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MorticianCarefully, he peels back age-stiffened skin
the last skirt a lady has to be lifted
and knows her little grievances, the aches,
the smoker's lungs, the ribs broken years ago,
the little scratches on the leg where she picked
and picked, when nervous.
He takes the too-large heart in his hands
her heart in his hands!
He knows her, although never acquainted formally,
her calling-card affixed to bluish toes
still coated with clear polish.
Amidst smells of formaldehyde, stiffness in the air,
he adds color to worry-bleached cheeks
and tells her not to fret, reassuring
that she'll look lovely, regardless of tobacco teeth.
Outside"[Poetry is] honest, raw, unapologetic."
Unapologetic? My every word
is apology, in some context; an apology to myself
or to the reader, to everything else, to the mewling thing in my guts
that cries and cries and
Stop. Is this free verse? Is this blank verse?
Does my psychodynamic stanza have a rhyme
that can be identified not once, but all the time?
If this is my honesty, my rawness, why
does it have order at all? If I am honest
I am a scrabbling thing in the dirt and my thoughts
my thoughts are like moles in the sunlight
squealing and blind, flailing for cover.
But that's not the case; my thoughts are clean
and cold, produced by the mechanical pulsing
of the light in the bones in my head, collected,
and for that I must apologize. I don't have
the rawness, the honesty
to pry bittersweet beauty
from seventeen years of crusty cloth
without a pattern, without a pattern.
exists as trap-lines in sand
I lay mine carefully
never to be broken
pulled, they break
back, contingency cracks in veneer
in bulletproof glass
in my parlor
in my Oval Office
in my back-alleys
in my boardrooms
And You Will Lead Me ToIt has been one thousand eight hundred forty-nine days since the beginning of my sentence began. This is the one hundred eighty-fifth time that I have been placed into extended segregation for the good of the general population following dangerous and uncooperative behavior.
I have been in here for two days four hours, excepting thirty minutes for a shower and sweep of the solitary confinement cell. Three thousand ninety minutes. The room is dark. One hundred eighty-five thousand four hundred seconds, three seconds ago. Time progresses, as it always does; I have been placed here following a confrontation with the prison psychiatrist. They are calling it a confrontation. I am calling it survival.
Square peg, nonexistent hole. They ask me why I chose to do this. Why I chose to do that. Why I chose to be the "villain" in all of this, as if the world is a shape with definite sides. They continue to demand an explanation for my crimes. For my justices.
Animals, filthy animals, all of them.
Advanced Science ResearchAdvanced Science Research
I have a problem.
I have surveys to solve the problem.
The problem, though, is that I have surveys
to solve the problem.
One hundred twenty-two surveys
and, so far, none of them have any solutions.
To get my solution, I have to state my problem,
except I can't state my problem in the surveys to solve the problem
because that's biased.
Likewise, I can't wait until I'm done with the surveys to state the problem
because that's biased.
I'm biased against surveys, I think, but that doesn't solve the problem
because I still haven't clearly defined the problem I'm
trying to solve because the surveys aren't evaluated.
I should evaluate the surveys
to define the problem
to use the surveys
to solve the problem,
but to evaluate the surveys, I need a problem to solve.
The only problem I have at the moment
is the problem of having surveys,
but that's biased.
Advice to a CaterpillarMy dear, what they told you is true:
everything will be alright, in the end,
but what they didn't tell you
is that the means will be terrible.
The world will be cold when you escape yourself,
and when you
the cucoon, when you
the skin, when you crawl free? You'll be doomed.
That's the truth of the matter, plain
You'll be soft, little crawling thing; you'll be naïve,
and the wings they promised you
will be limp, and wet.
They will not work when you need them most,
clinging horrified to the gnarled edges of the world.
Every breeze will remind you
of what you thought you could do,
of what you must do,
of what you cannot even hope to do,
and hanging there, bedraggled and raw,
you will stare out unblinking
and know that you won't make it if the rain comes too soon,
Re: ModernTo the urns, to mirages that hover close
with talk of Dickenson, and Hughes, and Kerouac
Be quiet. They cannot hear your loosening screws.
For what would you want the breakup of all wondrous things,
the fractioning of personage?
Be quiet. None are listening, but
for the guttering of a candle flickering,
no audience is audience all the same, having lived at both ends,
The world shrinks, and I am not
the child of ghosts, of powdered glass reflecting
brightness and green glowing things, immaterial
and sickly. The ozone stink of burning cord,
the tired plague of heavy gold, of lead,
are me. My alchemy has run dry, and, brittle,
I resign myself to analysis
and am disassembled.
I am The PragmatistI am The Pragmatist, criminal mastermind, nemesis of the League of Crimefighters, supervillain, genius, monster, prisoner. This tale I pen is not for my own benefit. I stand only to lose from telling my story, and I know that I will lose terribly. I am writing this because I am compelled to, and I can only hope with what remains of my faith, and of my sanity, that some good will come of it.
