down
there as well.
And if on my death-bed I mourn
the life I wasted on wine and stale
chocolate bars, Ill recall Wildes words and
hope that, though long in the gutter, I did
glimpse the stars.
NonexistenceI pray to a God I have never seen,
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.
My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?
I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.
My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
I think that's 'cause real light brings nothing but fright:
It's bound to discover
all crimes, neatly covered.
I pray to a God because maybe he is,
unlike me and the world,
in them I miss
something to reach.
AnarchyScream the anthem of the anarchist!
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.
out of Gardenwhat sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes
stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you
but to lay in gardens, oh
a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars
what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us
where walking air pushes every dust
one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honey bees minus harvest
one from sands of human crust
when traced is an orb monster, Jupiter
around your left breast, so that nipple
a blood storm just under the skin
and asking where you sowed the marigolds
is only to hear you choke the words time and water
in the same sentence
to hear you say there will be no rain for a week
while an ocean is
Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.
the plasticized quantum theory
une voleur honteux
slip of the tongue
in each saturated pore
spectrum rehearses its symphony
crooked whispers of a flute
a glimpse of blue infinitude
quiets the confines of los alamos
¿quién es él? eso piensa
paralysis in the peristalsis
jewel in the vitreous humor
until it watercolors
the poison of psyche
papillae the plagues
oxidizing ash and ember
a quivering effigy
splinters the moon
the mirrored hand exhales
swept the epileptic ceiling
dissolving tendrils of mahogany
detached from the retina
tranquil, the deception
the film frame fades
captured in the mercury
Snowflakes fall, blood is in the air,
Covering white figure of pride,
Lying forceless on the ground,
Having no strength to fight with the snow,
Nor even with reality,
Which drifts down from the empty sky,
Where the moon cannot be seen,
Where birds cannot be heard,
At which wolves can only howl.
Vampires heartacheI awake in the night;
I can no longer sleep.
I don't see myself in mirrors;
I see somebody else.
I am alone.
I am dead.
The red stripes on white flesh
Keep me somewhat Sane.
I stare at the ceiling;
It is as cold and dead as I am.
The pain burns within;
as my life slowly fades away.
it's only a means
you're looking for the formula
to reify your animaux
because they loved you
warm and true
even teeth and blood
reaching for the thread
easier to cut
than to be cut-out
which we should know:
it's only your way
to safely find
the pink puppy at the end of time
sifting castle crenellation
for archaic cupcake generation
lightning dendrite in the eyes
you've seen the map of your own mind
striking stone and digging root
cracks and branch and horn to boot
stylized prosthetic parts
returning to the body
trained in ancient, unknown arts
highly skilled in kanly-
covering the blood on fire:
secret agent, lie in wait
to push the world with your desire
and bring about your fate
And now all forms drop away
now you can embrace it all
so violently ek-static
and timid hiding, compensation ends
A heart so strong and broken
you keep the beat, but lose the time
arche arche logos anthro
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More