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when I just had that thought
he who dies with the most toys wins, eh?
asemic and anumeric
process and reality
being and time
time and the other
for some young mind to be aroused by
in sixty years
Untitledhello my name is Yellow Pisscunt
how is your prodigious unicorn today
I betrayed myself to the single
I hate him because he gets to be who he is and nothing more
how can I be more
I am not enough people for me
how can I become two
I think seven would be enough
for all of me to be me
but now I wr8ite shit
and live on divine blood
tainting my lips
and it stops when I don't want it to
and I want to never stop
but my being itself
as I know it
is the kind that stops
which terrifies me
all the time
burning through goo
so many leaking tubes
goo calls new tubes home
and the call me
while I should be gone
away from mundane stress
but they find me
and I can't get away
I can't get out
always stuck being less me than I need to be
UntitledWhat was it for?
The long nights in the basement,
the only-sleep-when-I-pass-out-from-exhaustion lifestyle,
the passionate suffering,
what was it all for?
The endless war,
damn this infernal transformation.
Does it fall on me to document the struggles of a generation,
a generation that watches every triumph become trivial,
a generation that waits for itself to become obsolete,
the generation forced to condemn temporality,
the generation to witness the end of temporality as it dies the last deaths?
God floats in a pool of His own blood.
The masters wipe their asses with angel feathers.
The curious are left for dead.
one track mindthey ask him what about the motorbikes
they ask him what about tossing spray paint cans
to bomb grand canyon
he says fuck you i just want to roll over.
the glue of eyelids and a fistful of cheerios.
rainbow smear on your hands they say.
you would tug at sky’s ponytail why don’t you go go go.
the subterraneans, the subhuman,
solar panel fetishists
scrounging morning dazzle or free passes through the neon
intravenous voodoocrowbar oceanus
a swarm of earthquakes circle
as i'm swimming through the syrup
inch by inch this
but all the pictures come out perfect
a fourteen hour dream
that's about to get sulfuric
steam and streaming
straight into the circuit
u put the blow up U in the i luv Uafter a short all inclusive on the surf face of the sun
ghost of closed down fetus set up shop in the rubber doll's phantom pregnancy
the pyrosome hegemonyretrobate;
there was no dust that night on the sea, awash
with quantum tongues and their spawned
gospel of platitudes
contretemps with live-wires,
but statistically shown to all be the same size
under the amplituhedron
Rubbish ImaginableUnder the bridges waking, there comes a call by all men baking, pleading:
“Please don’t go, can’t you see the break of day
slowly crunching our homes, crunching sighs,
crunching our own frilly highs?”
Smoke stops at the heart of dark horses, leaving behind a trail of beds.
Not too late, the crow marches on.
Circle me, circle you, one thing there he has to do.
Scorned by the flying tide, the wading wallow listlessly.
Trying by the Catholic cross, it’s all around the gaming fence.
Channel thee. Channel through. Channel all things false and true.
Lovely likeness shares no bounds with anything made by you.
Tougher than crystal carbon bombs and dynamite lipstick backdoor drops.
Laser beams catch golden halos on the rising mountain rise.
He won’t follow you down that trail, hiding out those hidden lies.
Like an angel back from work, I tried so hard to fly and fry.
moi, j'en sais rienLe monde est parti en avant
loin derrière l horizon embué au crépuscule des astres malades de lactose,
enfants du ciel. Le monde est parti
En avant, pelerins, peuples de mon esprit,
marcheurs de rêve
nous tâchons de rejoindre ses tours sombres,
sortis des tenèbres pour la première
fois. Le monde parti en avant,
sans que personne ne le suive
d'un nulle part à l'autre.
Drowns out the stars
Follow its path
A streetlight turning red
Reflect their vanity
Drowns out the stars
A streetlight flashes green
No mind, clear
Kill all the stars
The arrows point to the left
But the way is right
A streetlight turns to red
you're gonna love it out therei can see it now:
you painting across a sky littered with fireworks and light pollution
as if to save your life
wishing that this anywhere had never become that "somewhere" that you tried so hard to run from.
sit and celebrate the sound of broken glass
on the sweet day of your champagne birth
live the fantasies of perfection passed
in silent silhouettes
and loaded Russian roulettes
now i dare you not to move
and feel the weight of an atlas born
the son of a man who gave his life to hold the world
on his back, at that,
and after all these years he won't want a dime back.
i can hear it now:
the sound of you mumbling in your sleep
like it's all a bad dream
like what you wanted never came to be
more than you could hold.
you're gonna love it out there, i know.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More