I remember the first time that the true nature of my world was revealed to me. I was in prison; I had been apprehended once again by Apex and his league of masked heroes and left to rot in a cell identical to ones I had been in before. Fool that I was, I thought that it was due to my error, a flaw in my plans, and as I lay on my cot I reviewed my actions, vowed to finally realize my goals as soon as I escaped. Then I set to work, crafting an escape route out of the prison; materials came to me as they always did, unknowingly gifted to me in the furnishings of my cell and the implausible technologi
Reminiscence of a Postmodern CriticOh yeah. Preach it
We are the children of a thousand racketeers
with wheels strapped to our feet
and wings to our backs
and stars burning the palms of our hands
so that we let go and fall, whooping, back to the ground.
I can't forget the smell
of ozone and bones, like a gasoline fireplace
and the sound they made when they hit the dirt
like birds against windows:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Political refugees from the stratosphere
we failed our road tests
and had our heels revoked for being too round
even though they were really too flat, like busted tires.
I can't forget the look
on their faces, like a lightbulb burning out
and the sound they made when they tried to walk
like cars without chassis:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Crazy scribblers, trying to write the billion names of God
we traded feathers for dollars
and dollars for feathers
so we could pen our tales with politically-correct quills
although our words fell heavy on the pages
like acid raindrops, bitter:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Look After Me, BrotherSummary: Michelangelo has grown up. It only took the zombie apocalypse and the loss of a brother to give him the strength to do what is necessary. One Shot. 2k12 Nick 'verse.
Rated: T - Tragedy/Horror - Words: 3,817
'A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist.' –Steward Alsop
The wheels wobbled across the cracked concrete, spraying grit. Rattling and jiggling as he popped over the curb, sliding along the edge for a moment before kicking off again into the gravel-strewn street, just outside the storm drain, weaving around pot holes; hands over his head, palms resting on the top of it. Behind him four dogs chased, tongues wagging and feet galloping with untrimmed nails clacking along with the noise of the skateboard.
Mikey glanced behind himself and laughed, a genuine, teasing sound, without malice. He
Fantasy Films Adventures - Red Waters (1)
Summer is that time of the year when the days are long and hot and the nights are short and cool. This year, the nights were strangely cold. On Manhattan Beach Park in Brooklyn, New York, a young college couple, named Jane Collins and Jack Harrison were lying on their backs in the bed of a pickup truck. They guzzled down bottled iced tea and gazed up at the stars, and then Jane had a different idea.
“Jack, com’n!” said Jane as she sat up. “Let’s go swimming!” She starting tugging on Jack’s arm and pulling him up.
“Pass!” Jack replied while resisting. “It’s too cold and I didn’t pack a suit.”
“Oh, you’re such a wimp!” Jane shouted.
She let go of Jack’s arm, and then she took off her jacket, shirt and jeans, revealing a skimpy bathing suit. Jack just laughed and slumped onto his back while Jane ran straight for the water. She dove in
In Harms Way: Chapter 3"And we all know what happened this mornin'! I don't know what that son of a bitch is gonna do next!" Kenny said.
"So you wanna ring the dinner bell for a herd of walkers to show up? How is that better?" Mike added.
"Cause this place'll be fuckin' chaos when that thing hits! No one'll be paying attention to us and that's when we go! That's our opening! We just gotta figure out a way to draw em to us."
"Your friend here wants us to get killed by lurkers before Bill can do it." Rebecca said as she looked at Clementine.
"What is it with you?" Kenny growled.
"Maybe Luke could help us, he's outside he wanted me or Leah to get him a radio so he can keep an eye on the guards." Clementine mentioned.
"Thank you, that's the plan I vote for." Rebecca smiled.
"Wait- you know about Luke?" I asked.
"He flagged us down when the guards weren't lookin' told us his plan.... mentioned he talked to you two." Mike said.
"If Luke can tell us where the guards are then that's how we'll escape." Rebecca said.
Fantasy Films Adventures - Red Waters (2)
The GEP and the Madagascar Crew rondevued at Manhattan Beach Park. The sight was packed with tourists young and old, whole humans and anthros alike. With surf boards in hand, Prowl and Blaze wasted no time heading for the water.
“Wait up-a for me!” Stefano cried out as he ran after them.
“Guys!” Cassie called out to them. “We got work to do!”
“Relax, Cas,” Jag said as he was unpacking his laptop and satellite equipment “It’ll take me a while to finish setting up anyway. You should all go have fun.”
“Need some help,” asked Melman.
“Yes, thank you, Melman.”
All the while Jag and Melman were monitoring the water for activity via sonar, everyone else was having fun in the sun. Tye, Zuba and Florrie were building sandcastles. Gloria was getting herself a tan. Casey, Cassie, Palladon and Alex were playing volley ball against Vitaly, Gia, Marty and Leonette.
Amid The Ruins: Chapter 1I ran through the herd, stumblimg and tripping over my own feet, even had to take down a few walkers. My heart was racing fast, all I could do was run after Sarah, she was running in a sort of zig-zag pattern which made it harder for me to keep up with her, although she was screaming so I could still follow her voice.
"SARAH!" I screeched. I ran straight into something, I got my knife at the ready, most likely getting ready to pierce a walker. But it was Luke, he grabbed my arm. I took a deep breath and called out to him, "Luke you need to help me!" I admitted, asking help from Luke was something I didn't think I'd ever hear myself say.
"Go get Sarah I'll be right behind you!" Luke yelled as he nudged me own forward.
Once again I quickly followed Sarah, she was still in my sight and I dodged walkers on the way towards her. Surprisingly enough we both made it out of the herd and into an opening path in the forest, although there were still some walkers following me I kept running. "Sara
Stitches (Creepy Pasta Original Story) Part 1 Stitches... that's what people call me now, but before I was stitches I was an actual human girl. I had friends, I had a family, it was pretty much the perfect life. Yeah I know what you're thinking. "Jeez lady does every story have to start of so stupidly?" Pretty much. Except it was that perfect life that caused this mess, and now I'm going to tell you why I crave the sweet taste of blood.
It was sometime in October. We were all at school eating our lunches in the cafeteria when my friend, Destiny, decided that the five of us friends, me, Chris, Eric, Lea, and herself, were going to have a movie night at her house. I accepted of course, but felt a bit empty inside being as though Destiny and Eric where dating and Lea and Chris where dating. I was the odd ball who was, of course, dateless.
That afternoon when school got out I walked
Dragon's Claw : Ronin Night had fallen the Sumiyoshi-kai clan as both sectors of there house were on it normal guard duty. Tonight was a very important night, as one of the weapons manufacturers for the Yakuza were still in development over the new shipment of guns being pushed in from the u.s.
But this wasn't the just a regular night . after news of Ronin near death ecsape the clans have been on high alert. Buying more weapons and more thugs as of protection.
At the east end of the house. Two guy were in position.
Thug1 " man... I hears there buying out the best merc's in the city. " he said puffing away at his cigarette.
Thug2 " the hell they need more protection for.. Hell I can take on that guy.. And blast his ass away haha.."
Thug 1 " see words spreading that you know that Ronin kid was coming back. Hell I heard that the guys sent to kill him wound up dead two months later. Eh people are actual scared of the guy. "
Thug 2" ah Baka!! That lit
TFP: Escapism - Chapter 5Chapter 5
The blue mech stopped in his tracks and turned around, his spark freezing when he saw Knock Out walking towards him, his EM field flaring in anger. He swallowed and tried to smile. “Hey, what’s up?”
The red mech scowled. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t have enough time to ask what the problem was before the medic started shouting. “I saw you! You and that Vehicon!” He snarled, wagging a finger and his lips curled into a snarl “What were you talking about? What could have been so important that you had to go behind my back and talk to a lowly drone!?”
A sudden look of horror came across the smaller mech’s face, before it returned to the snarl. “You’re not FRAGGING him, are you!?”
Breakdown flinched at each word, trying to placate Knock Out with a hand gesture. “No, it’s not that at all Knock Out.” He
Jeff's Story: Chapter 1The sun just barely rose above the storm clouds forming in the sky. The wind began to pick up, blowing fiercely. All was silent except for the panicked calls of horses imprisoned in a packed, dirty feedlot. Among them, an exhausted mare in labor, her breathing was heavy as if she had started sometime the night before. Her rich bay coat bloodstained towards her rear, something was obviously wrong. Her cries of agony were just muffled with the distressed echoes of the rest of the beasts. Besides the pain, she was also stressed at the presence of other horses, obviously holding the foal in as long as she could. It was unnatural to give birth with such a large crowd surrounding her, but eventually she gave in. She had no choice. The unnamed mare pushed and heaved, and surprisingly, the foal was birthed with ease. The mare got up with what little strength she had and licked the blood off of her baby and assigned a name to him, Jeff. There was more of the thick, red substance than usu
Transformers: We Came in WarTransformers: We Came in War
Setting: Sometime during the Bay films
Characters: Optimus Prime
We came to this planet because ours was gone.
The quest for power consumed our home. The need for domination destroyed us. Still we live, and yet there is a piece in each of us that has been decimated forever. We will never recover what we have lost.
I look down upon this planet, and I wonder why we try.
It is evident by now that we have lost the capacity for peace. War follows in our wake. We came to retrieve the AllSpark, which has long since been lost, and we are still here. All that came of attempting to revive our planet was the relocation of the war from our planet of death to this planet of life. There is so much life on this planet. All of it we have sworn to protect. This is the promise we have made to them. But the promise would not need to have been made if we had never co
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More