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We Will All Know PovertyHearts fooled, fouled, full
Arteries throb, clogged with shadows
With truth, no room for the other
Who is demanding
Who is begging
The self, cut in two
The self can see
No more truth
Clogged with shadows
The good life
All needing now
Gorging on each other
Becoming the other
Poverty, the bifurcation of self
A well heart wealth
Shining Under the SunOntological definition,
Why has life got to be such as mission.
Just let those labels go, dance with me and go with the flow.
The Will to Life or the Will to Power?
Choose the sweet life.
Not the sour.
Self-determination has got to be earned.
Look into you heart.
See what you learn.
Be still in nature.
Let yourself go we are all connected.
Zoom out and see Self-symmetry
Return to your roots
There's no limit to me
Mandlebrot and Julia
Lovers in infinity
Transcend Reality become divinity
Ego nature kills your soul.
You're the subject not the object.
You're the whole.
Don't give into the madness of society.
Be at peace and come with me.
Mental constructs are guides to life.
Don't believe in dogma.
It leads to strife.
The meta-physical we cannot know.
Until our demise.
We reap what we sew.
Love, compassion and not blind hate.
Wisdom not ignorance.
These are goals you should make.
Never forget that we are all one.
Floating on a ball under the sun.
Life the universe we should
Homogenised identityA curd festers on the top of a glass
Floating above the homogenised
Relative and pointing
At the curd
Relative to the curd
Fighting to sink
Under A Gibbous MoonIt was a dark evening, the light of a starkly gibbous moon shone ominously onto a lone Arkham building. A place rooted firmly into one of the more undesirable districts of that cursed city. The light trickled through into its Georgian interior, as if afraid of the dancing shadows it threw forward like devilish spectres. The pointed ears and peaked form of something alien to the world were cast darkly onto Howard Phillip Lovecraft by the softly tortured light. He sat reading the "The Cask of Amontillado", muttering to himself, strange musings punctuated by the curling of his lips. The cat's shadow disappeared and the scene seemed twisted for a moment, silent but for the screams of another world that could be heard echoing in the dark circuitous passageways of his mind.
Lovecraft stared stoically at the aged paper before him, pensive as he ignored this all too familiar experience. He closed the book, self indulgent self hatred and adoration of his erstwhile peer an
Tautological Transposition: As Do IWhen will the will be willing
The mind, like an arrow, goes forth
But strays from its path
Only when true will it happen, peerless, the will
Being fickle and unpredictable, choosing its own path
The path of affectation and the willed path, the duality of man
The nature of it
All contradictions that define
A man of two minds, desire and the desired
All things being equal but different:
I can breathe, yet I do not.
I am existence, yet existence is without me
Arrows fly, dulled points stray
They do not connect.
The great between
Oh the will of it all, the one and of the one
No two exist, separate but connected vessals
I want and I do not
I believe, yet I do not believe
That this mirror stares into
A reflection on the only path, the chaotic path
Self determination and fate, a coexistant possibility
I believe, yet I do not believe
Arrows fly, arcing to their end,
No matter the desired, no matter the outcome:
They always strike their target
They fly, de
Secrets of a DreamWhen you wake up from a dream, what is the first thing you do?
You remember as much as you can.
But how do you remember your dreams when you have them the first time?
You tell someone, you write it down, or even draw things that were easy to recognise.
When you wake up from a dream, what is the first thing you say?
I reckon it’s something like “What was that all about?”
Now I will ask you, have you ever understood any dream you’ve had?
Think carefully and maybe you’ll realise something…
I believe the dreams you remember most are the ones that may affect your life.
Ever dreamt of your greatest fear before you realised what your fear was?
Well, that dream may have caused you to be scared.
Falling from a great height, running from something that wanted to hurt you, you get the idea.
Ever dreamt of something you enjoy and realised it has or will affect your life?
Computer chair racing on your school leaver’s day, meeting a famous person where you
Words on a Page I was alone on the bus, curled up against the window with my backpack on my knees, and surrounded by people who were too tired to realize I was among them. I didn’t blame them; everyone just wanted to get home. And besides, I got the seat all to myself.
I always find it ironic that I choose to be near people when I shove them away. I’m most comfortable alone and yet I chose to sit in the most popular seats. Which then became invisible the moment I took one. Everyone passed me by, not even meeting my gaze as they walked on, grinning and shouting half a car length to their friends and holding conversations loud enough I could hear them through my headphones.
Like I said, I was alone. It made me wish I had friends. But even my brother didn’t want to ride the bus with me. If I had been the one to get out of class early, I would have waited for him. The one other person I knew who was heading to the same general area of t
Shadow of a memory
Long has the time passed for us. We see our future, a shamble of the illusion we once held. The memory of what could have once been, and now, nothing more than a dream just out of reach. We reach out to the memories of childhood, desperately grasping onto the simpler moments of those times. Oh how we long for those days when the world still held wonder and endless possibilities. But we are grown now, and must move forward. Past the memories and into the shadows of the now. And sometimes I can’t help but wonder; what lies beyond these shadows? Will the light be my salvation, or my own damnation?
Help Me I'm Dying Here- An English AssignmentRead the description before the story, and please, please try to help me
Ibrahim clutches his stomach in an attempt to silence its obnoxious growling, this action proves to be useless and he knows he has to pay a visit to the Grand Bazaar.
Visitors to the city of Constantinople see the Grand Bazaar as a place of beauty. The array of bright colours, the various smells of local cuisine and the mixing of many cultures are all viewed as a marvel, something to commit to memory so it can be shared as a wonderful experience once tourists return home.
Ibrahim’s views on the Grand Bazaar are not nearly as wonderful.
Walking into the Grand Bazaar, he takes note of the fact that yet another body has been added to the collection of corpses swinging on ropes tied to the branches of a large tree just to the side of the entrance to the Bazaar. The bodies are hanging as a warning against rebellion, but they no longer scare anyone, people here have become use to death.
Poverty, hunger and cruelty
Shut DownIt starts by laying on your back and letting your arms and legs fall wherever they can. This is the only easy part. To go any further, you have to master the mental aspect. The only problem with that, is that once you master it, it can control you sometimes. After you figure out how to master your mind, it will begin this process against your will- mostly during waves of depression.
To master the mental aspect, you must relax your body. Let your mind think about everything that's ever made you cry. Think of the things that make you feel so low that maybe- just maybe, you're dead.
That's when your breathing disappears, your chest slowly stops moving until all that's left is your empty rib cage. Your body goes cold and your blood turns to ice. Your eyes fade and go fuzzy- but you don't blink. You don't need to anymore.
This is what some people call “inner peace”. Some call it “control of the mind and body”. I call it shut down. This is when your emotions disappear
FailuresThere was some kind of evil inside me. And I fought it everyday. People always tell you to be strong, to be different from others, to be a dreamer. But they don't allow you to be one at all. You are made fun of and you cry, and you fail. Everyday it's a boring life routine.
You are not even sick of it. You live through it and you listen to music, you draw and you read to escape the world. But always remember that you can be a creationist too. You can draw and you can stand up for yourself. I don't know why, but many people think being different is being cool in another way. They pretend to be different, but they just like a culture which is not mainstream. You will not feel free if you like gothic, punk or other rather unexplored society stuff. You will only feel free when you accept, that you have a kind of power.
People always try so hard to make others think different. But there are so many talents, hidden behind a group pressure and so many good spirits locked up behind a protectio
Humble me SensieHong Kong in 1978. The set of a new movie: Monkey hand. Dragon paw. During a recess in filming a stuntman approached the star martial artist. "Sensei, I wish to challenge you. Humble me and make me a better man".
The Sensei was no good man, "I put two of you down yesterday. Will you never learn," he spat. As his challenger was stood head bowed the Sensei launched at him with a vicious side kick aimed through his head at his neck, an attack that could cripple a man.
The challenger allowed gravity to do his work, as his body fell forward towards the ground. At the bottom of his roll he tackled the Sensei he had shown utmost respect for, with a scissor assault at his single standing leg, forcing him to the ground.
The challenger used the momentum to launch himself back to his feet. He said to the Sensei's amazed eyes, "humble me Sensei," as he brought an axe kick around and down upon his chest.&
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More