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Finished June 29, 2008
From the holes in the ceiling small suns shone through
I reached up with one hand and there grew a peach tree rooted in carpet
Beside me another sprouted in a gentler, much deeper wood
We blocked the shine with our fingers, little eclipses
A sprung umbrage that fluttered against those equidistant stars
Fluorescence melted us into complacency, a legacy
Existence pure organic artificial
And we coalesced into one milky, silvery pool
An ocean into ourselves, a drying flooded stairwell
A breathing sage on a cellophane stage
With no where left to grow but upward
As this miniature Mediterranean seeped into the ground
I thought of the terrazzo plane, that iffy grain
Under our rosaceous, watery faces, leaves as headpieces
Self-assembling mosaics laying cool to the cheek
Contour of warmth ever keeping the fabric impress
A jigsaw gesture, we cook and break,
Boil and harden into a puzzlement lake
We are a fluid mixture, though dissembled and cracked
Sovereign FruitIt sounds a little foolish but sometimes I see love as a multi-sided, geometric figure made from blown glass. Covered in different textures and colors that overlap one another, love seems like a looking glass that does not willingly mirror. Because the light of day does hand off and transfer into darkness, shining in every angle, we are able to see through this figure and perceive a certain beauty that varies, exceeding its physical form. A kaleidoscope of multifaceted abstraction, love matches with everything, applicable to all objects and mannerisms alike. However, its the integrity one pairs with love that makes it true. To believe in the truth of love is to deny that over time fruit will rot. Our minds cannot wrap around this idea without difficulty, but its fresh taste is willingly welcomed.
PalpitateI was here since dawn and dusk held hands, listening
I witnessed their muddy embrace of pinks and grey
They gave into each other in gyrating swirls, dusty whorls
Cradling hands, caked in a matutinal glow and dappled with ink-drop gulls
Traces of the forbearing night were fed spoonfuls of silver splatter
And fingers ran through some honeyed, tenuous strands of sun
At the sight, the sound, my mind welled over blades of grass in a more awkward rendition;
I pulled closer
imagining the sky without a center and lying parallel to clouds
Moving hands without choice to dangle a frameless yellow yoke,
A cynosural pulse, where the determined never cease and the poor were just as rich
Changing days palpitate inside us
He held me as I listened
Words love to garnish, they serve no meat
And those days are what we make them
The Top of the WorldThe Top of the World
Last edited December 14, 2007
A mere visit to the top of the world served us sights in generous proportions.
Namely, were the cottoned lilies, with tatting frills and skies of open arms,
the glassy water and walking trees some strolled in great alarm.
These sights were so vividly imagined that we wayfarers pondered them upon return.
When we climbed to the heights, our faces met with the freshness of palm fronds.
We witnessed their ticklish fingers brush against some oddly placed pastures.
Pastures that were set atop mountains and powdered with song,
those songs that smolder in white-white puffs, twice at a time
All this was thought whilst breathing clearly.
Assuredly, we did not measure with disposability
For then unequal measure in value due.
But how veneration did respire from this alabaster mold
That was so lavishly dipped in starry form.
We met the top of the world with arms outstretched
To sense whatever bliss that filled ou
Currency :revisited:Nukes, bombs, airplanes going down
Theyre things at home the television talks about.
But this big bird isn't going down.
Its greeting ground with engines, meeting road with landing.
The van chucks forward. It coughs and spits and somersaults forward.
Onward, ahead. My father mutters, his lips flap in quivers and I cant hear.
My thoughts they talk too much, and chew his tongue.
I imagine words for movement but his mouth moves in squares.
We ease our heap onto another lane and my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright, the terror of flight
and blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
Theres a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, on the drivers side. Toes glued together, knees bending inward.
Hes sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box around their neck?
He does. Well, he does.
To carry his change, his bills its empty. Dingy shoelaces h
CurrencyNukes, bombs, airplanes going down.
Things at home the television talks about.
But this plane isn't going down.
It's greeting ground with engines.
Meeting road with landing.
This van chucks forward. it coughs and spits and rolls forward.
Onward. Onward, my father mutters. Though I cant hear.
My thoughts talk too much, and chew his tongue.
Imagine words for movement. His mouth moves in squares.
We ease into the lane. And my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright. The terror of flight.
And blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
There's a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, to my left. Toes glued together, knees bending inward. He's sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box? Around their neck?
He does. He does.
To carry his coins. His bills, it's empty. Shoelaces help him hold it up.
He's still looking at us.
Stop looking at us. At wealth. At hope.
Another meal, just oh, about four steps forwar
IdentityBend hearts in rhythmic motion, at the swagger of drunken pots.
I am the artist's tendon, guiding brush and thought.
We eat words myself and I, it builds our appetite.
And though we walk but with two feet, our hands refuse to fight.
I'm made of stripes, a nose of wax but zebra far I be.
A girlish crown and piano sound is much more close to me.
Beginlove is love
remember thy pledge
if love be love
so willingly said
then so be wealth, so be health
for love lived creation dead
Stalin Was No Savior
Stalin Was No Savior
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
tightly now, don't worry dear
circulation isn't necessary
here we go, once again
the same scene reappearing
you kiss him. now there's an akward circle.
of you and him, the worst sight, match made in lust
the world was made for you
he is your bride, yes its true
well aren't we an accepting nation?
the ones who speak for adoration
of screening and censorship; the lack of all, of right and which?
we have our hearts tucked in our jeans
my dear no fear! the pleasure is more tantilizing
more skin more sin! circulation isn't necessary
is it hurting now? you're a size too small.
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
euphoria bestown upon me, the unworthy, the fabulous atrocity
that once was me, this once was me
now, there's still a trace, it's nothing i can change
but lets prevent--
there are no saints in a place a called ea
Nature.We've overcomplicated life. We've compromised the natural order of things, and what's more we've gotten complacent. Theres a flow to it all, a set of rules nature follows, that works…it work's without us meddling. Our mind's may be our biggest adversary, it feeds our ego, our ego feed's our thoughts, our thoughts feed our actions, and we act like we're superior to nature, when in actuality we are also, nature. We try and figure things out, we conclude answer's that we accept undoubtedly as truth, and this from the people who once thought with all sincerity that the world was flat––it's true until it isn't, that's how it works; which means that there's a heavy chance all we believe to be true, might not be. Why the need to know all, why the need for superiority and detachment from every other living species (over 8 million species, not the amount of them, just the amount of groups of entities we've managed to track, take in mind the ocean is pretty much a big question
VillainsVillains are generally considered evil or bad. They challenge the status quo, upset the way things are, and don’t seem to care about rules or laws. Not all villains are alike though. Not all of them are wanton killers or trying to end the world.
Take Mega-Mind for example. He was pushed into the role of villain, he didn’t actually hurt anyone, and all he really wanted was recognition. And Dr. Horrible? All he wanted was to change the world, overhaul the system and rule with his love by his side. Unfortunately, in a show down with his nemesis Captain Hammer, his Death Ray broke, and exploded when Captain Hammer tried to Kill Dr. Horrible with his own gun. It killed the love of Dr. Horrible’s love instead.
There are many movies and books about “heros” who are less likeable than some of the villains they face. They are arrogant, rude and obnoxious. One of the most applauded “Villains” of all time is Robin Hood. He broke laws and upset the st
Alexander the FakeEver heard of Alexander the Great?
Do you believe he is real, that he existed and did all things we have been told he did? Of course you do. It is in our history books, so it must've really happened.
Alexander the Great ruled in the 300's BC. We know a great deal about him based on written documents giving us historical accounts of his life and deeds. Did you know though, that the only surviving documents of these historical accounts were written 300 or more years after Alexander the Great lived? Yet we trust these documents and the older sources they cite, even though we do not have those older sources available to confirm what is written.
Now what about Jesus? I know many people who do not believe He existed. Yet we have historical documents, both those of the Bible and those unrelated to the Bible that give us accounts of Jesus.
The Biblical documents were written as early as 30 years after the death of Jesus! And non-Bi
Holocaust Reflection : Reflection on UsVisiting the Holocaust Museum is a difficult subject, especially in Israel. Unlike many museums which are houses of a people's history and triumph, this museum is a walk through a people's history and suffering. The Holocaust stands as a mark of identity for modern-day Jews just as World War II stands as a mark of identity for most Westerners of the past three generations (born 1910-1995).
We are now moving into the third and fourth generations past the Holocaust and WWII, where things such as “Nazi” and “Communist” and people such as Hitler and Stalin have become more of a byword than a warning for future generations. Many people are all too likely to associate government actions with the Nazi party and many people are just as ready to roll their eyes.
When visiting Yad Vashem (the site of the Museum) I entered with a reverent and somber silence, in my mind befitting such a chapter of our human history. I found it odd, then, to find teenagers in there laughing,
Who Am I?Nobody, to be straightforward.
Like the common individual, living my life, scuttering along this earth like an ant. But, an ant with a destination in mind. A somewhat unclear path that I tread on, with an occasional fallen tree, a fog so dense that I become disoriented, a storm so lasting that I mistake a tear for a rain drop. But I know these unfortunate obstructions degrade eventually. Over time, the withering timber will accumulate new life on it's decaying surface. The white mist will evaporate, and the path will once again be clear. The storm will pass, and the sunlight will shine beyond the clouds. No matter if I have a mountain in my path, nothing will stop me. It could take days, weeks, maybe months to climb such a height, but time is not a factor. I am as patient as I am also strong. Soon, this path will come to an end. I will reach the sands, the crash of the surf will exhaust itself on the shores, and return to the foam-laced sea. An endless cycle. Do I r
Raw hopeThis is raw hope. This isn't structure, this isn't style. This is "universe looking itself through new eyes" - through eyes that are trying to solve a problem, to learn a lessson. This is pure hope, this is believing in future, beliveing that this has a purpose.
This is something that I would delete, throw away, regret. I've written a few; now deleted. I've told myself that I won't delete it. I have deleted them. This is life, this is an attempt to jump into the flow, and in the end think that it was a pretty good ride. This is a permission slip. This is an untamed dream. Of a possiblity.
Not a dream of writing, but possibly. This is a message that says: i'm somewhere. I exist. I want to make you aware of it, I want to see, to feel, to create. I want to be the universe looking itself through new eyes and think to itself that it's okay. That it's allowed. This message is a open-handed invitation to life, hope and dreams.
I have a lot of personalities. I would like to write about them. I
On DreamsDreams are powerful. Dreams often act as inter-dimensional gateways of human experience. Last night I had a dream I can now merely hold up its torn, detached, unmatched pieces to the light and, in some attempt of seeing my dream more clearly, go blind. There were people perched in trees, swaying to music; some had hair in all different colors, their bodies resembling the Egyptian Ka. They blew rings of smoke into the air and some turned their human eyes with a birdlike quickness to watch me. Only I was not me. I was someone else and everyone else; weve had those experiences havent we? Zooming in and out of faces, feeling what they feel, doing what they do. Sometimes all those faces in dreams become you, and all those actions, that somehow dwindle for hour upon hour until that alarm clock rings, are you. It seems as if an uncoordinated essence is pondered on, then shaken up with all the fears and loves imaginable, each different and the same to the sleeping circle. But there
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More