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vomitPaul -bemused and inexplicably mortified after the event of which he still bore the stubborn stains on his clothes- remembered that awkward, unnaturally childlike, constantly trembling and blank faced classmate of his, who had very tactlessly been nicknamed 'vomit'.
Poking ruthless fun at Vomit was everyone's guilty pleasure, but Paul was a sort of silent misfit fringe-monkey type in the school environment, and openly but not loudly objected to the common practice while keeping a safe compassionate distance. In the hidden depths of his shaky adolescent soul Paul feared that Vomit was contagious and that due to his lack of any firm membership he also lacked the immunity to fatal playground diseases. When in the 11th grade Vomit began barking at people, biting his books and tripping over himself, Paul had felt a dark raw discontent with his self he felt his heart slow with every one of Vomit's downfalls- , but had kept to himself and watched Vomit's despair from his own
suburbian adolescenceΣαν εφηβική ασημένια θλίψη
χύθηκε στους δρόμους
ένα παράξενο σύνθημα,
αφού ο κόσμος ήταν έρημος
εκείνη τη μέρα (όπως κάθε βράδυ).
Εβλεπες απ' τα μπαλκόνια
στα παράθυρα ν' αστράφτου
silence 2Κι η σιωπή
πιο σαρωτική από ποτέ
έρχεται να επισκεφτεί
τα αμέτρητα σώματα της.
Αυτά που ξενίζει
και αφήνει δίπλα στα κρεβάτια τους
δίπλα στην ιατρική γνωμάτευση
ανθοδέσμες και περαστικά.
Μα που τ
silence 1Μ' αρέσει ο περίπατος της σιωπής
τις ώρες που η θάλασσα κοιμάται
και τα παιδιά ψηλώνουν κρυφά.
Ζωγραφίζει κελί από φώσφορο
κι από πηχτό σκοτάδι
αγάπη από άδικο
κι από θυμό πλασμένη.
Οι τοίχοι ανατρ
cosmonaut fishbowlPerhaps the one thing Patrick Shore could do well enough in his life was to run. He would lower his head -whether it be with helplessness, determination, humility or a mystical greatness, or all at once, it was difficult to pin down- and barely looking he would take himself where he had been seen running before, but he never noticed whether he was noticed, except for the occasion when he would pass Andrea Storm, a divinely cold cryptic creature with a permanent sound cloud around her head and a half dark bitter haze of premature sophistication in her eyes.
Andrea's eyelashes stuck together of too much mascara, she would grit her teeth painfully behind her perfect but always solemn lips, and she couldn't swim inspite of her resemblance to mermaids and sirens, but Patrick was condemned by his sheer compulsive speed to remain oblivious to this information whenever he would equate himself to lightning, whirlwind and stampede in her presence. Usually in vain, since Andrea was deaf, as one i
chromatopoeiccypress green water
and whirlpools of blinking diamonds
white stepping stones
delineating dark falls
wholesome deep secretive
assertive silent negatives of the sky
the eyes to the surface
an unseen messenger bird seeks to meet
the simplest, the most earnest, the most concise description
-the afterimage of destiny
an imperfect chromatopoeic liberty.
the passage always stumbles on the same obstacle
the mother of all illusions:
a face still extraordinary from the evening
yet to be diligently tamed
but not entirely rid of the inevitable teasing loose end,
a yellow airthin whimsical branch
-the possibility,the craving that is:
things may be undone
from their tense blood-dry
completely knowledgeable form.
the thinest, most untravelled, most invincible, most chromatopoeic
stranger of a scent, of a sound, of an appearance
of barely any substance.
an unruly second shoots upward away from the hour's grip like a loose spring.
shoots down into the abyss li
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More