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EntiretyI need to drink this world in,
In its entirety
Its life and death, and the various degrees of in-between
The love, the hatred, the apathy, the frigidity
I need it as urgently as the Wood Louse seeking musty solitude
I want to dance with the Manatee
To debate philosophy with the Sloth
To rest with the Lion after his kill
I want to dissolve into grassy meadows;
Become one with the dew of the blades, the moist warmth of the soil
I want to be the lovely song issuing forth from the Meadow Lark's saffron throat;
Listen to him and You know it is me, in Your ears, in the air, surrounding You, tantalizing Your senses.
I want to lurk in the shadows of the daylight,
And glory in the shimmering brightness of nighttime
I want to explore areas of my mind that I never knew existed
I want the strange, the ordinary, the unclassified
I want normal, I want abnormal
New, and old
I lust after eternity and millisecond
I want every connection and facet of consciousness
Give me entirety
ReflectionsShe sits to write, and it begins.
She ponders what it is, exactly, that she wishes to express to the world this time. After all, she would not write in a public format unless she thought the things she had to say were interesting, to an extent.
Now it is different. Now her eyes are downcast, now her thoughts are muddy.
Clarity is a blessing, she muses. It is much like a language one has built into their DNA sequencing. If you understand, it is because you have been blessed with a clarity. Like any blessing, it is prone to be inconsistent.
She begins playing music. Perhaps this will help, just a bit, to invoke something.
As she reflects on the factors of life that inspire her, an all-too obvious existence stands out. She understands that it's there. She knows what it is, and why it plagues her. She does not understand, also.
She cannot banish this ghost. She cannot slay this beast.
It is much like a poisonous, yet intoxicating scent. A beautiful corpse. Blood-stained love letters.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More