Emmaessence's avatar
The cats mao
188 Watchers102.9K Page Views14.3K Deviations
d
death anthem
Come on kid, running on that sticky, dirty, wooden bedroom floor all on one spot… tryhard thinking you can escape the distractions overcome in Buddha-vista fashion, anything, anything at all Still got not enough shut eyes for the comedowns of the might-be-morning nights of the hours before still hyped, still light can’t concentrate worth a damn… Dancing, dashing on a hypothetical dying heart thinking wildly the possibilities if mid-speed I wear to collapse and fall and those that found me pluck and picking out the earpieces to hear the most inappropriately peppy pop tunes associated with my endings, so out of char
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the chilly tome
Into bitter frost little-ro-boutiques they packed themselves rather curiously, quickly cheerfully… And cooled, chilly tomes in shiver worthy rooms they stood huddled about poor fires the party summoning shushed finger motions as the arrogant leader failed to impress the others putting up the pretences that he could read the text therewithin to the convincing of none to the surprise of not a single one he continued to dictate on until angry winds, tired of his torrid threads of dictations turned the pages, at a shockingly distasteful fast pace with which the leader could not keep… And no more texts were read after th
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every word of it
I was never the type to trade in guilty pleasure giggles but I joined them briefly, in their laughters until I came down from comedies lie its false lady veneer of which I was neither harisen nor fan It hit me, the fear of just how dangerously dagger sensed and ill learned, insane that which I had been swash-chuckling away at that cucked my senses… And then there was no more humour for me because why would there be? Nothing before me had ever originally been a joke the echoes of the laugh, at the back of my mind like, as if something I could not believe I had partaken with… that I could have forsaken defense… tha
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infirmed
I think what, that which was lost from those no longer existing or in some cases, only lingering relationships was a sense of buildings, architecture and structure… a sense of distraction a series of halts, reign ins and rules Now, somewhere along the lines has grown perversities and pretensions paying and prey uncontrolled into the night I told myself many times that I would, due to those relations not fall into certain arenas but I have done so no more wall and all… One may aswell say it as a distant viewer of a once self So things have been said and because they have been so can act as new rules… as they have
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a
angst
I gaze out into the observed point, most apparently the wasteland that wasteland being the world’s streets the ones the frown-o-graph-graphic men ponder, wander… angst ridden and aimlessly Un-recognizable as anything other than something to save How many of these, which one of these roaming, wild creatures without teachers will simply “snap” what with befall them…or us? This is their battleground that beats them down their specific span of age… but lets settle on late twenty-somethings and early thirties thirsty for, searching for something… They are my emotionography the ones I keep coming
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the bore war
Salut, one hundred days aplenty of hellos and British campings, during the conflicts of bore warfare I watch the victims, they are swimming not through pools, not full of water but non-allegorical, non-metaphorical, breast and backstrokes and seas of bullets, with which they have learn to re-patriate as soapings Some use the very seeds of the noise laden, turret torrent mouths to block their ears to those very shoot outs… a whole ocean artillery aural pluggings   hectic hug me tights… Some stuffed the children’s tearful mouths tenfold with the larger ammunition editions, for lack of else… Occasionally flame str
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toys
This is my country, this is I the biggest of all the boys the most childish of adults…. the most adult looking of the children This is my country all are my toys look at my armies, look at my soldiers they are my figurines I am the best boy in the class Won’t you play with me grand dictator, human baby look at me… the black stallion of the dark incontinent-continent Expelling bees and best balloon economics and proto-google speak My toys, are not your toys but I’ll let you look at them… see how they are the finest of them all I am your clown… become a part of my circus… did I mention
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M
Mona Lisa Stalins and Avant Dantes
Our world is a scrolling stage, or is soon to become one when, once common sense has seen it well and truly out and undone Apart from howevers, the hoverings of nightimes for even scrolling worlds must have their sleep for marching bands that they are… move to their specifically energetic music that stops for no man… In this scenario I imagine myself reaching, always reaching stabilizing, slowing down the world stage which has grown into such wild misbehavings of jocular Jeux-videos scrollings beyond all controlling snatching almost grasp and claspings at elusive Mona Lisa’s with Stalinistic-ly hair helmed smiles
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r
reactionary
Stephen lambs, King Kong wolves, cold Hokkaido style strong winds can you say, caught in cancels sandalings? And yet the reactionary game is considered a non-contempt? I understand that the dumplings were served to cast out obstacle-isms for the prophet-profit monihamut but occasionally executions occur that way Dorothea, sweet Dorothea, my little lady Tin men, tin men and rouge rubber shoes I am sad to say…we are not in Beijing anymore…. Apres! Apres La porte du admiral Holodomor-amore-amore! What does it mean anymore? Sorry, my sword is everywhere… despite that what I am… I see M-me-oh-my-high-king-and-I-
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documentary
Toil and trouble, aristo-fat-barons, card carrying fascists oil over ice-field skatings….in wealth-out-of-healths slick, sick headed waltzings… And the cameras, they idolize the dancers because we are but aliens with them in hand observers of human behaviour… real life as documentary no need for commentary… those abstract fairies captured And here I am, watching them just like my drunken, liquor Lourdes companions who only came from afar for nothing in this fascination with the financial wildlifers I have too neglected the cultural purposes of this escape abroad Becoming far too focused on this strange si
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See all
d
death anthem
Come on kid, running on that sticky, dirty, wooden bedroom floor all on one spot… tryhard thinking you can escape the distractions overcome in Buddha-vista fashion, anything, anything at all Still got not enough shut eyes for the comedowns of the might-be-morning nights of the hours before still hyped, still light can’t concentrate worth a damn… Dancing, dashing on a hypothetical dying heart thinking wildly the possibilities if mid-speed I wear to collapse and fall and those that found me pluck and picking out the earpieces to hear the most inappropriately peppy pop tunes associated with my endings, so out of char
0
0
t
the chilly tome
Into bitter frost little-ro-boutiques they packed themselves rather curiously, quickly cheerfully… And cooled, chilly tomes in shiver worthy rooms they stood huddled about poor fires the party summoning shushed finger motions as the arrogant leader failed to impress the others putting up the pretences that he could read the text therewithin to the convincing of none to the surprise of not a single one he continued to dictate on until angry winds, tired of his torrid threads of dictations turned the pages, at a shockingly distasteful fast pace with which the leader could not keep… And no more texts were read after th
0
0
e
every word of it
I was never the type to trade in guilty pleasure giggles but I joined them briefly, in their laughters until I came down from comedies lie its false lady veneer of which I was neither harisen nor fan It hit me, the fear of just how dangerously dagger sensed and ill learned, insane that which I had been swash-chuckling away at that cucked my senses… And then there was no more humour for me because why would there be? Nothing before me had ever originally been a joke the echoes of the laugh, at the back of my mind like, as if something I could not believe I had partaken with… that I could have forsaken defense… tha
0
0
i
infirmed
I think what, that which was lost from those no longer existing or in some cases, only lingering relationships was a sense of buildings, architecture and structure… a sense of distraction a series of halts, reign ins and rules Now, somewhere along the lines has grown perversities and pretensions paying and prey uncontrolled into the night I told myself many times that I would, due to those relations not fall into certain arenas but I have done so no more wall and all… One may aswell say it as a distant viewer of a once self So things have been said and because they have been so can act as new rules… as they have
0
1
a
angst
I gaze out into the observed point, most apparently the wasteland that wasteland being the world’s streets the ones the frown-o-graph-graphic men ponder, wander… angst ridden and aimlessly Un-recognizable as anything other than something to save How many of these, which one of these roaming, wild creatures without teachers will simply “snap” what with befall them…or us? This is their battleground that beats them down their specific span of age… but lets settle on late twenty-somethings and early thirties thirsty for, searching for something… They are my emotionography the ones I keep coming
0
1
t
the bore war
Salut, one hundred days aplenty of hellos and British campings, during the conflicts of bore warfare I watch the victims, they are swimming not through pools, not full of water but non-allegorical, non-metaphorical, breast and backstrokes and seas of bullets, with which they have learn to re-patriate as soapings Some use the very seeds of the noise laden, turret torrent mouths to block their ears to those very shoot outs… a whole ocean artillery aural pluggings   hectic hug me tights… Some stuffed the children’s tearful mouths tenfold with the larger ammunition editions, for lack of else… Occasionally flame str
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0
t
toys
This is my country, this is I the biggest of all the boys the most childish of adults…. the most adult looking of the children This is my country all are my toys look at my armies, look at my soldiers they are my figurines I am the best boy in the class Won’t you play with me grand dictator, human baby look at me… the black stallion of the dark incontinent-continent Expelling bees and best balloon economics and proto-google speak My toys, are not your toys but I’ll let you look at them… see how they are the finest of them all I am your clown… become a part of my circus… did I mention
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1
M
Mona Lisa Stalins and Avant Dantes
Our world is a scrolling stage, or is soon to become one when, once common sense has seen it well and truly out and undone Apart from howevers, the hoverings of nightimes for even scrolling worlds must have their sleep for marching bands that they are… move to their specifically energetic music that stops for no man… In this scenario I imagine myself reaching, always reaching stabilizing, slowing down the world stage which has grown into such wild misbehavings of jocular Jeux-videos scrollings beyond all controlling snatching almost grasp and claspings at elusive Mona Lisa’s with Stalinistic-ly hair helmed smiles
0
0
r
reactionary
Stephen lambs, King Kong wolves, cold Hokkaido style strong winds can you say, caught in cancels sandalings? And yet the reactionary game is considered a non-contempt? I understand that the dumplings were served to cast out obstacle-isms for the prophet-profit monihamut but occasionally executions occur that way Dorothea, sweet Dorothea, my little lady Tin men, tin men and rouge rubber shoes I am sad to say…we are not in Beijing anymore…. Apres! Apres La porte du admiral Holodomor-amore-amore! What does it mean anymore? Sorry, my sword is everywhere… despite that what I am… I see M-me-oh-my-high-king-and-I-
0
0
d
documentary
Toil and trouble, aristo-fat-barons, card carrying fascists oil over ice-field skatings….in wealth-out-of-healths slick, sick headed waltzings… And the cameras, they idolize the dancers because we are but aliens with them in hand observers of human behaviour… real life as documentary no need for commentary… those abstract fairies captured And here I am, watching them just like my drunken, liquor Lourdes companions who only came from afar for nothing in this fascination with the financial wildlifers I have too neglected the cultural purposes of this escape abroad Becoming far too focused on this strange si
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T
Trainride Tears
I was taking a train the other day and I felt tears welling up I hadn't suffered any tragedy had no real reason to be sad but as I sat there on that train somewhat tired from the day I was gripped by such melancholy. I did not full-on cry, back then but I felt as if I should
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Fairy Tale
Once Upon a Time a fairy died. With her dying breath she - for it was a she - uttered these words: “I bless you who slaughtered me, and all your descendants until the day your line does end. May you become the richest and most prosperous dynasty this realm has ever seen.” Hearing these words the soldier who had struck her down marveled.  How could a creature bless their killer? He must have imagined it, in the heat and frenzy of the mission. The day had been long, the orders harsh. He put away the thoughts and joined his comrades, they were moving to camp. That night the soldiers played dice, as was custom in that time and place.
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Faves Of The Week(s)
Welcome to Faves-of-The-Week(s), where I talk about how much I like your art, and where I sometimes do not translate it correctly. Note: It took me forever to get this out. For individual reasons, and because one of the pieces within [herein, however you like] was part of another contest that only recently culminated. This isn't because I feel I could, in some way, influence that; just that I wanted to respect its place there. ~_____________________________~ :thumb811701456: I think this poem speaks for itself quite a bit. It's honest, it's very very individualized, and very beautiful. There are so many things that shape us as human beings
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Storytelling
Through thorough study of contemporary pop-culture storytelling I have compiled a set of rules regarding storytelling. Enjoy. 1. Time Travel Don't. Time travel almost always completely ruins a story by undermining all stakes with "well we could just go back and change it" while simultaneously introducing several possible paradoxes which hardly can be explained. And while there are some ways to resolve these issues, they usually bring more harm than respite (pre-determination etc.). 2. Bringing Dead Characters Back To Live Don't! Ever. We all hated it when we were reading Song of Ice and Fire and suddenly Mother Stark was back (Spoilers.
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D
Drained
Closing my eyes Feeling strange Like I am floating Trying to look up To a sunless sky A stygian mist Flowing over me Drained of energy But unable to sleep So my nightmares Come to hunt me During the day When my eyes Are wide open
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Letting time consume me
My quiescent body Holding my restless soul As I enter the realm of dreams Surrounded by old designs of clocks Forced to observe the passage of time For there is no easy escape from here I am chained to the arms of a clock Feeling how slowly time passes Letting time consume me Until I wake up again
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Over the Moon: Literature + Paintings (Volume #40)
Welcome to another volume of Over the Moon, a growing collection of art from talented deviants! I encourage you to  and  these pieces and authors and take a look through their galleries! Over the Moon: Literature + Paintings (Volume #40) :thumb797356451: :thumb797394084: :thumb797486426: :thumb797453005: :thumb797477713: :thumb797398711: :thumb797415220: :thumb797427595: :thumb797511934: :thumb797456387: :thumb797457762: :thumb797512600: Check out the April 2019 Lit DD Roundup! Happy Writing, Rose-Em (https://www.deviantart.com/rose-em) %CRLiterature (https://www.deviantart.com/crliterature) :iconwriting-rampage: :iconglory-be-project:
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sabaki
Sweat spills down the golden thread to pool in the small of your back just a spark at the end of the road me and a mob of cattle stomp off the edge of the cliff.
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Over the Moon: Poetry + Prose (Volume #26)
Welcome to another volume of Over the Moon, a growing collection of literature and talented deviants! I encourage you to  and  these pieces and authors and take a look through their galleries! Over the Moon: Poetry + Prose (Volume #26) :thumb776575932: :thumb776665781: :thumb776614325: :thumb776678282: :thumb776626901: :thumb776680308: :thumb776679883: :thumb776605829: :thumb776570757: Check out the November 2018 Lit DD Roundup! Happy Writing, Rose-Em (https://www.deviantart.com/rose-em) %CRLiterature (https://www.deviantart.com/crliterature) :iconwriting-rampage: :iconglory-be-project:
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Over the Moon: Poetry (Volume #5)
Welcome to another volume of Over the Moon, a collection of of my favourite pieces of literature on deviantART! I encourage you to take a look through all of these writer's wonderful galleries as there are some truly spectacular pieces on this website! OVER THE MOON: POETRY (VOLUME #5) sugarbluebell, HenryQuellish,  DC-26 (https://www.deviantart.com/dc-26) Emmaessence, BelarusianPsycho, greensh KaurisAzurai, LualaDy, sevvysgirl Happy Writing, Rose-Em (https://www.deviantart.com/rose-em) %CRLiterature (https://www.deviantart.com/crliterature) :iconwriting-rampage: :iconglory-be-project:
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Spotlight

A
Art is the true human life
I have so many, so very very many children, thousands in fact And each and every one of them, I love more Than any possible person, lover, deity, family, child, even myself…. If I were unable to save, even part of, even a single one Of my precious, my beautiful children of mine… It would be the same…a death of one… It would be like the feeling of losing… Every single, little one of them… All must be safe, all must be sound Otherwise the hurt, the hurt Would leave a hole so large… That I would crack… I create more and more And stay among the numbered all Because were not one or some not the
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January 11, 1987
Ireland
Deviant for 14 years
I may as well occasionally abuse this deviantart feature for random unexpected shenanigans... Beria: Comrade Stalin, the Jap-chaps have this new game out called Harvest moon Stalin: Bring it here comrade Beria. Beria: There's just one problem sir, th ...
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I am now suddenly imagining currently Waluigi dressed as Ash from streets of rage 3, everyday we drift further way from god yo'... feel free to ignore...I have to test/abuse this status update thing someday/for once.
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Spambots
I noticed three of these on recent submissions on here, porn-ad spambots commenting on three things I posted and then some advertized spambotting me through notes =< Obviously I've blocked those bots and hidden the comments, but its always fairly disappointing that when you go in expecting feedback, it turns out to be an annoying internet advert =< Just wanted to say sorry if anyone ended up seeing an unwanted ad showing up that posted on one of my works on here.
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Comments531

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SuperKirhi's avatar
Thank you for the ⌚ lets entertain each other ill be sure to fav the ones i like after i read them Huggle! 
SuperKirhi's avatar
I dont have time to read these right now so ima watch you and read them later i loved the human art one nice
Emmaessence's avatar
EmmaessenceProfessional Writer
Its good to know that someone out there is interested in them and reading them. 
Thank you for your interest. 
You'll have alot to choose from. 
SuperKirhi's avatar
Yes i can see youre a very good writer :3 interesting things for sure.
janus-006's avatar
janus-006Hobbyist Artist
How's life treating you?
Emmaessence's avatar
EmmaessenceProfessional Writer
Thanks for caring/checking in as always. Any thing you ever want/wanted to ask I am opening to answering anything in all detail through notes.
I've been thinking alot lately about how sometimes I wish I could go back to a moment in my life where I was more innocent about things/the world. 
I feel that in some ways I've become further into an over-intellectualized, over-politicized and weird person, sometimes wish I could enjoy more normal/boring/mainstream things. 
Even though I'm glad that I write what I write, there's this part of me that wishes she could write more everyday and normal material in an accessible-er style.  
I've been thinking alot about how I wish I could have known certain people as I am now, rather than how I was years ago, what conversation I've missed out on and such with them aswell =<. 
As always, I keep feeling like I'm PROCRASTINATING way way to much aswell =< 
janus-006's avatar
janus-006Hobbyist Artist
Perhaps I should send a note, so we can have a good long discussion :) I'll have a bit to share, hopefully. Seems like you've remained your contemplative and introspective self, the one who intrigues and challenges my own thoughts.