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About Deviant Peter AdamsMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Literature
Install
I stood in the corner watching the crows. I was vaguely aware that someone was talking to me excitedly but I'd tuned out their voice and the voices of the others long ago.
People milled around the room peering at the installations I had created for my own amusement. Hunks of universal crap that I had lost interest in well before these people discovered they existed and would somehow enrich their lives and increase their social standing to be seen near.
My mind momentarily returned to this realm.
"This one in particular... I just find the imagery a stark assault on my senses, but an assault that time has decreed NEEDS to happen. I feel it somehow tears down my preconceived conceptions of the world and forces me to reappraise my view of the world..."
I walked over to her, this old hen... older than she wanted to be. The oils and scubs and skin treatments and no doubt, surgery, that she'd applied to her face over the years couldn't hide the old body the younger face was attached to. Like
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Literature
His Angels
He looked normal to me. He dressed in a shirt and jeans and spoke about day to day things. He claimed that he died in the desert. He was a man with stones in his hands. The stones weighed him down and he collapsed. His burden too great.
Then the angels came. They came with golden cords and carried him up. They took his burdens and healed his wounds.
He awoke in a tomb where men claimed he had been brought by angels. His angels. He's died and risen. Like Jesus.
Now he saw angels everywhere. His angels. In the street and on the bus. He told me that angels stood in the staff canteen. Next to the bins. I wondered why they would stand there. Next to the bins. Perhaps they were waiting for someone to throw something away.
He looked normal, this man. Except he saw angels. His angels. Angels everywhere.
People called him The Angel Man.
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Literature
That Funny Girl...
Her brain was wrong. This is what she told people. Those that would listen. They were few and far between. She was funny they'd say. She would laugh in public. In private she would cry. Cried until she could cry no more. She worried when the tears dried up all she would be left with was blood. She worried alone.
She would wander the streets. People who didn't know her name knew her face. That funny girl, they thought. She would smile, but, no-one spoke to her. Too funny for words.
They would reminisce later "I used to see her around. Funny girl."
Funny no more.
He said he liked her because she was special. He liked her because she was vulnerable. He
was attracted to it. But that night her eyes burst and she was drowing in tears. It wouldn't
stop and he couldn't help. He walked away and left the funny girl. And when the tears turned to blood no-one was there. He didn't care.
The funny girl wasn't funny no more.
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Literature
faq912
q. "Why do you seem to hate me so?"
a. No matter where I go
No matter who I see
I've never met anyone
more special to me.
Thus is why I hate you so;
you are the world in my soul,
this you deny me,
'lo I despise you,
this is why I hate you so.
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Literature
Ode to My Fat Arse
My arse is huge and fat,
like an disturbingly swollen cat,
who's abdominal infection,
is beyond retraction,
and that is the end of that...
My arse is mammothly vast,
like an ancient remembered past,
Full of great battles and wars,
and people keeping scores,
And the building of empires to last...
My arse is the size of a planet,
etc...
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Literature
Sleep Now...
I wish to slip away
A little death
Just for a while
To have a rest
Please watch my body
While I'm dead
Make sure no animal
Steals my head
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Linux Support Flow-Chart by PRAEst76 Linux Support Flow-Chart :iconpraest76:PRAEst76 1 1
Literature
The Arse Goblins
My daddy is a farter,
and it stinks an awful lot.
He says there are goblins up his arse,
cooking old peppers in a pot.
My daddy thought it funny.
My mummy was dismayed.
She made daddy see a doctor,
But the goblins chased him away.
So Mummy took Daddy to hospital,
Where they sent police dogs up his arse,
They took all the goblins away in a Van!
They removed their cooking pot in a cart.
Now you won't hear my daddy fart so much,
But on occasion... you just might, 'coz
I think they missed a goblin or two,
And they're having old peppers for dinner that night...
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Peter Adams
United Kingdom
Current Residence: Belfast, Northern Ireland
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium
Favourite genre of music: Industrial
Favourite photographer: Depends on mood
Favourite style of art: Depends on mood
Operating System: Linux
MP3 player of choice: Amarok
Shell of choice: Bash
Wallpaper of choice: Flock
Skin of choice: Scandinavian
Favourite cartoon character: Brock Sampson
Personal Quote: 13
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