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About Deviant Artist Benjamin GoldMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 14 Years
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Body Sanctuary
I'm Aurthur, shedding tin-foil
helmet in puppet pantomimes,
hurling down pen feathers.
I remember the Sangria
of your sun-ray shedding strands
hanging like hunger,  
The echoes like a pestilence.
Becoming the burn hole.
It's as shoddy as daylight
for a street dance tonight.
Azure twinkle patters come home
pave mosaics, relief
romance pieces crisis-cross
window panes. Beside lyrics painted in
electrons and bytes
solaces in a ray-tube, information arrays more
comforting than starry nights that only wink-entreat us
less-ly, to guess.
You mutter the mantra beneath your
breath-lifting the curtain
Chapels of phantom feelings, their
cob-web frost fingers throttling the neck
but you kneel at the
altar corner caked in neon blue.
Becoming the gray wilted edges.
Anesthetized child, father to the monster.
Alive on a wave where all matter is dust,
trapped against mirrors
between points of flame
wax slimming thin at both ends,
Being the lung which swelled to bust.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
The stage is lined with people.  The men crowding the front are rasping, their breath moves the neon colored fog like an electric tide of blue and yellow and red.  The fog and the lights and the tide smear color on a woman who is all curves, and revolutions, and crescents from the wide semi-circle of her lips to the white edged ovals of her finger tips.  Her hair is the color of places between the stars, hair too dark to see except when played by yellow or red or blue, it wisps and curls and turns in lung-borne wind.  The music is a slow beat of thick rain, soaking everything.
“Maybe, I don’t really want to know
How your garden grows . .
Because I just wanna fly”
The other dancers have stopped now, they sit on their knees like Buddhist monks or dangle their legs from side stages.  Green waxy paper is stuck between lace, plastic, or leather straps and it chafes for a moment before settling against their skin, forgotten.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
The Stairwell Effect
You made us up to prove a point.
We're failing making two miseries into a right.
    (Our former topic of conversation is a Primus song, Bass way up)
Subconscious spills forth in idiot froths, birds go on wheeling
omens of no import.  You can't have me and not want me.
Memories are nonrefundable, clogging
but burn the /hole/ house down.  The match-
    (You love me less than the world loves convenience, and
easy excuses are everywhere) This is not a choice.
-flickers like the turnings of argument, and bruise colored words(bubble)
farther up farther out of the quickening char(r)y tithe. Rage is a gift.
    ,but when crawling
the stomach -clenches-convulses-uncorks, you keep giving.
everything in a sweaty yellow mess.  Sable smoke
is a new ceiling, ten thousand degrees.  I stand up.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Walking through cinnamon, corn and tree-flower scents pick-
ing tree stars and shooting, wishing to reconcile your wishes
to mine oh mystery woman
and weening off
hope, pressing worries like mulberries into
fine white wine, good for forgetting.  The scents are stepping
stones rubbed for luck and sent skipping to be
broken on bleached shallow froth.  Beached
spasm sounds wait like whales
washed on
sand.  Patiently giving birth.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Big Hands
I leaf through cashmere
pages of "America's Best
Poetry 2006" like fishing auburn
bangs from a lovers eye,
one whom I am hushedly jealous
of, convincing myself nightly I
must leave as she becomes
drowsily delighted by finger-touch.
It's all that way still,
blank-shot biathlons until
you're sure that's all and
are surprised by new addictions.
Smells come wafting in like a transient cat
to glare unassumingly, or cuddle undeserving strangers.
When I was six and less
malicious I released
a wild turtle caught
especial for me. Free, because
he leaded like a glacial run-off
or Gettysburg's great gruesome
massacre. Bucket after bucket of
bile until I set it to waddle off. Anti-waiting
a harbinger turned dusty roads lop-side,
would fail to make apathy sensible
to me until after hid
love-mail brought back cold iron expressions and the
rust smell of pocket watches crushed
for a fetish we made of
costume-jewelry guts.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Accounts on Boxers Day
Condoms, first. Rolled into a
tight sleeping-bag roll of fourteen. Two battery
chargers, that's space enough for eighteen
batteries, of which I have only the two. More pens than
anyone, at anywhere or anytime has ever
known what to do with. Paper in loose-leaf
wrinkled, crinkled, folded, faded
sheafs; and that's not all. Notepads more thin than
a yellow warbler's crest, some thick as gourmet thieves. Some
in my writing, most not. Broken watches. Many broken watches
that convince me to own a certain memento value though
they are impulse gifts from
friends and would-be-step-fathers who value them more
than their worth. Used batteries, more pens. Bernard Welt.
Some things from today, some things from a month ago, many
artifacts and relics whose existence I forgot and might have been
picked up, dusted off, six hundred years hence when all this is a
historical waste dump. Two pictures of ex girlfriends, one broken frame,
sticky pads and use-able cords whose adapters have been lost. Crickets
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Advent Orphan by Cathori Advent Orphan :iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
You will appreciate this, or
Not, and I thank you for the effort of your trying.
My cat is stretching, need-faced and
Diamond-crested from between the pages,
While I smother a yawn in black silk coffee.
Sheltered by sheets, organs churn a slow orchestra
Of body pipe works
Indifferent to subconscious thought.
My windows are straining like Moses holding
up tapered ends of scarlet sheets where fish count clams
and mussels relax under a new lack of pressure
and Charleston Heston counts-shines his flash-warbling
dull sounding wind-chimes.  My windows are standing like
May-Poles and the seasons chant around them like
flush-faced chickey-doo's.  Here, clarity.  Later, a shower
and pipe-bomb.  
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Three minute itch
It moved under invisible touch, one being.  Brown ground beneath, anchored it in organic and earthly adamant.  I, moving through, caused all the air to crack and snap in fragile dry flexibility.  
Small tracking mounds crouched three feet beneath it, symmetrical and forgotten as coal rail tracks, mold rotted gallows.  Scattered patches of protesting green, sparse and sporadic, raised a number of dying emerald middle fingers, railed against autumn and the thresher.  
Throughout sedated, buzzing life filled the spaces between, a pregnant wind, and midwife to desecration.  
Parcels of life soon to be borrowed, dozens in every package, line its every ridge as it swayed, One, on its valley, One, among many, identical in etiquette.
Seeing the field bloated-swelled with aged potentiality, I inwardly smirked.
I light a match, toss it in,
horizon beaming  sun fire.
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 2
I will come for you
after barbarians
after water-gatherers
after confessions
beaten out of you, like morale
like the rice in the fields where
the bodies still burn like torches.
I will gut this
after I mistake this loaded thing as harmless
after admittance on admittance
after wave dancing
fingers splayed to catch the sunray
like solar-panel powered mustard gas
the grass choking, the air choking.
I will crawl
after you litter our hallway with bones and diamond
after we burn the wind
after the world has forgotten
smooth ink covering it all
like amnesia
the need to remember replaced
by anything
in reach
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 4
Flood marker lights flicker clash-slashes
crick-crossing methane zones.  Pimping bee
stripped tape torn, flaccid as Christmas wrapping.
Excruciated tires conjure granite wounds,
pit sets mark a
bite maker, must be some abominable gerbil.
    Wild razor fur kinked and battered
    bashed as war gods own crown, crumbling
    jaws floating on oceans of tar, shucking corpses
    like clams.  Twenty bodies to each jowl.
Wreckage soon forgetting itself, some primal eclipse
in Inca skies.  Piles of these are seemingly
haphazard, strung on fisher-womans
turquoise and twine necklace.  After scorpion
comes back, repairs the nest, rain will gather
in the hole; collecting Viscount, Duke, Vizier, Rex Regius;
she will toss Dharma upon Dharma
buy back her kinder cuttings.
Teaspoon doses in honey-stuff summons numb sensations,
part polychromatic lightning, all grain and squish.
The c
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Cobweb fantasies
I'm, it's into two PM chocking back ink
I'm sweating and hesitating -writhing
I'm watching as it's running, spilling, swelling,
I'm warping bitterness to worms to twitch, turn, thrilling
      me into observance, bookworms to be words to be witness to
I'm looking for vindication
I'm verifying virtues it took to
I'm drowning you in reasonable excuses
I'm praying to reflect
      someone that you cannot miss, gravity
I'm red and white blood cells kept under perfect pressure
I'm an environment of semi-permanent freedom in which nothing sticks together
(Used said "Love's a knife" Sand
burg said "Love's like a little bird, and
I've given you variations on an ever-green theme
I've never willingly changed
I've offered chimange and kisses that come and go in temporary madness
I've lain on the beach and offered comfort to jellyfish, one, ten, thousand
I've never been numb or a rusted machine but
I've never stopped myself from blow
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
Tired Souls or Tired Soles
We marched
Into mayhem bedlam
towers of shining black basalt
mock-boredom.  And in your love, my
salvation lies in your salvation my love
lies.  And all the angel songs are so mellow
dramatic, dances bella-dona.  Kentucky was the
heart of this crazy-bat country, a kind of whipor-wind
that the tops of three willows weeping wailed out in alto
saxophone.  Someone in Eighteen Forties England (or was it
France?) wrote the language of the flowers, and penned petition
to not take some darling daffodils to the ball.  They'd be trampled on
surely, but ever surely more so, they do not know translucent vase repose
and the black coffin case suffered by the rose that goes long down by fallen
maidens fate.  Focus on the dance at hand, one should always take great steps
to prefer tango, can-can, macarena, even hokey-poky tramplings to suffocating ground
After the all, wasn't it you who wanted, who opened?
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
curled feline by Cathori curled feline :iconcathori:Cathori 0 1
The Giant Juggled
Her hammer-head heart and hearth poor
circulation twisted
caught upon her collar, ate fire
- flies.  I heard the twins
try stamping out double
- in double out dutch to
drown out your Voltan sympathetic
symphony.  The Westchester and third
lattice-work curtains and worn down
expressions are thimbles on
the three foot six, five foot one
dreary eyed darlings.  Hopes of stilled
in motion apples 'n eyes burnt to
wafer thin plaster brittleness
(sacrifices un-burnt for Odessys return)
Darling don't consider I didn't see
see the mouthing of the atom boys name, but
didn't strug it would be long before we
recognized me ungounded in your sky
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 0
1996, Chicago
The streetlights bludgeon the hanging sable curtain, winged angles bleed light; wounding night into neon smears.  The river slugs on and Fat fog crouches on strips of greenbelt, the sweat builds on the death-valley-brow of blue chocked night laborers.
The Jazz bands, three, swing and dip and swell in rhythms I still find myself tapping. I remember black fedoras like felt crowns, street walkers absently falling into a soft-shoe shuffle. Slick brass tubes opening and closing, natural-slow
deep as a jellyfish reflex.
Gunshots silence everything.
Cosoms, horizons, water runs suddenly distant in cosmopolitan quiet.
Skies dissolve in one span of lunar cancer, earthquakes like the whole world in birth contractions.  Fast food detritus and ordinary sin sweep
through Capone kingdom, and a shock naked alleyway.  Above us, in an apartment, there is crying for maybe a minute or two, and again sudden silence.
Lights sputter, die, renew. Windy City Harlequinns of partic
:iconcathori:Cathori 0 3

Random Favourites

Poetry is Not...
Poetry is not a competition
to see whose voice can out-bellow
all others.
It is not the mock elevation of baristas,
waitresses, and coffee girls.
It is not referring to grown ass women as girls.
Poetry is not performance.
It is not the trapeze.
Not the spotlight, limelight,
or a long, harrowing limo ride.
It is not an intricate courting dance.
Not the irridescence of peacock tails
parading by.
Poetry is not a cockfight.
It's not a dating service for the pretentious
and absurd.
Poetry will not stop war.
Will not feed the hungry.
Will not build homes from shoddy rhyme schemes.
Poetry will not score you any points
for the afterlife, nor with women.
If you are an asshole, no stack of verse
will hide that fact. Poetry in its artifice
will not deliver to you a happily ever after.
It will not glue your marriage.
It will not shield you from his drunken
misogynist fist. Even if he writes poetry.
Poetry is not an elixir or a tool.
It is decorative, like sheer linen curtains,
and that is all.
:iconastridiana:astridiana 101 71
ART MEME by xEvilDuckyx ART MEME :iconxevilduckyx:xEvilDuckyx 1 18
Humorous Mead of Poetry Recap
Not many people these days know of The Mead of Poetry, or the wacky hijinks that seem to follow it. In light of this, I'm gonna' learn y'all something about it. With a vengeance. Bear in mind, this is an editorial: I will be taking my poetic license to a science here, and as such, will probably also butcher the story beyond recognition. It doesn't matter anyway, because from a logic standpoint, the whole story is ridiculous. Enjoy.
Okay, so the Aesir and the Vanir, they wana' become friends, right? In their infinite wisdom, infinite I tell you, they created…a man! Supposedly this was a man to show that they had become friends. Now, I know you must be saying to yourselves "What the heck?" But there was a definite method to their madness, a palpable wit to behold in this. This man, Kvasir, was one cool cat. He was a Wiseman see? He knew things. People from all around wanted this guy's opinion, they positively screamed for his advice. But  why? This guy spaw
:iconotakukensai:Otakukensai 2 5
Butcher Always Rings Thrice by Crimson-Shirou Butcher Always Rings Thrice :iconcrimson-shirou:Crimson-Shirou 1 3 Self-Consciousness by ayle Self-Consciousness :iconayle:ayle 1,184 191 Lady... by MidnightsPromise Lady... :iconmidnightspromise:MidnightsPromise 1 7 Limbs may fall by justapaperdoll Limbs may fall :iconjustapaperdoll:justapaperdoll 1 10 Just one more chance by BPauba Just one more chance :iconbpauba:BPauba 425 154 autumn eyes by webgrrl autumn eyes :iconwebgrrl:webgrrl 1 5 the crow by moritat the crow :iconmoritat:moritat 2,118 301 Dark KT id by xEvilDuckyx Dark KT id :iconxevilduckyx:xEvilDuckyx 5 34 gaia's eden by saiaii gaia's eden :iconsaiaii:saiaii 1,044 316
not flying
the poem probably makes no sense, im just not all here right now.  its probably why i felt like doing this backwards.  but i restricted the words i said into rhyming cause thats how i feel words are, restricting.  I dont see how words can express a feeling, how they can do it justice.  how can lips mutter the dealings of the heart and soul.  what do lips know of love and sorrow.  
:icondeerdance0084:DeerDance0084 3 7
Free it all
Everyone know,
The strength inside,
Dont confide,
Conceal the darkness with pride,
Tell me now,
Can you feel it,
No holds bared,
Comeing a long and break the silence,
Im fighting,
Im turning away,
From the things,
I thought I knew,
Come now,
Embrase the darkness,
NO! never again,
It will only cause pain,
Enter your heart,
Push back the darkness,
Light is always stronger,
Release the pain,
The gruges are insane,
Can you explain,
Once you can can you forgive?,
Come on comeon,
Dont give in,
your stronger then this,
Please Im sorry,
Break this silence,
Im sorry I wont give up,
your my friend,
I wont give up on you,
Ive learned from the story,
Now Ill teach you,
Please come on,
Lets make the world a better place,
We must do all we can,
Make it all better,
You cant defeat the darkness,
Only overcome it,
Dont stop fighting,
The world is to great,
Lets stop all the war,
We owe it to them all.
:iconpsycowithapencil:psycowithapencil 1 2
Live tutorial log: Composition by PhotographyChannel Live tutorial log: Composition :iconphotographychannel:PhotographyChannel 497 88


  • Listening to: tisn't it obvious?
  • Reading: Night Watch
  • Watching: My heart go first
  • Playing: with the packaging peanuts
  • Eating: distractedly
  • Drinking: coffee (what else?)
By the light of the LED display of a VCR recorder
You kiss my neck, I whisper in your ear, "this is my downfall"
As you squint and you grimace, we both know your heart's not in it

By the glow of a thousand fireflies in a travelodge en-suite:
They think the future's bright as halogen, we know it's pretty bleak
And I'm trying to be sexy, biting at the air that falls in front of me.

Your telegrams are more and more less detailed by the day
And all the characters are strangers and the pubs have different names
I tell a joke that I'd like to meet them but they loathe me and I hate them back

Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Fondness makes the absence longer
Length loses my interest, I'm a realist, I'm insatiable
Swapped counting days until I fly, with hours before your reply

You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire

You feel terrified at the thought of being left behind
Of losing everybody, the necessity of dying
I'm just practising my accents, picking at old sutures

I taught myself the only way to vaguely get along in love
Is to like the other slightly less than you get in return
I keep feeling like I'm being undercut

Charlotte says, "It's more constructive than the one in Canada,
When you got drunk,
Ate loads of crisps
And threw up by a football pitch"
I know it is,
And really that's what worries me,
I feel like I should

You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire

I cannot emphasise enough that my body
Is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel,
Harbouring these diminishing, so-called 'vital organs'
Hope my heart goes first,

We are beautiful,
We are doomed.


Benjamin Gold
United States
Current Residence: The Quarter Life Crisis Center
Favourite genre of music: Metal, alternative rock, soft rock, all really
Favourite photographer: T-Mac, XEDX
Operating System: Your Mom
MP3 player of choice: Dont remind me of my lack of technology
Shell of choice: you in powder then mixed in plaster..a you shell
Wallpaper of choice: Bare
Skin of choice: A flensing
Favourite cartoon character: Desire, from the Sandman Comics
Personal Quote: Purpose? to laugh easier and love harder then the moment before


Add a Comment:
StormOwlArt Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2009  Professional Writer
thanks for the :+fav: :hug:
bobdole8006 Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2009
so you like poetry, huh? I'm a poet who wants to be known, and DA isn't helping much... So I figured Id go around and look for ppl to help me get watchers.
Cathori Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2009
If you like poetry, than comment on the poetry. If I find your comments interesting, I'll comment back on yours. Hell, I'll look over yours anyway. But don't think that just because we both like poetry, that that entitles either of us to something. It's a mad interest, if I see something akin to my own madness in yours, I'll certainly respond in kind.

(pretension joke, of course =), lets collaborate, lets compare)
bobdole8006 Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2009
okay. Thanks.
RaVeNuS9 Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2008
I came by your writings and I found them interesting. ;-)
Cathori Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2008
Ah, okay fair enough. Thanks =)
RaVeNuS9 Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2008
My pleasure!
seldira Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2008
thank you for the fave!:) and you write really well,keep it up:)
Cathori Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2008
You're welcome, and thank you =)
diorama-hate Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2008
Thank you for uploading these brilliant pieces of art.
They made me cry.
Add a Comment: