The Wind-Up Monkey + The PixieIn a rusty workshop built all of ancient scrap metal and coal dust, miles and miles away from any land that human eyes can see, a strange machine clicks and clicks and whirs and whirs and spins and spins away at its ordained work. Little flashes of purple, of gold, of silver, of most beauteous ruby, it looks like, are suck suck sucked into one great gaping iron mouth; a dreadful clanging sound, a belch of filthy black smoke, and out the other end comes marching a long line of wind-up toys. Pre-wound, presumably in the belly of the giant, they shuffle along to a dolorous clang-clang clang-clang clang-clang until they reach the workshop’sThe Wind-Up Monkey + The Pixie
Monday MorningWith a scream on my lips I woke up, sweating wide-eyed in fear of the past. Entities, laughing loudly with the scent of demons, teased myMonday Morning
hopes and tore them up. Tiny scraps of paper, confetti thrown wildly into the fire. Have I lived for ever? If indeed time still passes. Feels like I've been
pounding forever in this skull-shaped prison. Half-past five. Might as well just die than face this day; headache causing pain to rival my fractured thoughts.
Just another microcosm of the grieving universe; the dying universe; the decaying Gods. Do
After SchoolThey gather around me like crows; the imagined grievances and petty frustrations that add up to an omen, a dark threat of bad times to come. And if I could, I would show them where to go. But this flock of birdsAfter School
will not leave; no, they raise a racket fit to shatter my skull. All that can be done is to run. The debris of an unfulfilled day: thirty-two quids worth of stolen goods and a couple of empty white star bottles. "Abort Christ" written in pink and yellow
across the city. An empty ten-deck of Richmond, discarded heartlessly in a lonely subw
green runawayThe PoetI am not a poet, I write what I feel, it helps me escape what seems too real.The Poet
Though, sometimes, I write out of rhyme, it’s to best express how I feel at the time.
I don’t write to your standards or the intellectuals’ minds, I write for those
whose emotions bind.
Freedom of speech
freedom of verse, I write as I please these are my words.
limitless chaos
--
They can take my voice when they pry it from my cold, dead throat.
Stop by and check out my Angry Hippie's Blog and Podcast [link]
Or WHATSABUDGET Films on youtube [link]
*Apophysis
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deuce1 n. The two at dice or cards; (Tennis) state of score (40 all, games all) at which either party must gain two consecutive points or games to win.
deuce2 n. Plague; mischief; the Devil.
(see you after the summer, love jon)
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deuce1 n. The two at dice or cards; (Tennis) state of score (40 all, games all) at which either party must gain two consecutive points or games to win.
deuce2 n. Plague; mischief; the Devil.
~ Clare
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[Clare is] basically the dutchess of twee. - Sam
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Been down so long
Too deep the water that I tread
Sometimes I feel myself going under
Sometimes I envy the dead
Chomped!
Muwhahahahahahahahahhahaah!
--
Current state of world domination -
servants - 2
dogs - 2
Older brothers (non-related) - 5
Older sisters - 1
cult members - My watch list ;D
Partners in crime: 5
Masters: 1 XD
Today Deviantart..... Tomorrow, the world!
Muwhahahahahahahaha
ublot
[link]
SpreadTheWord
-nik
--
Your Thoughts Delivered
blurtt.com
just passing by, i am very proud of my computer genious in getting this to work... but i havent quite mastered the whole putting your pictures up thing....
any way, see u soon.
josie
-Neldo
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YOU MUST GO HERE AND BE AMAZED
Keeping dA pine fresh and tasting like cinnamon since 2006
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