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Joshua Duroux
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M-i-L

M

M-i-L

M-i-L No matter what, you always want to have control, At everyone's expense, You never listen to anyone whose views, Are not your own extravagance, You see the world in black and white, Refuse to know there's any other shade, And you expect that all around, Should live within the boundaries you have made, You must control, you can't let go, you'll never know, You will never understand, Just what it meant to hold her hand, And how she always made me whole, There's no room in your blackened soul, Just stay away, You locked your claws into her heart, Before she ever had the chance to grow, You tried to see your twisted vie
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My Life So Far

M

My Life So Far

My Life So Far by Joshua Duroux Series 1, Volume 1, Part 1, Chapter 1A, Even though my spawn certificate lists Mars, strictly speaking I was not born on the planet's surface, but rather in an orbiting hospistation. To begin my story properly, one must go back before the beginning. My father, mother and dutha were members of the Time Travelling Kidnap And Impregnate Future Generation Terran Human Beings Program, or BLXR for short. The Jovian Council, knowing that some future catastrophe would wipe out the settlements of several planets in the not too distant future, but unable to discover what the calamity would be, decided to experiment w
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Warning

W

Warning

Warning If this you are reading, then I must apologise, Because you’ll find that this poem is really nothing in disguise, It has no story, has no plot, nor any inspiration, In fact you’ll find just reading it a rather dull sensation, It won’t get any better, it, in fact, is getting worse, You probably would have more fun a-riding in a hearse, It only keeps the name of “poem” because it has a rhyme, Also the uncanny way it keeps itself in time, It probably would be best if you just stopped reading now, But instead you just keep ploughing, I can’t imagine how, I tried to give you good advice but found th

I Am

I

I Am

I Am I drink from the bottle, And eat from the box, For several days running, I wear the same socks, I like my cars fast, And my racing the same, But don’t interrupt, When I’m watching the game, My ego’s important, It needs to inflate, When I’m having a drink, Down the pub with my mates, I couldn’t be bothered, With trinkets and gardens, And romance and thank yous, And sorries and pardons, I like action movies, And fictional science, And see nothing wrong, With a good bit of violence, I feel in control, And I like to take charge, (And I secretly wish, Everyone called me, “Sarge,”) Do

Titan

T

Titan

Titan She calls, And the Titan answers, Rising over her, To stare down at her flesh, Pulsing, waiting, She has control over the Titan, Which wants to delve into the dark and wet, But not yet does she let it go, The Titan quivers in expectation, Eager to please her, To bend to her will, She knows the Titan waits, She can sense its tension, Feel its desire, The Titan tries to remain tamed, But its instinct strives to take over, Eventually the Titan can no longer contain itself, And, diving back into its realm, She feels the salt spray upon her skin, But still she knows she has control over the Titan, That it will always com

What to Write About

W

What to Write About

I Can’t Think What to Write About I feel like writing a new song, That will make people sing along, But when I try, there’s something wrong, I can’t think what to write about, I’d like to make it top the charts, I have to try and use my arts, But everything’s in fits and starts, I can’t think what to write about, I could just stick to tried and true, And write a song of me and you, But when I try to do that, too, I can’t think what to write about, I could be shocking, try my luck, Controversy can make a buck, But rhyming swear words, I get stuck, I can’t think what to write about, I

Nightbird

N

Nightbird

Nightbird For SW A beautiful bird flies by in the night, And alights next to me, I reach out and cradle her in my hands, She is unsure of my touch, I hold her loosely and delicately, So she can fly away whenever she wants, She is at once dark and pale, Fragile and strong, Delicate and perceptive, Lost and purposeful, I know she is perfect, I want nothing more than for her To stay with me, To give myself to her, And for her to be mine, Yet I cannot trap her, I cannot close my hands around her, She can never be caged, She must always be allowed to fly into the night again, I feel her heart beating, And I know she is fright
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M-i-L

M

M-i-L

M-i-L No matter what, you always want to have control, At everyone's expense, You never listen to anyone whose views, Are not your own extravagance, You see the world in black and white, Refuse to know there's any other shade, And you expect that all around, Should live within the boundaries you have made, You must control, you can't let go, you'll never know, You will never understand, Just what it meant to hold her hand, And how she always made me whole, There's no room in your blackened soul, Just stay away, You locked your claws into her heart, Before she ever had the chance to grow, You tried to see your twisted vie
0Comments

