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About Deviant ready to be heartbrokenFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 13 Years
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Newest Deviations

            Andy's friends started a band called the Waverley Wearers, and since he couldn't play an instrument and they needed a drummer, they let him play drums. But he couldn't keep the beat and soon they grew tired and replaced him with a snake-hipped washout who claimed he was almost somebody once, but this was probably not true. On their first gig without Andy, the Waverley Wearers and their new old drummer got spotted and signed and were on their way to world domination. Or so it felt to Andy. Really, they were stuck on a bottom scraping small town tour opening for a band you've never heard of, unless they have "the poor man's band you've also never heard of" suffixed to their name.
            Still, the band was not the end for Andy. There were big things coming, he told himself. He couldn't allow himself to consider the possibility (the probability
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 5
               No one knew where the skull had come from. It might have been in the drama store for years. It didn't really matter anyway, as, for the moment, no one was paying it any attention. They were too busy preparing for the school play. Jocelyn was running over the final script, crossing out the references to anal sex the year twelves hoped she wouldn't notice. It was a bad move to let them write it themselves, but the class was so enthusiastic. And it would have been fine if the head hadn't decided that they should perform it at the end of term for their parents. At first Jocelyn was thrilled, until she realised the amount of work it would entail. But the students were so excited, and not just about the possibility of slipping allusions to bumming into a school-sanctioned production – and it would give Jocelyn the opportunity to make her name. This was her second year at St Bernadette's
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 4
A Lecture On Bears
An extract from “Giving Bear-th – An Exploration into Recent Revelations Regarding the Migratory Habits of the Ursine Genus in Search of Parental Fulfilment”
                 It is not yet common knowledge, but all bears are born in the same place. It’s true. We found this out only recently. Somewhere out in the wilds of Alaska - nowhere you’ve heard of, nowhere you could get to easily, and nowhere you’d want to, certainly not at the end of winter. That’s when they congregate. We used to think they hibernated the whole time but now we know otherwise. They wake up a couple of weeks before we think they’re going to, and head off on their journey. When we think they’re still sleeping. They leave extra early in the morning so we don’t notice, when it’s still dark. It’s a very good idea, so it’s not too late when they arrive. And they can grab
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 4
Random Stuff
I like cake much more in theory than in practise.
I pepper my conversation with it but I never buy it.
I like cakes that have breadcrumbs up the side but that's it.
Maybe a gateau too.
But apart from that. I don't like icing or buttercream or jam.
And I hate marzipan. ESPECIALLY marzipan.
Marzipan's for the birds.
Take the last road to Reykjavik
We'll meet again in Reykjavik
On the streets of Reykjavik
We'll be together again
Where rooftops are tipped with ice
Where little kids wear hats and gloves
We'll walk on frozen lakes with care
Reykjavik - let's go there
I've never been to Reykjavik
I've never been with you
But maybe we can make a plan
I'm scared to go alone
Isn't it sad for Little Boots
That now the window's closed
Though she came first
Her number never came up
Too many others came after
With brighter bleach and more facade
Think of poor Little Little Boots
Do you think she might be sad?
But why get trite for strangers?
The door was open but she didn't walk through
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 1 13
When he died, he was asked to come up with a sentence that embodied his existance. All he came up with was
He went to the toilet and sat in the cubicle so he wouldn't fall asleep in the open-plan office.
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 7
The only German I know
is Ich Liebe Dich.
It gets me into a lot of trouble.
Ich Liebe Dich, liebling.
Ich bin ein Berliner.
Kiss me. Kiss me.

(That bit's international.)
And then he's still hanging around
But the moment's gone
and I'm gone too but
he's close behind
calling to me in words I don't understand,
clutching my hands and my face and other things too so I have to say
Nir ist publick!
As though it means anything to him.
Never give your heart so freely.
Why would I want his when I don't know what to do with my own?
Das ist nicht my boyfriend.
Das ist mein noyfriend.
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 2 10
People Are Awful
People Are Awful
                  If I’d known what was going to happen that day, I probably would have broken up with him by phone. It’s not even my problem. It’s Ben’s problem. He was late. He’s always late. Not so much now, but anyway. He was late, and he knew I’d be angry. But I wasn’t angry because I knew that all I was going to say to him was:
                  It’s over, we’re finished, I’m ending it, I never want to see you again, we’re breaking up, you disgust me, I’m leaving, don’t call me.
                  So it didn’t bother me whether he was five minutes or ten minutes late, or an hour late, just so long as he turned up. I wouldn&
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 226 181
Art Star
                 Daniel stood awkwardly in the gallery. He wasn’t looking forward to this evening. In a sense, he had been waiting for it his whole life, but now that it had arrived, he felt ill. He had spent an exhausting afternoon installing his paintings, but now they seemed to wilt among the ultra-realistic, ornate landscapes or elaborate bowls of fruit exhibited by other artists. There were even uncanny facsimiles of homeless people, drawing attention to social issues. Daniel’s abstract slashes of paint seemed as complex as finger painting in comparison.
                 He had completed a circuit of the exhibition already, feeling increasingly intimidated as guests filtered in wearing vintage dresses and sharp shoes. He had never seen so many sunglasses aloofly worn as night fell. Daniel had spent a mom
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 5 9
This Actually Happened
We walked through darkened midnight streets past terraced houses frozen in a.m. bliss. It was neither cold not breezy; the first and so far only mild night of the year. We were the only living things, or so it felt. We walked on, and spoke of piffling things; love and fear and jokes only we understand and stories we think we heard
- - - - then draw to a simultaneous halt. There is a front window, there is a sheer gauzy curtain. There is a TV set. On it, we make out the image of a pneumatic blonde, dressed in pink, though not for long, as she peels off her bra to reveal a pair of potentially inauthentic, magnificent but indistinct breasts, censored by the netting.
The security light flashed on as we passed the house, but in our shocked lingering, it went off again. As my partner-in-curiosity decides we should move on, his motion causes the light to illuminate once more, attracting the attention of the Alpha voyeur within.
As the scanty image suddenly transforms into the blue of the inde
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 1 4
My girlfriend is going
to break up with me
soon. Before, she used
to jump in puddles so
I'd think she was cute.
Now she does it so
that she gets me wet.
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 5 15
Friday's Child
Friday's Child
Evan was full of love. He had been lucky in his life, and his only sorrow was that others should suffer. On his birthday, feeling privileged for forty good years, a young man stopped him in the street, and asked for change. Without thought, Evan emptied his pockets, giving his phone, his bus pass, his watch, then he took out his wallet, and gave him that as well. Less burdened, he continued until he was stopped by an elderly man, asking him for relief. He lived in a flat with no door or window panes, and the wind howled through and froze him to his core. Touched by the man's story, Evan gave him his house keys and directions to his abode, so he may freeze no more. Wandering further, Evan came across a homeless girl with a babe in arms, dressed in rags and imploring for aid. With tears gathering, Evan took off his coat and offered it to her. Then he removed his jacket, shirt and tie, and laid them at her feet. He kicked off his shoes and socks, pulled off his trousers and
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 7 9
Tick Yes or No
              David had never been gifted, but always enthusiastic, so he closed his eyes and thought of Emma on the bus,
              Emma, glorious on the bus, Emma on the threadbare worn seat as regal as if it was a sedan seat, as if she was being carried, as if every person who shyly avoided the near-atomic burn of her beauty were her footmen, just as every person on that bus would fall to their knees and let her stand on their backs, as though they were velvet capes to protect her most delicate and precious feet from treading upon the ground, that heathen ground, where the plebs and mortals walk, and every person on that bus who gazed upon her explosive visage knew that
              Emma was born to float above them, as her domain was not the world but the sky, for she was
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 4 12
Mature content
I Love You, Harry Gregor :iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 3 12
Tarantella - Oct 2008
                It began with a dame. It usually does. I had been lying awake listening to the rain crack off the windows. She rang in the middle of the night, and I answered immediately. ‘Meridian,’ I said as a hoarse greeting.
                On the other end, she gave a small gasp, as though she hadn’t expected anyone to answer. ‘Maxwell Meridian?’ she said in a timid voice.
                ‘Yeah,’ I said, sore to be disturbed at this hour. Next to me, Ellie stirred and turned her face away from me. If I knew her at all, she was faking sleep so she could listen in.
                ‘I need help,’ the girl on the phone said, t
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 4
Mature content
What A Waster, part 3 :iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 2
What A Waster part 2
5. Remedy
                Now relieved of the distraction of his relationship, Damien threw himself into his project with a new resolve. He found composing a social masterpiece surprisingly easy. It was as simple as keeping a diary, except that he remembered to write his book every day, instead of just once before abandoning it. The months passed and he built a nice routine of writing all week, with the dole office on Wednesdays to break up the monotony. By the time he had reached the six month mark, his new lifestyle seemed completely normal to him. One of his biggest concerns was how he would go back to an existence dictated by getting rid of refuse, instead of embracing it.
                Of course, the smell still turned him fro
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 0 2

Random Favourites

white by im-diogenes white :iconim-diogenes:im-diogenes 2 3 My Paper Heart by AshleyVicious My Paper Heart :iconashleyvicious:AshleyVicious 6 16
an obituary
He was weathered; having lived
through 4 (5?) dictatorships
and communism of the most obtuse.
A penut farmer, former herder,
former boy.
and we are left
one six-billionth of a whole.
:icontwobefore-sunrise:twobefore-sunrise 1 4
Lift your eyes.
Reach out your hand over borderlands and oceans.
Rest your hand in mine.
I love you through black and white postcards and back again.
Turn over the songs written before we were born
In the shadows built before our city had a name.
Put your lips to mine.
I love you through circuses and flowering cherries, I do.
An instant that never had to sign its name in tippex
A kiss that needed no key grip or gaffer
To brand itself into our hereafter.
I love you through tears and Roman candles, my only.
I have felt the day break around us
I've known the capturing ascent of your touch, your breath an absolution on my cheek.
I remember the sky that was here before you came.
Press your heart to mine.
I love you so much I don't know if you're beautiful.
:iconlazylinepainterjohn:LazyLinePainterJohn 1 6
Yellow roses
I will give you nothing quite so clichéd as a simile.
I will not assault those daybreak eyes, that torchsong spirit
with dubious adjectives. I will rein in my exaggerations
to stop the sky falling down on us.
I will spare you lists, I will spare you repetition,
I will spare you lists, I will spare you metaphors
like smokestacks on the lagoon
in the city I adore like I adore you
although I will not tell you this.
I'll turn no tricks of any kind
with dictionary picks or rhymes,
no sortilege nor sleight of mind
to catalogue my burning bind.
I will give you nothing quite so feckless as a balloon
nor as obvious as yellow roses
nor as artless as a love poem.
I'll leave it all unsaid.
But I promise nothing.
:iconlazylinepainterjohn:LazyLinePainterJohn 3 10
The tapir
     "Carry a torch for me, keep safe a taper"
     she whispered so quietly into his ear.
     Maybe too quietly. Eighteen months later
     He made her a gift of a full-grown tapir.
:iconlazylinepainterjohn:LazyLinePainterJohn 4 22
The secret miracle
               Now is the only tense,
     A pinned, unwithering atomic hush
               Wherein the iron burns
     Or doesn't and never could, and there's no sense
              To haste, nor good in such
     Devotions one might plot to make the axis turn.
               Time stops when you're not here
     And since you left this moment has grown heavy
               But hasn't budged an inch
:iconlazylinepainterjohn:LazyLinePainterJohn 4 51
Refridgerator poem 1 by JessaMar Refridgerator poem 1 :iconjessamar:JessaMar 11 20
Caesar olives
branching round his head
winner of the greats
yet loser of all.
A name in the stars
that twinkle to your nods
but no hand to hold
as they blink their love songs.
The bump in your nose
can be as refined as you please
but who shall it nuzzle?
That Fortunate Fall of yours
is starting to bruise a little, isn't it?
:icontwobefore-sunrise:twobefore-sunrise 2 2
She was a waitress in a cocktail bar, a mind-fearer, a healer of sorts and a cheater. Sometimes she was scared of her own thoughts, but she loved the arts and lived in her head anyway. Lying down with sorrows for music made her smile. She spent weekends out with friends, and shops, and the lodgers she knew so well. All the people in her life were so interesting she painted their shoes. A wounded cat sat on her old jacket in the corner of the kitchen. She'd found it and fed it and let it grow, it loved her too.
Her favourite pastime was the reading of old flowery poems. She would sit or stand and read lofty passages aloud, laughing occasionally. She laughed at their silly words, their idylls and naïve loves. She walked the streets, smiling; a new jumper in a bag. Her favourite colour was pink but she'd never admit it. The edges of her pages were beginning to curl. The sheets of her bed were always askew. Her cat smiled. Lemonade in a glass on a table at a café by the road next to the pa
:iconslidebeneaththecity:SlideBeneathTheCity 4 8
Mature content
weekended :iconslidebeneaththecity:SlideBeneathTheCity 2 4
set of three
Don't be a Faust, now;
     You've got the know how!
(But I can't stay
   because I just can't
support you, too)
Love Handles
Mai Tais on saturday mornings
      act like little Hawaiian nurses;
     there to make you feel
           like your love handles aren't
speckled with his crescent prints
"Fellatio isn't all I can do!"
     Her smile grew bitter
as she worked on his taxes.
:icontwobefore-sunrise:twobefore-sunrise 1 5
Aviator and a girl by p-p Aviator and a girl :iconp-p:p-p 1,487 199 Coda by TinkerKel Coda :icontinkerkel:TinkerKel 1 5
Mature content
eros-ion :iconbarnaby:Barnaby 4 9



ready to be heartbroken
United Kingdom
Current Residence: London Town via Northern Ireland
Favourite genre of music: Eurovision written by Serge Gainsbourg
Personal Quote: Sic transit gloria
Writing here played a huge part in my development as a writer (boke) and in my life. It is hard to remember a time when I didn't understand how to write, to beaver away in silence for hours, tearing out pages, giving up on beloved characters for the greater good, and sometimes for nothing at all. The writers and artists I encountered here mean a huge amount to me. But one by one, life gets in the way, people move on. I move on. I think it's time to attempt something new.

In future, all new writing will appear here:

Do stop by if you want to say hello.


Add a Comment:
tangled-up-in-blue Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2009
Maybe more cornrow-y if you have time.
tangled-up-in-blue Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2009
I went crazy awhile ago YOUKNOWJUSTFORFUN and I unwatched everyone, but I want to watch you again because I like you because your hair looks cool and I want you to do my hair like your hair but greener and uglier.
multicolourpirate Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2009
thankyou for the favourite on moustachesRawesome =P
swolfy Featured By Owner May 23, 2009
congratulations on your DD- and i really enjoyed reading your work :)
MacDoherty Featured By Owner May 24, 2009
Thank you so much, that's really sweet to say.
mode-de-vie Featured By Owner May 22, 2009  Student Writer
Congratulations on your daily deviation! :) I've placed a link to it in the sidebar of my journal page.
MacDoherty Featured By Owner May 22, 2009
Cool, thanks!
mystical-machine-gun Featured By Owner May 22, 2009
Congrats on your DD. :eager: :D
MacDoherty Featured By Owner May 22, 2009
Thank you! I'm thrilled.
tangled-up-in-blue Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2009
I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch what you said. You had spinach in your teeth and it distracted me. I didn't want to interrupt and tell you because it seemed like you were really into what you were talking about. But yeah, there's spinach in your teeth.

Jesus, try this souffle. That's your name, right?
Add a Comment: