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étourdit de paroles
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Marik Ishtar: Rainha do Samba
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Syrinx: 1925
Syrinx: 1925 “The evening I met you, Emilio, was an extremely lucky one.” Federico sat on the piano bench in the Residencia common room, outlined against the murky green wallpaper that made the wood chairs and piano seem darker, like they grew out of the soil of the floorboards. He looked over at Emilio, a dark reed leaned against the oak frame of the doorway. Emilio held a glass of gin. He raised an eyebrow at Federico’s words. “Oh?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass. “Yes,” Federico said, looking up at him. “I went to a student recital at the University. The flutist played this sad littl
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Contest Entry: Surrealist XAZ
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With Wings and Arrows
With Wings and Arrows I dreamt I saw his ghost in every stoplight last night. The windows, black, speckled with porch lights like fireflies. And his hollow form misty in the glow of gas lamps along an old bar in some bodega stood watching, near the door, as I was trapped on stage with song snared in my teeth. His expression blank. I knew him in the space before the second hand. A form milk-white and lunar, more translucent than mercury, and eyes of shadow devoured every movement. My words were his, then. My mouth—inverted— sent promises tumbling like beads and grapes and hazelnuts. My hands reached out in blue si
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That Time
That Time Denis Flynn practically skipped down the sidewalk, sidestepping for bicyclists. If he had worn a fedora and khaki raincoat, he might’ve jumped onto the base of the next lamppost and start reenacting Gene Kelly’s performance of “Singing in the Rain,” even though it wasn’t raining. He rounded the corner and walked quickly into the coffee shop where he had arranged to meet Brigitte VanLeuven. “Denis! Comment vas-tu?” came the voice, and he turned to his right to see Brigitte getting up from her table, smiling at him. He walked over, smiling back. “Très bien, Brigitte, et toi?” he
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Temptation
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Lui qui est Espagne
Lui qui est Espagne J'ai désire que ta main touche l'absence des autres doigts dessous ma poignet. Il y a des fissures dans la peau : derrière que mon cou, avant le lobe de mon oreille. Tu as effacé ces cellules ci et là. Et les ruisseaux dans ces effacements sont pleins de poissons : les yeux vague avec les souvenirs de ton souffle, les nageoires transparents avec la perte de ton embrasse. Afin que j'ai rendu compte de l'air dans tes cheveux, j'ai su. La moment des doigts à travers de ma cheville a glissé comme un poisson sans agrafe.
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Coffee Shop Syrinx
Sonnet No. 3: Coffee Shop Syrinx Wave a palm frond underneath the moon and I'll know, exact, what your intent will be. I duck between reeds in unholy swoon: swing shut the gate of opportunity. Stalled like a truck, mouth slack and cheeks bright red, espresso grounds beneath my fingernails, I watch your eyes, willing mine instead to dry me up; crumble like sheets of shale. I know it well, that sting of sweat, eyes down on where the quicksand hardened in my throat before your smile, your amaretto frown, my lips like glass, as if I'd never spoke. I'd hoped a second shot was all I'd need to unglue myself before twined into a reed.
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Mon Reve de Liquide
Mon Rêve de Liquide Il glisse étrange comme la neige aux pierres d'une plage d'été. Sur les documents allume bleu-grise, signait avec mon nom, il vibre vite mercure. Mon nom est mouillé comme esprit. Je ne connais pas cette fleuve, ce lac encerclé avec les roseaux : C'est un pays étrange, son lit avec les oreillers et couvertures noirs. Fond le sommeil. Morpheus avec les yeux marrons, ses lèvres pointus ; deux montagnes de peau, des poches du sang. Et, en sonnant mon nom, sa voix se noyait à la menotte de sa couverture.
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Ink
Ink (on the image Love Hurts)                                                               Si je fais cette chose-là,                                                                                               est-ce qu'il me fait immortelle? I need this sand to erode the sclera. Granules rasp with the sweep of lashes because ink curves blue, fades in ash like Pompeii, angling open the mouth with a cry of white. Concrete in city wrinkles slate: so many words for wear, none fit through this tapered neck. These red grains flicked each star burnt under this valley. Concentrate, love, the curve of shoulder. Slope: Kilimanjaro
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See all
Marik Ishtar: Rainha do Samba
6
1
S
Syrinx: 1925
Syrinx: 1925 “The evening I met you, Emilio, was an extremely lucky one.” Federico sat on the piano bench in the Residencia common room, outlined against the murky green wallpaper that made the wood chairs and piano seem darker, like they grew out of the soil of the floorboards. He looked over at Emilio, a dark reed leaned against the oak frame of the doorway. Emilio held a glass of gin. He raised an eyebrow at Federico’s words. “Oh?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass. “Yes,” Federico said, looking up at him. “I went to a student recital at the University. The flutist played this sad littl
9
0
Contest Entry: Surrealist XAZ
12
5
W
With Wings and Arrows
With Wings and Arrows I dreamt I saw his ghost in every stoplight last night. The windows, black, speckled with porch lights like fireflies. And his hollow form misty in the glow of gas lamps along an old bar in some bodega stood watching, near the door, as I was trapped on stage with song snared in my teeth. His expression blank. I knew him in the space before the second hand. A form milk-white and lunar, more translucent than mercury, and eyes of shadow devoured every movement. My words were his, then. My mouth—inverted— sent promises tumbling like beads and grapes and hazelnuts. My hands reached out in blue si
2
1
T
That Time
That Time Denis Flynn practically skipped down the sidewalk, sidestepping for bicyclists. If he had worn a fedora and khaki raincoat, he might’ve jumped onto the base of the next lamppost and start reenacting Gene Kelly’s performance of “Singing in the Rain,” even though it wasn’t raining. He rounded the corner and walked quickly into the coffee shop where he had arranged to meet Brigitte VanLeuven. “Denis! Comment vas-tu?” came the voice, and he turned to his right to see Brigitte getting up from her table, smiling at him. He walked over, smiling back. “Très bien, Brigitte, et toi?” he
6
1
Temptation
9
1
L
Lui qui est Espagne
Lui qui est Espagne J'ai désire que ta main touche l'absence des autres doigts dessous ma poignet. Il y a des fissures dans la peau : derrière que mon cou, avant le lobe de mon oreille. Tu as effacé ces cellules ci et là. Et les ruisseaux dans ces effacements sont pleins de poissons : les yeux vague avec les souvenirs de ton souffle, les nageoires transparents avec la perte de ton embrasse. Afin que j'ai rendu compte de l'air dans tes cheveux, j'ai su. La moment des doigts à travers de ma cheville a glissé comme un poisson sans agrafe.
11
1
C
Coffee Shop Syrinx
Sonnet No. 3: Coffee Shop Syrinx Wave a palm frond underneath the moon and I'll know, exact, what your intent will be. I duck between reeds in unholy swoon: swing shut the gate of opportunity. Stalled like a truck, mouth slack and cheeks bright red, espresso grounds beneath my fingernails, I watch your eyes, willing mine instead to dry me up; crumble like sheets of shale. I know it well, that sting of sweat, eyes down on where the quicksand hardened in my throat before your smile, your amaretto frown, my lips like glass, as if I'd never spoke. I'd hoped a second shot was all I'd need to unglue myself before twined into a reed.
5
0
M
Mon Reve de Liquide
Mon Rêve de Liquide Il glisse étrange comme la neige aux pierres d'une plage d'été. Sur les documents allume bleu-grise, signait avec mon nom, il vibre vite mercure. Mon nom est mouillé comme esprit. Je ne connais pas cette fleuve, ce lac encerclé avec les roseaux : C'est un pays étrange, son lit avec les oreillers et couvertures noirs. Fond le sommeil. Morpheus avec les yeux marrons, ses lèvres pointus ; deux montagnes de peau, des poches du sang. Et, en sonnant mon nom, sa voix se noyait à la menotte de sa couverture.
20
0
I
Ink
Ink (on the image Love Hurts)                                                               Si je fais cette chose-là,                                                                                               est-ce qu'il me fait immortelle? I need this sand to erode the sclera. Granules rasp with the sweep of lashes because ink curves blue, fades in ash like Pompeii, angling open the mouth with a cry of white. Concrete in city wrinkles slate: so many words for wear, none fit through this tapered neck. These red grains flicked each star burnt under this valley. Concentrate, love, the curve of shoulder. Slope: Kilimanjaro
14
0
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Spotlight

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With Wings and Arrows
With Wings and Arrows I dreamt I saw his ghost in every stoplight last night. The windows, black, speckled with porch lights like fireflies. And his hollow form misty in the glow of gas lamps along an old bar in some bodega stood watching, near the door, as I was trapped on stage with song snared in my teeth. His expression blank. I knew him in the space before the second hand. A form milk-white and lunar, more translucent than mercury, and eyes of shadow devoured every movement. My words were his, then. My mouth—inverted— sent promises tumbling like beads and grapes and hazelnuts. My hands reached out in blue si
2
1
United States
Deviant for 14 years
Badges
Super Llama: Llamas are awesome! (10)
True love is...
...being able to play off of each other's Yu-Gi-Oh observations with obscure references (...or...spoilers? Probably spoilers). For instance... Husband Creature: What I love most about that movie is Kaiba saying "f*ck it" and punching a hole into the underworld... to play a card game. Licorice: I am pretty sure that was the exact plot of Black Orpheus.
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Me llevo tu media sonrisa...
"...la que dejaste escapar cuando te invité a salir." Replace "a salir" with "a luchar" and you have the reason why I made a prideshipping playlist for my dear friend who was crazy enough to see Dark Side of Dimensions with me (and who loves a good love/hate relationship and anything that approximates her Harry/Draco OTP). And I've been listening to said playlist while finishing up my capstone project for my master's degree pretty much on repeat. Because prideshipping totally goes with analyzing the transportation choices of older adults, apparently. But looking at fan art as a break from all these excel spreadsheets and informative w
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Research...
So, instead of doing the research I should be doing this evening, I'm doing research for a fanfiction I'm in the process of wrapping up. In the search for ancient Celtic grooming information, I came across this little gem: "Irish texts refer to hair so long and stiff that it would have impaled a falling apple. The Irish hero god CuChulainn is described this way, and it is added that his hair was of three colours, darkest near the scalp and lightest at the end. If he is a Hound constellation we can see the dimmer stars, or it could be the reference to the style of bleaching they learned to do." (from this blog: http://theceltsat.blogspot.com&
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Comments130

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transurrealistristan's avatar
transurrealistristanStudent General Artist
Re-adding my contacts from old account.
Licorice-Sama's avatar
awesome. I'll get right on that. congratulations on the switch!
transurrealistristan's avatar
transurrealistristanStudent General Artist
No problem.

I'm still unable to transition legally though.

Mom was supposed to get me the pill last year,but didn't.
Licorice-Sama's avatar
well, eventually you'll have your chance. Good luck!
transurrealistristan's avatar
transurrealistristanStudent General Artist
I am getting a breather though.Mom is going to help me get them as well as get me checked out.Professor Clark is willing to let me addressed as Male in Creative Writing now,which is a big relief,despite him having calling me Female for the past 9 weeks or so.
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lilpixi's avatar
lilpixiHobbyist General Artist
bitch your tagged! [link]