allicat17's avatar
what a breathing thinking world
10 Watchers5.2K Page Views166 Deviations
L
Last Peach
We sat across from each other on a wide couch as I ate the last peach in the bag A half-peck of peaches, and now the last of its juice ran down my sleeve like a secret Flesh caving into pockets of yellow light. we ate four peaches each yesterday four peaches. And she told me that back in the orchard, too much peach fuzz left an itch on your skin like a crust of sun or toast under the knife. She told me that she and her girlfriend had been off and on since September. September. I like that her lips are so pale that they fade into her skin, the boundaries further blurred by the hint of freckles that bristle up over her lip line,
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2
F
For the Truck or for the Road
I sit with one eye heavy on the porch the other eye heaving on you like Cusp distracts the first. You got me rolling the sap; you got me rolling heavy curls in my self like a clap of thunder. Hounded and hesitating brick, you lurk my nostril and shrill my tongue to a dried out pork flap sting. Dried out you got me heavy on the bed, not slapped but weighted. Weighted and heavy with rain. But not weighted, waiting, with thunder hoisting tendril after tendril. Having rusted the first I hesitate the bed, slapped the pork flap tusk all for you. And here I sit on the porch eyes heavy breast bucket. Soothed in guts and rolled out flat all told moth
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D
Do Not Eat a Plum in the Art Gallery
Do not eat a plum in the art gallery. Do not eat a plum in the art gallery. Do not smell her hands as she eats a plum in the art gallery. Lewd conduct and sticky situations are not tolerated In the art gallery. Lewd people will be banished from the art gallery. If you do eat a plum in the art gallery; Please Wash your hands Immediately. Do not let its juices dry into unknown hands drying into yours or into another. Do not unknow the hands or the plum or all told know the plums surface as your own hands.
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F
Feline Appetite
 In the picture of Garfield, I could not tell if the lasagna was coming out of the mouth or going in, a muddle of wheat and cow excretions  layered together for a cat to turn into ambiguous American hungers on the couch, against the salmon pink wall of an average living room. We want to see a cat do what we do so we can say, "were I a cat, I would have the same desires as I do now, so my desires are natural." Our excretions are neutral and our valves are a little leaky, but no more leaky then the next poor SOB shoving a fistful of berries into his privates to see how it feels, smiling mischievously even though no one can see. Stoppi
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G
Genuine Articles
Everything I make I want to give to someone, To hang on the refrigerator or to tuck away in some basement or another. I found a leather bag, perfect, but for the hole, and when it was patched and good as new I hung it on your doorknob, and waited for you to come home. As I lay in bed  I thought of all your genuine articles, purchased in stores, made by somebody else with sores on their fingers from sewing. My own finger's are nubile and incomplete by comparison, completeness being a work that warps the body.
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P
Plate Glass Room
I am ready to sit in a room with no lights, Not like death (an easy metaphor) but like Any grey afternoon in the city There are no prerequisites for the drizzle of muck down a cab window Or the pressure of your heart against it's plate glass room, Looking out like a celebrity stuck in traffic on 59th.
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1
B
Beautiful things for your whole life
I saw the way you ate today, You ordered salmon, eggs, and avocado. Pink salmon, yellow eggs, and green avocado , Each separate, on a red plate. I watched the way you ate them, As if you had eaten beautiful things For your whole life.
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M
My Art is a Dying Art
My art is a dying art it is an art of dying and dying every day, I am throwing myself against brick walls and down stairs I am sucking my teeth at passers by I am gripping my foot and coddling my sores. Nobody help me! I have saved the best for last and in my becoming I have out-become myself, imperfect from the start like some grasping metal or an irresolute nation.
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N
Notepad Poems
I Sometimes words are like blocks I  can't unravel the A sound and the E sound not blending but standing opaquely separate, On those days there are less peripherals and more concretes. II We had an argument; "gold is IN fashion" I said, IN-fact there is no fashion that shaves at hearts threads summed and stubbled in gold lear trinkets surmised as worthy of love. III Teaching boys in jail cells how to think for themselves, a pocket dialogue. And I discovered I love education and now I am cutting my teeth chopping and rubbing to be someone new.
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A
Archaic Bust of John Wayne's Torso
"It's just a thing. Immense in its chewing and spitting, it does not say what it means. " - Sigmund Freud It is myself in every direction, Red rock shadow across John Wayne's face, this stationary wall clock killer. And even if the statue fathers say: "change your life." I don't even have arms, and can't be told what to do. Anyway who documents the chicken's crossing of the road but another chicken? it's chickens all the way down, except for John Wayne. There it's stone, and that's where I am. A rough patch on the razor at noon, we smolder handkerchief jelly. John Wayne and I sit without arms, Rock, clock, the logic of a poem b
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See all
L
Last Peach
We sat across from each other on a wide couch as I ate the last peach in the bag A half-peck of peaches, and now the last of its juice ran down my sleeve like a secret Flesh caving into pockets of yellow light. we ate four peaches each yesterday four peaches. And she told me that back in the orchard, too much peach fuzz left an itch on your skin like a crust of sun or toast under the knife. She told me that she and her girlfriend had been off and on since September. September. I like that her lips are so pale that they fade into her skin, the boundaries further blurred by the hint of freckles that bristle up over her lip line,
0
2
F
For the Truck or for the Road
I sit with one eye heavy on the porch the other eye heaving on you like Cusp distracts the first. You got me rolling the sap; you got me rolling heavy curls in my self like a clap of thunder. Hounded and hesitating brick, you lurk my nostril and shrill my tongue to a dried out pork flap sting. Dried out you got me heavy on the bed, not slapped but weighted. Weighted and heavy with rain. But not weighted, waiting, with thunder hoisting tendril after tendril. Having rusted the first I hesitate the bed, slapped the pork flap tusk all for you. And here I sit on the porch eyes heavy breast bucket. Soothed in guts and rolled out flat all told moth
0
0
D
Do Not Eat a Plum in the Art Gallery
Do not eat a plum in the art gallery. Do not eat a plum in the art gallery. Do not smell her hands as she eats a plum in the art gallery. Lewd conduct and sticky situations are not tolerated In the art gallery. Lewd people will be banished from the art gallery. If you do eat a plum in the art gallery; Please Wash your hands Immediately. Do not let its juices dry into unknown hands drying into yours or into another. Do not unknow the hands or the plum or all told know the plums surface as your own hands.
0
0
F
Feline Appetite
 In the picture of Garfield, I could not tell if the lasagna was coming out of the mouth or going in, a muddle of wheat and cow excretions  layered together for a cat to turn into ambiguous American hungers on the couch, against the salmon pink wall of an average living room. We want to see a cat do what we do so we can say, "were I a cat, I would have the same desires as I do now, so my desires are natural." Our excretions are neutral and our valves are a little leaky, but no more leaky then the next poor SOB shoving a fistful of berries into his privates to see how it feels, smiling mischievously even though no one can see. Stoppi
0
0
G
Genuine Articles
Everything I make I want to give to someone, To hang on the refrigerator or to tuck away in some basement or another. I found a leather bag, perfect, but for the hole, and when it was patched and good as new I hung it on your doorknob, and waited for you to come home. As I lay in bed  I thought of all your genuine articles, purchased in stores, made by somebody else with sores on their fingers from sewing. My own finger's are nubile and incomplete by comparison, completeness being a work that warps the body.
0
0
P
Plate Glass Room
I am ready to sit in a room with no lights, Not like death (an easy metaphor) but like Any grey afternoon in the city There are no prerequisites for the drizzle of muck down a cab window Or the pressure of your heart against it's plate glass room, Looking out like a celebrity stuck in traffic on 59th.
0
1
B
Beautiful things for your whole life
I saw the way you ate today, You ordered salmon, eggs, and avocado. Pink salmon, yellow eggs, and green avocado , Each separate, on a red plate. I watched the way you ate them, As if you had eaten beautiful things For your whole life.
0
0
M
My Art is a Dying Art
My art is a dying art it is an art of dying and dying every day, I am throwing myself against brick walls and down stairs I am sucking my teeth at passers by I am gripping my foot and coddling my sores. Nobody help me! I have saved the best for last and in my becoming I have out-become myself, imperfect from the start like some grasping metal or an irresolute nation.
0
0
N
Notepad Poems
I Sometimes words are like blocks I  can't unravel the A sound and the E sound not blending but standing opaquely separate, On those days there are less peripherals and more concretes. II We had an argument; "gold is IN fashion" I said, IN-fact there is no fashion that shaves at hearts threads summed and stubbled in gold lear trinkets surmised as worthy of love. III Teaching boys in jail cells how to think for themselves, a pocket dialogue. And I discovered I love education and now I am cutting my teeth chopping and rubbing to be someone new.
0
0
A
Archaic Bust of John Wayne's Torso
"It's just a thing. Immense in its chewing and spitting, it does not say what it means. " - Sigmund Freud It is myself in every direction, Red rock shadow across John Wayne's face, this stationary wall clock killer. And even if the statue fathers say: "change your life." I don't even have arms, and can't be told what to do. Anyway who documents the chicken's crossing of the road but another chicken? it's chickens all the way down, except for John Wayne. There it's stone, and that's where I am. A rough patch on the razor at noon, we smolder handkerchief jelly. John Wayne and I sit without arms, Rock, clock, the logic of a poem b
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0
c
couldn't blue
i draw a picture of tomorrow morning: a man in a silver box sells 75 cent coffee and bad bagels. his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever tried to name a crayon after. dust-plastic blue, tried to love you (couldn't) blue. and the morning is that same color, the color of canned lightning-bugs and unfiltered cigarettes and desire, because that is all you draw with couldn't blue. i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint so that a fourth-world factory can make more silver boxes to sell more things more stale blueberry muffins. and he will keep gathering change in 75 cent purse-lint increments in the small sinking townships of
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HERMITAGE
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FEET OF SMOKE
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DAEDALUS
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e
ellipsis
we are growing apart and i keep on losing notebooks. it takes a lot of nights looking out of windows to be whole with myself. the television bleeds out tomorrow. i string today onto a necklace i break the necklace. how hard to forget, how easy it is to be forgotten. i don't know how or even if this plays out in the real world, how we can simultaneously remember and be forgotten. or maybe i am just a broken necklace on the sidewalk, my beads rolling under cars into gutters and pale sky, my notebook pages running with ink.
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r
radio transmission
stale air transmitted radio spectrum of you, a pale newspaper growing viral in my bloodstream. forgot to fall asleep again, caffeine drip so the hours will stay inside the hours. muster up the strength to turn a page to lift a pen to open my eyes, voices drift and land in piles on my windowsill. metric shift inside the place that was you, the currents span the length of a circuit, will not surrender.
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Kafka on the shore
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unspoken truths
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United States
Deviant for 11 years
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HELP!
I have the chorus for a song but no other lyrics are coming to me! if you see this and you have an idea, please assist! chorus with guitar chords A                       D       A                       D   Em                                G I'm not asking for your comfort,I'm not asking for your time I'm just asking for your weakness, to help abandon mine
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Devious Journal Entry
I have been in pairs making art for the past month and I have not had time to update my deviantart but expect a flood of new stuff  coming to you some time soon!
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Comments67

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fdrawer's avatar
fdrawerProfessional General Artist
thanks for the fav! =D
Erica-Jay's avatar
Erica-JayStudent Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave! :)
allicat17's avatar
allicat17Student General Artist
thanks so much!
derkert's avatar
Thank youfro the favs Allison. Like your name – has a sort of romantic tinge to it. Really!
allicat17's avatar
allicat17Student General Artist
thanks back to you! how so?
derkert's avatar
some book I read, I think!
genkaku-kun's avatar
genkaku-kunStudent Traditional Artist
interesting gallery