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A NorCal Carribean Fevor Dream
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Carousel or Thoughts on a Moral Controversy Waiting room segue in a series of dreams AM Jazz radio barely audible in the muted, awkward space between bewildered young women. Eye contact refracts through anesthetized gazes at annals of pamphlets divulging an illusional existence of Choices. The critical shock of awareness renders also an understanding: There is only one decision, whatever monochromatic brochure character she fall into. These sketches read real as comic strips, trying to cartoon a hellish carnival of gyrating pain, warping amidst a fury of picketers parading signs like crucifixes, raging grey faces contorted
Nuevo Laredo
6:10 AM, Greyhound Station: Graffitied busses lurk The murky auburn sunrise, Spying bleary touristas Defying weary travel warnings Which whisper through the morning Of the slumbering border town— Police chief shot twenty times Mere hours after swearing in. Five officers Dead, this month alone. Highway drug wars, Zetas, Cartels— Printed words of trepidation Cut the truth like chemicals In a dirty white newspaper high.
Canoe Taco
Showdown at Apartment B
Showdown at Apartment B Philosophical debates of endeavors wrong Real as spaghetti Western dialogues— The pre-shootout exchange, Poncho's dying monologue. But who then plays the hero, dear? Surely not you, but unlikely I, As in this kitchen tile waltz I bloom against the stove and sigh Pretending to keep the beat But always one step behind. Now this floor is cold and strange A silent film too long And yellowed with age. We tango through dusty mars-like streets Fingers toy with burnt leather holsters Of apocalyptic one liners Clint Eastwood might fire. And I will silhouette the stairs, A shadowed frame Slipping off your r
Donahue Pass
Brine shrimp dart in pools Sea monkeys in glacial jars Atop moonlike peaks. This Saturday Night We sink in scrap-yard sofas A mere year later. Popov martinis Write of higher summits climbed In half drunk haikus.
3D vision
Simple Thing
Bell Jar
I always knew we'd fade to glass the present bleeds unto the past to taint a room then lock me in and slam the door. The walls grow thin exist no more. A petal wanes, yet in your bell jar I remain your Galatia, a rose on view until trepid voices waken, and lackadaisically, you peer through.
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Speed trap
Speed Trap My dad's road map rests lightly in my lap, folded edges flapping- Butterfly wings in an open window. Her voice comes gaily through the yellow walkie-talkie dancing with static from the pitted road: "It's a speed trap you know…" I watch her 81 Honda accelerate- Racing madly through the desert 'till finally seeming just a silver bullet on the highway. The road scrolls past me unpaced; Each rusty tagged call box- a connection lost Speed limit posted- rules ignored. Only the pallid rhombus sign Jutting from the shoulder's broken pavement Catches my eye with merging arrows: "This road will end." Yet let's forget tha
Ableskeever confessional
ABLESKEEVER CONFESSIONAL Characters: Troy- 19 year old male Father Gordon- a catholic priest (Easter Sunday, April 20th, in a catholic confessional booth. Gordon is behind a screen in the booth. Troy enters and kneels.) TROY Forgive me father for I have sinned. It's been an hour since my last confession. GORDON Tell me my son… wait, only an hour? TROY Yeah, I realized something during your sermon. GORDON (chuckles) Yes my son? TROY I thought you guys weren't supposed to laugh at us. GORDON (Still laughing) No, I don't know what's gotten into me this Easter morning. I just feel giddy. But go on. TROY Yeah… So I lied to my gir
cancer crab
knee deep in winter
last of summer
Bloody Mary
She meets my lips the taunting red the aftertaste assaults my head bitter wince reminds this prisoner of nights before our dance began: originally inticing the silver rim seductively inviting. Rough hands caress glass curves for one waltz more as ceiling melts with sticky floor our nightly bed just you and I. Let faces fade to hazy hues kaliedoscopic liquid views and wake alone- her beauty spilt in a trance too deep, and so we drown.
spiral cove
green nights
class of 2007


The Caravan
Pint-Sized Pirate Mayhem
Hard Boiled Scrambler
A Darkened World

About AmazonHeathen

United States
Deviant for 15 years
Llama: Llamas are awesome! (4)


Goals and their Edibility
After drinking wine and catching up with Holly Berry for four hours, I realize it's time for a SLObian update. For one, Jerad and I have been together for a couple months, and it's awesome. When you find someone else who plays music as loud as you do, you'd best hang on to them. On another note, the Spring Break that emerged with a shakey start is comming to a triumphant end, as Wednessday marked the afternoon in which I checked off one of my life goals. For one glorious moment, I was high in Splash Mountain's laughing place, at Disneyland. This was, of course, thanks to Juan's superb baking skills, and the fact that he kept feeding me mys
Scholastic Martyrdom and the Tequila Funeral
Whaaa--!! a B+ in Natural Resource Public Land Use Policy? So that optional final essay I wrote in attempts to raise my grade to an A- was utterly pointless? Not entirely, I suppose, because I did enjoy writing my own law, but still! I could have started the heavy drinking on Wednesday! What about all those poor, miserable brain cells who were prepared to drown blissfully in a pint of tequila, but were instead forced to commit suicide via me banging my head on the table in academic frustration. In honor of their tragic martyrdom to failed scholastic dreams, thousands more will die at 80 proof sea upon my upcoming 21st birthday. On another n
After another week of midterm mayhem, the weekend has finally come. Setting aside my usual plans (crazy partying and rugby) me, paul, and a handfull of LEAP people took off for a weekend of backpacking in the Trinity Alps. We got to the trail head at 6:30 on friday, deciding to hike in despite the mist and the dark. The night air was crisp and electric, and as we rose in elevation, the sky cleared, liting up with winter constellations. Fresh snow gradually crunched under our feet, illuminated in the glow of our headlamps. After 4 miles, we made camp, cooked dinner, and went to bed. When I finally pulled myself out of the slightly warmer ten

What Do You Think About My Work?33

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Look Look, I feel so main stream now...


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ilyast's avatar
thank you so much for +fav on Planet.tower :thanks:
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furyfull's avatar
where has all the Heather gone?
i miss the Heather!!
I will be in SLO again for a breif week at the beggining of August!!
if you DARE to tell me that you wont be about I will have to kill you
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SouthernBurn's avatar
ill take the digging job too... manual labor = getting paid to work out.
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Seele-Zerkleinerungs's avatar
thanks a ton for the :+fav: on Absinthe. [link] =)
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Done w/ school June 9th- but will still have to pack and all that shit. I'm living in SD during the summer but plan on coming home for a little while.

My houseing shit is all worked out (YA!), and I'm so happy that my parents are cool w/ me living w/ guys, not that their is really anything they could do...

Don't you hate it how ppl on deviant art talk about you like you won't read it? Shit, now I feel like a bitch...

By-the-bye, I don't have your cell number anymore. I tried calling you during spring break and I got a dude- and you room phone had some jacked up as hell answering machine. Give me a call sometime so I can get your number. Mine's still the same.

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bittersweet2's avatar
fab gallery
your poems are great! =)
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