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WIP Strange Science ExcerptRoughly two hours later...
There was a knock on the open door of Jiar's laboratory. Jiar looked over and saw his employers for the first time. He had only ever known the mysterious voice, but he had long suspected that it was a modulator and that there was more than one employer. There were three; two wrinkly old men and a wrinkly old woman. All three of them couldn't have been under the age of 85, as they were quite frail looking. One of the men was tall and lanky, with a small nose and his skin stretched tight across his face, his eyes were small and sunken back, he was completely bald, all of this giving him a skeletal appearance. The other man was short and hunched over, his eyes were sharp and piercing, he had a large hooked nose, bushy eyebrows and a small amount of hair half circling the back of his head, making him look somewhat like a vulture. The old woman was of an intermediate of the two men in both height and features. Her eyes were only half open, but Jiar could feel them
The Walrus Decoded- SandwichI am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. [this is a sandwich]
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly. [cotto salami]
I'm crying. [salt?]
Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come. [possibly something with the bread? battered item?]
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday. [ketchup or sliced tomatoes][battered fried tomatoes]
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face gro
IcarusWho are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I touched the sky
I flew too hard and burned too fast
Dreams like mine, they just don't last
I touched the sun on feathered limbs
I satisfied my wildest whims
But I burnt out, and I fell down
My body wasn't ever found
But don't remember me for how I failed
I embody all the dreams that've sailed
So who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I wasn't afraid to fly.
Death is a GentlemanDo I have a reason to fear Death?
He is kind and he's quiet,
He listens as well;
He'll drive you to Heaven,
He'll cart you to Hell.
His vest is embroidered
With little white curls
He puts flowers in His pockets
Which He gives to the girls.
He likes to eat chocolate,
(Or so I've heard)
And He keeps in a cage
a little pet bird.
His skeletal horses
Always look proper;
His wine is uncorked
and untouched by the stopper.
His shoes are so polished
You can see yourself in them,
His laces are always tied
Just below His pant hem.
His bones are quite sturdy
And never look brittle;
In fact, I have heard
He quite likes to whittle.
He makes little horses
And little toy men
Which He gives to young patrons
And smaller children.
He tells jokes on occasion,
But He's always polite;
His laugh is infectious
and His chatter is light.
He sweet-talks the ladies
and jokes with the men;
He makes your time worth it,
He won't see you again.
His hat is quite tall
and His suit's always pressed;
And He'll try for yo
Once again all alone
I suppose I must deserve it
I'm clingy and annoying
Obnoxious and dense
Rash and silly
Lazy and obsessive
Sometimes I hate myself
I want to draw people in
But only push them away
I cry so much lately
Because everything hurts
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy
I force my smile
I fake my laugh
Does anyone notice?
Does anyone care?
It's not "Like Me" to be so
Depressed? Upset? Angry?
What is 'like me'?
Someone tell me
Because I don't know myself anymore
Once again, as before
I'm all alone
Meaning of lifeThe meaning of life
Life is beauty
Beauty can be a thing you like.
I like fish.
Thus Meaning of life is fish.
Barefoot Today I ran barefoot. It's the only way to run. You don't know freedom until you've run without shoes. Without soles weighing you down. Or laces tying you back. Run without inhibitions.
Today I ran down hills and across busy streets. Feet pounding against hot asphalt. Running through cool, damp, grass. Balancing on curbs. And jogging along walls .
Today I ran down crowded sidewalks, shoes in hand, not returning glances. Silent questions hang heavy in the air. They watch me as I make my way down the street. I zig-zag past trash bins and over recycle bins. The hurdles of city life.
Today I cut across lawns. Made my way through parking lots. Past schools, silent, empty for the summer. Ran past yards with inflatable pools and grills waiting to be lit. Through hopscotches drawn in chalk. Pink dust clinging to my feet.
Today I ran barefoot. Ignoring snide remarks and odd stares. I just ran. Leaving ever
Description of a PoemThoughts on paper,
Emotions in ink.
Verse that shows
What the artist may think.
Not just words
That rhyme or not.
It's a writer's emotion,
Their deepest thought.
To write great poetry
So deep and true,
It must come from emotions
Deep inside of you.
What you feel is what you write.
It helps to let it all out.
It's the perfect outlet
For those who don't scream and shout.
Do not be afraid
To let the world know.
Say what you think,
And let your emotions go.
Pixie Dust and Fairy TalesLife is not always rainbows,
With pots of gold to be found,
Life is often madness,
In which we can only drown
Life is not perfect,
It forces us often to our knees,
Life is like candy,
It is sometimes bittersweet
Life is not always wonderful,
So many things can go wrong,
But it can be so, so beautiful,
With a joyous, radiant song
Life can leave us angry,
Leave us bitter, leave us worn,
And with so many paths to choose,
Sometimes we feel torn
Life has no magic pixie dust,
To make all things right,
And so we lose ourselves in fairy tales,
To ward away our fright
Life should be about living,
But sometimes it's passion is denied,
And in the end all we remember,
Is the many times we've cried
Life is not pixie dust and fairy tales,
As so many would believe,
Life, in all it's glory,
Continually makes us bleed
jlp November 2, 2009
A Great Artist...A Great Artist
A Great Artist is not someone who gets the Attention
It is not about the Shock and Awe
What really does it mean to be a great artist?
The Answer is within Every Person's Creations
Putting the most Effort into every piece of art
The Determination to never give up
To be Honest and Hard Working
Practice to amplify ones Ability
A great artists is more then Pencil and Paper
It takes Heart, Determination, and Pride
To put a whole being into the art
To work beyond the limits of what they were told
Taking time to give friendly Critique
Learning how to Improve Ones Skill
To be a part of the Community
To Be There when No One Else will
To help the Great Artists
There is a Community for them
The Community Offers to the unseen
That Community is UnseenArtists.
A Soul's PassingPlace me not, within this ground
To hear no more, a mortal sound
Encumbered by earth, a twisted soul
Covered by death, in this devils hole
I scream, I cry, to no avail
A pity screech, a desperate wail
In this wretched place I be
No more to hear, no more to see
All mourners turn and walk away
Interned in darkness and forced to stay
This knoll is now my resting place
Dried tears are etched upon my face
Six feet under is now my home
No more to wander, no more to roam
A stone is laid upon my head
My body blanketed with a flower bed
Please visit me, although I'm gone
Our bodies wither, but the soul lives on
In hearts of loved ones, for ever more
Dreams to keep and minds to store
Our lives are given as a gift
To help restore and give a lift
To those who shared our living days
In many forms and many ways
So I Rest in Peace with knowledge known
Of eternal slumber and seeds I've sown
I close my eyes and say farewell
To what was once my human shell
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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