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Literature
Hoodoo
Life is erosion.
Worn down we walk, until all that remains is hope--like a hand grenade.
Now, pull the pin.
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Literature
In effigy
He climbed the mountain barefoot
to shout at the silent sky:
HE WAS that HE WAS--
the burning bush his only epitaph.
Beneath the bodhi tree
the Buddha rests his hand on the ground.
He shuffles his slow circles
grinding footworn rings into stone
comforted by the sollipsistic embrace of a dwindling paycheck
while Fame's phantom hounds
bite and nip at the heels of Death,
hoping to snatch Immortality
from His inattentive fingers.
On a hill called Golgotha
A man named Yeshua cries for his Father.
"That little death," she idly said, lying
disheveled and naked in his bed,
"is all there is."
A slow-motion meltdown.
"Come," she said, eyes alight,
"my bed is cold."
Light, thunder and heat dissipate into horrified silence:
Now we are all sons of bitches.
And perhaps that was all he ever wanted:
to forget -- reject -- his Father's atavistic disgrace
and vanish in the crackling heat of lightning,
leaving nothing but a frail plume of white ash behind.
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Literature
No Love Poet
I am no love poet.
I have no practice in using words
as a vessel to bear honey-colored
hope, wonder, awe.
How do I explain
with lips worn smooth with grief?
What words could I speak
to part encircling seas of tears?
I fear my fumble-fingered foraging
inadequate.
But if I were to find words
to contain those things
within me,
I could scare restrain them.
They would pour out from me,
a fountain,
and soon I would drift
in an ocean of beautiful things
and each of them
is you.
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Literature
Awake
I woke up early this morning.  I pushed my bedding off my body, and heaved myself out of bed, rolling my shoulders to get my circulation working.  Red shag carpet greeted my bare feet.  I staggered, naked and alone, up the steel stairs of my loft to check my email.  As I reached the third step, I looked up.
There is a window in my loft that catches the morning sun perfectly, and this is where I found my eyes drawn; the morning sun pierced the storm clouds left over from the previous evening and lanced through my window straight into my eyes.  It felt like the light passed right through my eyes and into the bony recesses of my seemingly hollowed out skull, and for just a moment, the dark of my lightless loft, my lightless life was dispelled.  A flash of white light, gone in an instant.
I have never felt so utterly abandoned.
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Literature
Desert
Lily's engine hums at 3500 RPM as the road beneath her wheels blurs by at 75 MPH.  The hot desert air whistles past my driver's side mirror.  There isn't another car in sight; only sun-burnt grass, jutting black rock, and a brown haze settled on the horizon.  A year and a half's worth of my life is jammed into the little sports car; a television, textbooks, movies and memories, all somehow crammed into the diminutive black bullet as it speeds down the interstate.  The world is red through my sunglasses.
Three days.  Three days was all they had given me.  I was a nuisance, they said: Get out.  Three days to pack, clean and say my goodbyes.  I'd left a half dozen friends, now a thousand miles and two state borders away.
"This is an opportunity," I'd said.
"I'll trade my old life in for a shiny new one," I'd continued.
"I'll be back," I'd finished, smiling a practiced, confident smile.  The one I use
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Literature
Cold but clean
All of her courage, and all of her pain
fall into darkness, fall into flame.
Looking in her naked eyes
I see all her tears
in pools deep and wide and cold
gathered over years.
Reading every word of hers
repeating her name;
the emptiness a blanket
covering her pain.
She's lost in vaulted corridors
in the end, cold but clean;
dreaming of the daylight
that she has never seen.
Wait until darkness,
and then we shall see
her rise above the darkness
cold inside, but clean.
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Literature
Hope
I have no meter
no rhyme
only a handful of words to convey my
astonishment.
It's like a perfect summer afternoon
where the sky is blue and the light in the kitchen a glowing amber
and children are laughing
and running through water sprinklers with wild abandon
and there are friends in the forest waiting
to spend the incandescent night together
and war and age and disease and hunger
will never touch any of them ever again
and finally each broken heart will have time enough to mend
and each lover will have time enough to love
and each student will have time enough to learn
and most important of all
everything will be okay.
Forever.
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Literature
A promise kept
Your first breath was a promise;
everything you never wanted will be yours
while the only thing you crave will always be
                       beyond reach.
You seemed to intuit this as your eyes opened
to the light of the world for the first
time
and all you could do was cry at the realization.
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Literature
Deconstructed
The workers came at night, in a line of trucks that twisted off into obscurity. Sober-faced and sun-browned, they leaped from the beds of their vehicles as they stopped, each wearing a belt heavy with tools, a weather-beaten hardhat, and worn, muddied boots.
They gathered and, like ants, crawled over, around and into the structure, carrying chop saws, cutting torches and drills. Men with rolled sheets of paper in their hands and radios on their belts shouted orders above the shriek of cutting metal.
Cranes followed the trucks and hoisted themselves into the sky, one vertebra at a time, until they towered above the structure. Workers carefully guided great hooks from the cranes above, and tied bundles of the structure's disassembled fragments to them to be hoisted away and hauled to parts unknown.
The cacophony continued for a day, a night, and a day, and when they were through, where once stood a Life was now a hole in the ground.
Somber and sweaty, the workers gathered into their truc
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Literature
It was no lie
"I love you," he lies
as she rests her cheek on his chest,
and with a contented sigh
she draws patterns with her fingers on his skin.
He looks up at the ceiling
before closing his eyes for a while,
resignedly stealing
a few moments of lonesome peace.
He goes home that night.
It's late, and cold, and dark.
He can't seem to find the right
key, and no one answers his knock.
He left it with her.
Even in the cold night's
embrace, there's nothing to spur
his return to such a smothering place.
He curls up and sleeps by the door.
He wakes to her touch.
"You left your keys." She kisses him.
He despairs of ever having so much
as a day alone. "Thanks
so much," he smiles.
He stands and shakes the cold off,
and wishes like hell he were miles
away from this gentle cage.
"I love you," he says
and wishes it were a lie.
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Literature
Exitus, Prologue
The man woke naked and cold. Short, shivering breaths hissed past his clenched teeth as icy water sprayed onto him from somewhere above. It ran in rivulets down his body into what looked like a drain. He looked around, bewildered for a moment. Tile. Chrome. A faucet and handles. A curtain draped on the ground nearby. It took a dazed moment for him to recognize the function of the unfamiliar room. A shower stall?
Shaking with the cold, he struggled to push himself, slipping and shaking, to his feet. He leaned unsteadily against the wall for a moment before staggering out of the stall, arms clasped tightly to his chilled flesh.
The room outside was completely unoccupied. Lockers ran along the far wall. A series of benches ran between the lockers and the shower stalls. To the man's cold-numbed wits however, the only thing of any importance was a neatly-folded stack of white towels on the bench before him. He grabbed one and clutched it to his body for a moment before clumsily unfolding it
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Literature
Sign
Feel the sign inside me
the silence of the sleeping soul
remembrance for the lost ones
splinters of a broken whole.
Filter through each vacant moment
sleep inside a silent wheel
Draw a life through velvet water
taking in its silver feel.
Seeking ever silent solace
to turn away what will not turn
to drive away the sleeping sorrow
to burn away what will not burn.
A shining glimpse, a crystal glimmer
the cold cathedral wrapped in frost
tear-stained dreams and blood-stained roses
a price to pay, too great a cost
Breathe the breath of martyrs
burn 'til all the seas run dry
then sit beside and hold me silent
and watch my world die.
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Literature
Neon Genesis Evangelion: Vigil
Goodbye, Mother.
------
Shinji Ikari gently drifted from what felt to him like a dream.  All was silent, save for the gentle rustle of waves against a shore.  Soothing.  Shinji lay there awhile, feeling the grit of the fine white sand as it worked under his collar.  He smelled blood.  It was a familiar smell, though, to one who had breathed the blood of Lillith for nearly a year.  Had it really been that long?
Shinji opened his eyes.
The sky stretched above him, uncountable stars glistening in the peaceful empty blackness.  With the lights of Tokyo-3 gone, many of the stars that had been drowned out by the city's electric hubbub were plainly visible.  Shinji hadn't seen as many stars since the defeat of Matariel--the Ninth Angel?  Maybe.  He didn't bother to remember.  It wasn't the stars however, that held his gaze, nor the brilliant full moon.  It was crimson streak that crossed in front of the moon, and arched from horizon to horizon.  All that was left of the Instrumentality
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Literature
White Alone
All I see is white,
And would that it were beautiful,
But white alone is only white.
Empty halls and vaulted cathedrals.
White-stained walls,
And nothing more.
Hollow footsteps on bitter stone.
Diamonds glistening in faded white,
All alone.
Icy castles stand on frost-rimmed hills.
Frozen silver bells sound over frozen fields,
Yet all is still silent.
All I see is white,
And would that it were beautiful,
But white alone is only white.
Goodbye.
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Literature
Bleeding in Moonlight
No beauty can fill the empty spaces.
The road is smooth,
And neither of us say much,
But we both feel it.
The silken silver of the shining moon--
It reminds us both, I think,
of better times.
The valley is empty,
except for the fog,
and the fog is beautiful--
and we both know it--
it gathers the sheen
and spreads it around,
carefully,
evenly,
until nothing remains but the light.
Neither of us say anything,
But we both see it.
We both miss her, his and mine.
Maybe it's the beauty we see
that reminds us
of what we're missing,
what we've lost,
and how the days fade away
in between.
My eyes are dry, but inside
I feel the passing of tears.
I know if I reach up
To wipe them away
my fingers will come away
red.
I look over, and see his eyes.
They see the moonlight too,
but no beauty can fill the empty spaces.
His face is as dry as mine.
He looks back.
We say nothing.
We both look forward,
and neither of us
really see the fog, or the light
or the silver play between the two.
We both ache for he
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Activity


Life is erosion.

Worn down we walk, until all that remains is hope--like a hand grenade.

Now, pull the pin.
Walking away from 26 years of devotion can't begin to compare with the day I walked away from myself.

deviantID

ArmageddonBlue
Wait, what?
United States
Current Residence: SLC, UT
Favourite genre of music: Name it, I love it.
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: iTunes
Wallpaper of choice: Varies
Favourite cartoon character: Reki, from Haibane Renmei. Asuka from Evangelion. Samurai Jack.
Interests

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:iconarmageddonblue:
ArmageddonBlue Featured By Owner Jul 12, 2010
Absolutely :).

I recognized the font, incidentally; I think the source is what sold me most.
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:iconfisherpoetry:
FisherPoetry Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2010
im absolutely fascinated by your writing and views on life!
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:iconarmageddonblue:
ArmageddonBlue Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2010
Thank you! Can you explain what exactly it is that draws you so? Perhaps I can point my writing in that direction.
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:iconfisherpoetry:
FisherPoetry Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2010
hmmm, i dont believe i understand..
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:iconarmageddonblue:
ArmageddonBlue Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2010
I was just interested in what it was that fascinated you :)
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SvenMueller Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2009  Professional Photographer
Thanks for the :+fav: on My Mind! :w00t:
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Luprand Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2008  Hobbyist General Artist
It is a you!

--Sij
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Valicetra Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2006  Hobbyist General Artist
wow...you still exist ^^
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DarkChildx2k Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2006  Professional Digital Artist
HEY THANKS SOOOO MUCH FOR COMING BY MAH PAGE!!! :D Its reallycool that you found me....somehow lol!! ;P Please come back soon!
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