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About Deviant Mr. Hauntingston, I presume.United States Group :iconpublish-write: Publish-Write
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Literature
L'amante dell'ingegnere, Part Due
The road before her rippled, blurred, splashed clear just to become rippled again.
The squeak-click of the wind-shield wipers set against the cacophony of raindrops as she drove down the beltway.
"A hundred 'n twenty thousand?" the man had asked, his voice cracking on the final word, "We don't have that kind of money anymore. You know that. R&D's been slashed by five percent every year since 2008; we're lucky the whole department hasn't been gutted."
"I know," she'd responded, her eyes trained on the man's left cheekbone, "but I also know that he's the only reason you've produced anything in the past decade."
The man had turned and looked out the window at the building across the street, tinted glass reflecting towers of turgid cumulonimbus. "He needs to be handled. I'd have given him that by now if I didn't have to keep Lorentz's team constantly checking in on him. They've not been able to take on as many projects with him there."
The highway was a riverbed. As she rounded the curve h
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Literature
Rain Girl
She stepped out of the rain, the girl did. Her hair was straight and brown and, drenched, hung to her waist. She tasted like petrichor and ozone, and in the gloom of the dawn rain her eyes glimmered with the promise of lightning. For what purpose she found me I know not; she came and vanished in a quarter hour, and no one saw her but I. Perhaps the next rain she will return, in the early morning spring showers.
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Literature
L'amante dell'ingegnere
Sometimes he would arrive home covered in chalk dust, his fingers leaving white streaks on her perfectly manicured counters.
She would sigh and wet a dishcloth or a napkin and wipe each of his fingers clean while he sat, ovine. Then she would send him off to shower, and would wipe down the counters again. As he returned to the kitchen she would hand him a skillet and a styrofoam container with chicken or beef and go vacuum the chalk sprinkled liberally on the beige of their bedroom carpet and the white linoleum of their bathroom.
She had tried a Roomba once, but he had taken it apart and now they have a robot lawnmower frightening the neighbor's dogs. Before that she had in a burst of feminist rage sent him to clean up his own mess, and found him thirty minutes later standing in a pile of gears and corkscrew blades and covered in dust from the opened canister.
When she returned to the kitchen he would be setting the table with matching plates and forks on the wrong side, and she would
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Literature
If the sun was a man
If the sun was a man
I would curl inside his arms
And he would keep me warm
And my blood would be
Happy
Until winter
If the wind was a woman
She would dance around me
And I would turn to
Catch her
But I'd be clumsy
Stumbling
And she would blow away
Taking my breath
And 
My blood
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Literature
Tribute to Thorton Wilder
I soared back from beyond into the past. The darkness dragged against my shoulders until I burst from within it and plunged invisible into the pond. The pond was murky brown and the water moved before me as I pushed to the floor. Were it not for the heaviness of water above me I could still have been in the dark, so weak was the moonlight that tried to penetrate the algal covering.
I ascended through the water then and breached the surface by the shore, water sloshing ahead of me as I climbed out on forearms still strong. I became visible and considered entering through the walls of the house before me, ghosting incorporeally where no matter could go, but I decided to leave my grandmother to sleep in the brick walls of the house in which she spent the last of her days. I spun into the air and back into the past, vanishing once more.
Through the darkness I cut, my destination surer and the distance shorter. I arrived hovering above another house, one several hundred miles from the last,
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Literature
Best be...
The individualist says "It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not."
The martyr says "It is better to be hated than to hate, to love than to be loved."
The histrionic says "It is better to be hated than ignored."
The troll says "It is better to be hated (as long as you're anonymous)."
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Literature
Immortality
Your face at the window
For one moment
And then we were in the car
Driving through the night
Faster and faster,
Blowing through limits and laws and even gravity
Our faces buffeted by wind
From windows thrown open
The music pounded and pleaded
From melancholy to soaring
Swooping up, diving down
We stopped to let the night air in
To watch the clouds and hear the voices
Of a thousand tiny companions in the overgrown grass
We drove onward, faster,
Lifted up out of reality
Transcending simple time
And for one night, we were immortal.
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Literature
Snowman
Patiently
With gloved hands and wet fists
He scooped the powdered ice
And rolled it across the ground
Building size and slowing speed
Until it rested on the ground
He then gathered another ball
And rolled it until it was
Like the first
But smaller
Then he made a head
A third ball of snow
With buttons and carrots
Then he leaned against his creation
And slept soundly and safely and not alone
The sun rose high that day
And the sky cleared
And temperatures climbed
He woke up with red cheeks
To find himself with his head
On the damp grass
His hood all soggy
The snow had vanished
Into the sky, into the ground
And once again
He was alone
Happiness melted all away.
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Literature
Secrets
Secrets are fuzzy
Closely kept companions that
Keep you warm at night
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Literature
December 21
It was December 21, the shortest day of the year. The night before in had rained, which almost never happened in December near Boston, so the snow was off the ground and the roads has drained of ice. Margot Ellerbee was on her way home from work at the McDonald's, driving through the dark. She stared at the road ahead blindly, thinking about how her stove at home was too much like the fryers at work and how she wished that she could get herself to cook because it was cheaper but she didn't ever seem to have time and so she would be going to Taco Bell. Her headlights caught a glimpse of something on the side of the road, white and rather large, but she passed by. It was probably garbage or something.
John Witherspoon had just finished a rough day at the office. Maybe it was the unseasonably warm temperatures or something, but everyone seemed out to get him today. First Rachel, his boss's secretary, had forgotten to e-mail him the memo that he was supposed to go to the meeting, and then
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Literature
Arctic Haiku
On ice, stranded seal
Newborn, cold, approaches heat
Warm, sleeping, white bear.
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Literature
Art
We dance in the rain
While the clouds of soot and smoke
Shroud the burning Earth
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Literature
Null
Black spirals of ink bleed from pages of inconsequential nothings. The words dance in lightning strikes and crooked lines, a carbon stick figure of thought, never stopping, never curving, hard angles and hard edges and hard colors. Ideas are effervescent; ephemeral are ideas. Why does the dictionary not match the mind? Why does the mind not match the dictionary? What is lost between the fluid connotation and the solid denotation? Where is the gas?
Hurly burly zinging seraphim gash fragments lying crying, sighing sadness.
The characters all lie dead in unmarked graves. The story is over because it could never begin. And now we search for organs lost, in resurrection lost still. Found is nothing; everything is now potential.
So begins; the end is past.
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Literature
A Tunnel
You're walking through a dark tunnel. You've been down it so long that you can't turn around; not any more. The sound of stones against your sneakers echoes off the walls, reverberating like a sinister didgeridoo. You are alone in the dark.
Then you see it. A light. At the end of the tunnel.
Energy flows back into your veins. You run forward –
– and trip over a wooden slat.
That's when you hear the whistle.
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Literature
Red is a Nice Color
Watch it fall.
See how it accelerated toward the ground; faster, faster it goes.
See it catch the light and sprinkle rubies.
See the trail of flighty liquid streaming behind.
See it kiss the ground, and fly into seven hundred and forty-two tinkling pieces.
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Literature
Bird
I keep a little bird
In a cage beneath my coat
With every beat of my heart
I want to let it go
And let it sing
But
Around me are a thousand people
With guns poised and ready
To shoot to kill
Anything with feathers
For the fun of it
And I know if my bird sings
I will be filled with holes
And so will my bird
So I keep silent
And hope that we will survive
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Random Favourites

Literature
it's not hard to fall
I'm trying not to be predictable
So this probably won't be what you have grown used to me telling you.
Because I'm refusing to write to you about how I love the shape of your spine or how I love the curve of your fingers around your pencil or that sometimes I want nothing more than to kiss your shoulder blades where your wings must have once been in some other life.  
I don't want to tell you that when I listen to your voice through the noise of the phone, I can feel the earth cracking under my bare feet, fault lines where I never thought there were any and I don't want to tell you that every time you hang up, I always clutch the phone tightly to my chest for as long as it takes to teach myself once more how to breathe.
I'm not going to confess to you that your eyelashes are like fishing lines and your irises hold the moon and how you stole the stars away from me with your brilliance years ago.  I will not confess that I sometimes stare at you when the teacher is ta
:iconSweet-Bloody-Tears:Sweet-Bloody-Tears
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Literature
Now.
We used to hold hands and run through parks and hide behind trees big enough to have a tea party in.  The pebbles we dashed over by the lakebed were the surface of the moon and there was a sea monster in the raging rapid water.  We used to have pick-nicks in the rain on a checkered blanket and peel our grapes with our teeth to pretend that they were eyeballs.  And I used to play the guitar for you, little songs that my uncle taught me on the weekends and we would sing together and it the sun would set so, so slowly because the angels always gave us time to be happy.
We used to buy balloons by the pack and inflate them one by one and you would always tie them for me because I never go the hang of it.  You would always blow up the red ones first and then, when we were surrounded by a rainbow of air-filled rubber, we would throw them into the air, never caring that they barely touched the towering treetops before sailing back down like a rain that s
:iconSweet-Bloody-Tears:Sweet-Bloody-Tears
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Chocolate Addict. by Sweet-Bloody-Tears Chocolate Addict. :iconsweet-bloody-tears:Sweet-Bloody-Tears 6 10
Literature
ephemeral
we were fifteen years old when you took me into your room,
   the room we had spent a childhood eternity in.
       you peeled back my clothes and looked at me – really
           looked  at me– for the first time.  
                                                this is my body, this is my blood
we were tangled limbs on sheets we once used as a tent
   that summer when we camped in your backyard
       the time where i cut my wrist on the dead tree branch
           and the blood was the biblical sea of re
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Literature
She is...
     She is the one who can make music with her eyes closed.  She can string melodies together with piano fingers and a sunshine voice to go with it.  Her fingers are like dancers on dusty keys, crying out beauty into the cerulean sky as the wind hums and dusk begins its decent.  Her voice is like dewdrops on willow boughs and honey on lily pads.  
     She will write me a lullaby to put me to rest when the stars are out and I can't fall asleep.
     She is the one who is always late on her arrival.  She is the one who promises that she'll be on time next time, but she says it with a smile that melts the mind and renders words unintelligible.  She is the one who takes my hand in the hallways and walks me through the throngs of people, but I feel like it's just the two of us as each step pushes us closer together.  
    
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:iconsweet-bloody-tears:Sweet-Bloody-Tears 4 2
Please,Love Me by Birthstone Please,Love Me :iconbirthstone:Birthstone 297 143 Fanservice meme- Xeno by SelanPike Fanservice meme- Xeno :iconselanpike:SelanPike 14 3
Literature
I Can't Understand
Everyday for her, is a chore to get up
Because she know that it means leaving her home
And stepping into reality
She has felt first hand how cold it is on the other side
Because she was treated like a shadow
And that wasn't bad, really
Because shadow's can't get hurt
But then, she suddenly wasn't a shadow anymore
She was a target and they kept getting bullseye
She got smirks and snikers and sneers
And beatings and black eyes and bullies
And she was told that she had no hope left
No salvation, no redemption
She was told that even hell didn't want her
She was told that she was the worst kind of evil
The kind of evil that brought down kingdoms
And families and would stain her name red forever
And she didn't know what she had done wrong
Because she wasn't a killer and she wasn't a liar
She wasn't a theif and she wasn't a monster
She wanted to know, so badly, what she had done so wrongly
To make all of these people hate her
And when they told her the reason, she didn't understand
Because ho
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Rainbow injection by soadpedro Rainbow injection :iconsoadpedro:soadpedro 4 4 Practical Heroism- Villain by SelanPike Practical Heroism- Villain :iconselanpike:SelanPike 22 3 Making Friends by humon Making Friends :iconhumon:humon 5,842 822 Evil FTW: Try. by SelanPike Evil FTW: Try. :iconselanpike:SelanPike 7 3
Literature
A Prayer
We're feral cats with battlescars
Or paths that early end
Our grandparents are dying stars
Our secrets spice the wind
These bullets paint our inner heart
With stories lost to pain
The masters of an empty art
Remembrance keeps us sane
When daddy dearest drank again
And mommy's photos tore
You promised we were fearless men
Brave soldiers gone to war
But I believe in fairy tales
These screaming years are lies
I hope to God your words are nails
That hammer in goodbyes
We're brittle poems with punctured chests
Just brittle little words
We come from crooked dirty nests
As crooked little birds
Our novels stain the concrete walls
With ink from metal cans
We wrote of bloody sidewalk brawls
And cut-up calloused hands
We're ashes mixed in deathly snow
Fresh victims of a knife
We left our families long ago
To fight in vain for life
Our culture feeds on apathy
This taste upon my tongue
A tart design unwrapped in me
The war crimes of the young
Two boys gashed red in white debris
Two treasons left un
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StupidFireFox by eychanchan StupidFireFox :iconeychanchan:eychanchan 14,793 1,134 Sleeping by Akai-hana Sleeping :iconakai-hana:Akai-hana 548 73

Activity


I'm gonna die at college doing NaNoWriMo. Or maybe just lose.

11339 words! I wish I could remember what I was talking about in my last journal entry. I could use the plot.
  • Listening to: Avalon
  • Reading: Carry Me Like Water -- Bejamin Alire Sáenz
  • Watching: People
  • Playing: Dr. T. J. Eckleberg
  • Eating: Dining hall food
  • Drinking: Water that tastes like poweraid for some reason

deviantID

Sesquipedaliaphile
Mr. Hauntingston, I presume.
United States
Oops. I need to keep friends longer...

Comments


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:iconthegreataikosama:
TheGreatAikoSAMA Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2012
You seriously still visit this place?
Well, I'm on here all the freaking time but...
Reply
:iconsesquipedaliaphile:
Sesquipedaliaphile Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2012
Not often.
Reply
:iconthegreataikosama:
TheGreatAikoSAMA Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2012
Oh, pity.
Reply
:iconthegreataiko-sama:
THEGREATAIKO-SAMA Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2011  Hobbyist
Hey, buddy, do you have that story where the gay guy fell off a cliff?
Reply
:iconsesquipedaliaphile:
Sesquipedaliaphile Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2011
Er I prefer not to ever think of anything I wrote more than three years ago but probably.
Reply
:iconthegreataiko-sama:
THEGREATAIKO-SAMA Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2011  Hobbyist
oh, I was requested to find it for this undisclosed person.
Reply
:iconsesquipedaliaphile:
Sesquipedaliaphile Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2011
Finding it would be a pain.
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconthegreataiko-sama:
THEGREATAIKO-SAMA Featured By Owner Jun 25, 2011  Hobbyist
You still come on this website?
Reply
:iconsesquipedaliaphile:
Sesquipedaliaphile Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2011
No, never.
Reply
:iconthegreataiko-sama:
THEGREATAIKO-SAMA Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2011  Hobbyist
Clever.

So, did your bromance ever sort out?
Reply
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