My Life So Far

M

My Life So Far

My Life So Far by Joshua Duroux Series 1, Volume 1, Part 1, Chapter 1A, Even though my spawn certificate lists Mars, strictly speaking I was not born on the planet's surface, but rather in an orbiting hospistation. To begin my story properly, one must go back before the beginning. My father, mother and dutha were members of the Time Travelling Kidnap And Impregnate Future Generation Terran Human Beings Program, or BLXR for short. The Jovian Council, knowing that some future catastrophe would wipe out the settlements of several planets in the not too distant future, but unable to discover what the calamity would be, decided to experiment w
0Comments

Warning

W

Warning

Warning If this you are reading, then I must apologise, Because you’ll find that this poem is really nothing in disguise, It has no story, has no plot, nor any inspiration, In fact you’ll find just reading it a rather dull sensation, It won’t get any better, it, in fact, is getting worse, You probably would have more fun a-riding in a hearse, It only keeps the name of “poem” because it has a rhyme, Also the uncanny way it keeps itself in time, It probably would be best if you just stopped reading now, But instead you just keep ploughing, I can’t imagine how, I tried to give you good advice but found th

I Am

I

I Am

I Am I drink from the bottle, And eat from the box, For several days running, I wear the same socks, I like my cars fast, And my racing the same, But don’t interrupt, When I’m watching the game, My ego’s important, It needs to inflate, When I’m having a drink, Down the pub with my mates, I couldn’t be bothered, With trinkets and gardens, And romance and thank yous, And sorries and pardons, I like action movies, And fictional science, And see nothing wrong, With a good bit of violence, I feel in control, And I like to take charge, (And I secretly wish, Everyone called me, “Sarge,”) Do

Titan

T

Titan

Titan She calls, And the Titan answers, Rising over her, To stare down at her flesh, Pulsing, waiting, She has control over the Titan, Which wants to delve into the dark and wet, But not yet does she let it go, The Titan quivers in expectation, Eager to please her, To bend to her will, She knows the Titan waits, She can sense its tension, Feel its desire, The Titan tries to remain tamed, But its instinct strives to take over, Eventually the Titan can no longer contain itself, And, diving back into its realm, She feels the salt spray upon her skin, But still she knows she has control over the Titan, That it will always com

What to Write About

W

What to Write About

I Can’t Think What to Write About I feel like writing a new song, That will make people sing along, But when I try, there’s something wrong, I can’t think what to write about, I’d like to make it top the charts, I have to try and use my arts, But everything’s in fits and starts, I can’t think what to write about, I could just stick to tried and true, And write a song of me and you, But when I try to do that, too, I can’t think what to write about, I could be shocking, try my luck, Controversy can make a buck, But rhyming swear words, I get stuck, I can’t think what to write about, I

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XVIII

I am seven years old. I'm on the road, hard-packed dirt, but there aren't many stones. I'm facing away from the trees, branches bridged 'cross the road, casting it in shadow. I don't want to go that way. Ahead of me the road divides the higher ground to my left, and the lower ground to my right: fields of tall grass sectioned by run-down barbed-wire fences, and rotten posts, and dotted with wooden houses. It's sunrise. The time of morning that Clarice heard the lambs screaming. But I've never heard of Clarice. I am seven years old, and I know nothing. Nothing, except that I have to run as far and as fast as I can. So I run. --- I

WIP. ???

W

WIP. ???

It used to be a driving force, clearly defined and pointed, like a spike driven through my mind, an axle or axis for the gears to turn /my world/ on; and maybe that's why I feel the need to stick rods through my head to keep it from falling apart; to stop the rattling of all those loose gears… or maybe that's just the sound of all the bullets I imagined blowing my head apart with. I should have enough holes for enough pins to keep my head together now.

September 28

S

September 28

Who choked the breath from the wind that, when streaking 'cross mid-winter skies in summer-time, could not scream for help or saviour, but rather stole the footsteps someone carried across your grave, and left it turning and churning in silence…much like the wind.

Oven Gods.

O

Oven Gods.

Bella stared wistfully up at the kitchen bench. Somewhere up there, she knew, was something delicious. I'd thrown her a small piece of hot salami, and she was now as persistent as a seagull. Her eyes bulged in desperation as I picked up my plate and carried it over to the oven to transfer the toast, now laden with cheese, back to the grill. Cautiously she followed, her eyes never once leaving sight of the plate. As I slid the toast underneath the grill she gave a slight half-wag of her tail – a question. "We have to tithe to the Oven Gods, Bella," I explained to her. "If we offer gifts to the Oven Gods they will give us good health, good har

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVII

Roots, bloody roots! ...and I'm finding mine, deep in the clotted soil, moist with blood. I'm overdosing on Nymphetamine, and flicking through my dictionary. I'm embracing my demons, I'm accepting this fairytale existence. Soon the blood will be thick with soil... Roots, these veins that bind me to life!

Photosynthesis.

P

Photosynthesis.

I wonder that you never heard the silent prayers I pressed against your skin with my lips, begging forever with quiet adoration, or violent tempests of deep desire. How did you dismiss me so? Carelessly brushed aside, I made no complaint, did not protest your disregard, and kept it firmly within. Wait, and do not want. My only 'forevers' were the vast expanses of twilight that, when sunstruck, would fill my head, unravelling for eternity. How could you not understand why I felt so trapped? Here, with infinity laid before me, and even after, and I was too afraid to take a step in any direction. Perhaps more than my eyes are closed… When

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVI

I'm going to make words mean something to me again... (:

The Cold War.

T

The Cold War.

I cannot see without these eyes, and you can't see with yours, night draws in around us and she's stalking me like death, the voices in the wind that whisper, scream like creeping agony, split thighed on the mountainside the moon gasps hard for breath, and you are just a prisoner of each and every one. Bring me back to tranquil, the utter calm you stirred with haste, 'pon the breath you blew my way, laden with your wicked love, and chaos brought ye unto me, dispersed unto the frame and walls, with quick seduction deftly pushed the rigid envelope that bent above, and tore clean off to bring them down around me, burning. The rib cage

WIP - Forever.

W

WIP - Forever.

It seemed that the stone walls could not breathe, and Arielle was glad she did not have to. The chapel was ill-lit, there were no candles on the altar, no torches in the brackets, and the fireplaces were empty. Grey light swamped the room, and Arielle wondered how God could be here when His light could not penetrate the murk. She had come to pray and seek guidance at the monastery. There wasn't another holy place for miles around and so she sought spiritual refuge here. Flickering light filtered in from the torches that lined the windowless corridor adjacent to the chapel.  Black robed figures passed silently in single file along the corrid

Spotlight

Red Sky

R

Red Sky

Red Sky The sky is red, And the dust settles on the empty lands, That were once called Soul, The sky is red, Yet where is the brightness, The burning light that shines for others, That opens the path for so many? I seek it, yet I cannot find, The sky is red, But still no stars appear in its depths, No clouds, No echoes of light from times past, Once the breeze was young and fresh, Bringing with it the hope of discovery, With a hint of existence, Now it blows cold and harsh over the dry, cracked ground, Too empty even for despair, Yet still, it carries the slightest hint of music, A melody so beautiful that it almost speaks
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Artist
Badges
Llama: Llamas are awesome! (3)
My Bio
Current Residence: Sydney
Favourite cartoon character: Daffy Duck

Favourite Visual Artist
Too many to list
Favourite Movies
The Star Wars saga
Favourite Writers
Banjo Patterson, Charles Dickens
Favourite Games
Zelda, Ocarina of Time is still the best game I've ever played
Favourite Gaming Platform
Nintendo
Tools of the Trade
Musical instruments, recording gear, my voice, my hands and feet
Other Interests
The arts, history, science, politics

If I created a poll, would you vote in it?

  |  5 votes
  • Yes
  • No
  • Speckled purple wombats
  • Who are you?!

Post modernism

Post modernism

When you think about it, this is an exceedingly strange term. How can anything possibly be post modern? It's a contradiction! Post modern must always at the least be tomorrow, and tomorrow never actually comes. Tomorrow is nothing more than an etherial ideal, a transient thought of future possibilities. Tomorrow when the post began.
1Comments

My Nightbird

My Nightbird

I had such a wonderful day yesterday. Truly one of the best of my life! I was so excited to finally take her out somewhere. Ah, and then to feel her arms around me! I almost melted! To hold her next to me, standing there in the tunnel at Museum Station, feeling nervous and shy, believe it or not! Just dying to kiss her but actually scared to for some strange reason! He he! And then when our lips met. . . no, I can't even try to find mere words to describe it! Artists have spent millennia trying to describe love, and have failed, because it is impossible to say in words, music, painting, anything, how that emotion, how all the other emotions

Comments 201

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Caileagh-FaoileagStudent Writer
Thank you for the favourites ^-^
Caileagh-FaoileagStudent Writer
Thank you for the favourite. :P
:icondummydanceplz:
Caileagh-FaoileagStudent Writer
Thank you for the favourite :P
:heart:
JakndaxkingdomHobbyist General Artist
hi :wave: thanks for the re-add :hug:
Caileagh-FaoileagStudent Writer
Thankies! ^-^
:+fav:
Caileagh-FaoileagStudent Writer
Thankies for the favourites
^-^
:heart: