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DevelopmentI write this in light of the recent celebration of my 25 years that I have lived on this earth. It is a reflection that has certainly been made more poignant because of this important landmark, I think.
With each passing day in my life I have come to realise the nature of my development as an individual. I mean to say that I have come to comprehend that the person I am now is not—and I can say this with certitude—the person I was 10 years ago, and it will likely not be the person I will be 10 years from now. Moreover, I now understand that within the past 10 or so years it has been the case that I have progressed through particular discernible phases or stages—epochs has a nice ring to it—of development. They have been multiple and varied, some having occurred concurrently with others and some that are still ongoing.
Details of these epochs would require a separate posting altogether, one for each in fact, but to give just two examples: The first, nebulously put
BoxesQuiet conversations alone are nurtured
in this, the smallest of rooms;
a six-sided cell
sealed tight by the clamouring voices of
those of the outside world,
aliens to her own World.
Ten years of outgrowing and
when the realisation eventually
like a sledgehammer
to a house of discolouring glass,
that she has always held the room
in the palm of her ever strengthening hand.
And that just
—whatever, but of her own—
leading to a
The box, the room—
a womb to escape.
M.M. — 26-May-2013
In the StateFear was the best oppression. A perfect violence simply because it was an implied violence. It crept and skulked throughout the cities and in the remote villages like a mist that came out abruptly from the deeps of the impenetrable forest. It kept close to all like an inseparable companion, draped over the shoulders of hunched men and hushed women. Its tell-tale signs impressed on the children more and more as they grew older, they unfortunate enough to not know a world without the fear. It hung everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the dance halls, in the temples. It was a life form of its own. And perhaps it had become untameable, even by those who thought that the rope was theirs to wield. How could this be living? How could this be life?
But a passion still glowed in the eyes of Simon Daschink. He was a single man, a quiet man—a dangerous man. Or so all the men without names and sombre suits believed. Condemned for being just who he was, for loving another man. An abom
The ArtistI feared there was no stopping it once it had begun to set in me. The first incision split open my mind like an orchid entering its bloom. Everything suddenly became so clear, suddenly became so...real. I scarcely even knew what to call it, all that was happening to me: An epiphany, a revelation, inspiration—love? An electro-firestorm had let itself loose upon every one of the mindscapes in my head, and it ravaged everything it came across. But there was nothing I could have done about it. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I put forward no protestations and presented no opposition. The only thing I did was pick up my brush, prepare my paints and approach the blank canvas. If this was some craft of Madness's making then I wholly and willingly tendered my sanity and my mind to it. And then I began to paint.
M.M. — 06-May-2013
'Starting again'Starting again is one of the hardest things you could do,
To have to let go and forgo the certainty of what you've known;
When it seems to you that an entire life you've lived is through
And another needs to be built and once more made your own.
I cannot count the times I've lived a life, loved a time, and knew
It would eventually end, only for the process to revert to the beginning.
This is the theme of my song, the motif, the chorus, the tone.
M.M. — 30-Jan-2013
Emilia's EyesWhat I saw in Emilia's eyes,
glazed over in a translucent film of tears—:
The walls inside had finally toppled over,
on top of her
She was drowning, struggling
in the bottomless sea
under a grey storm that drowned the sky
Behind those eyes her story
and was hers to suffer
Everything else she did or said,
the way she tried to hold herself
could not hide the truth in her eyes
There was nothing beautiful in her exacting pain,
M.M. — 26-Dec-2012 | Amendment 22-Jan-2013
'She came onto me'She came onto
me like the onset
of winter, gradual
until I was caught
and my heart
was lost in her.
She set into me
and a claim was laid, silently,
my control from me. The best
of me was now for her,
ever to be; the sentence mine to incur,
willingly or otherwise.
M.M. — 14-Jan-2013
Threnody[Ex Tempore XXXV]
It is a hollow world we live in,
a hundred million cries reverberate
and shudder the mirrored walls of the city.
Death is no reverent thing here;
it is cold, heartless and rapacious.
It takes from us, with silent hands,
all the light in our lives,
and leaves us cracked and crumbled
and spiteful of the ostentatious motions of life.
Love is the most impossible of pursuits:
the chase enervating,
the loss end-closed.
And what life and love we may have...
the line we walk is precariously taut.
M.M. Ianuarius MMXIII
The Darkness Takes Time. I hate birds.
Serpents always crawl out of their eyes.
Lice fall from their terrible heads,
Fire scaling out of mouth,
Every bird, terrible.
Grotesque beings walking amongst those who can't see,
Odd deity's for the sinner's devilish worship,
Odd methods for the sinner's dark sacrifice.
Deep chasms instead of eyes.
Basic horrors out of every nightmare,
Another slash to add to your others,
Darkness at it's finest..
Follow the first Letter down. ^.^ Something will show up, did you see it before I pointed it out?
If you did, then the darkness is an old friend, huh?
De ManneligoAnte lucem primam quondam,
Ante aves incipebant cantare,
Mulier trolli gentis lingua falsa iuvenem
Pulchrem in matrimonium petevit.
"Mannelige, Mannelige, ducisne me
In matrimonium pro quod do te?
Enim tua uxor esse libenter volo!
Audi meas verbas, dice certe vel nolo
Dabo te duodecim equos magnificos illos
Quos ibi pascitur in sivula
Nonumquam sunt sellam imposti
Nonumquam habuerunt frenos
Dabo te duodecim bonas molas
Quas stant inter Tillum et Ternum
Facti sunt de aere rubro,
Rotaeque argentatae sunt
Dabo te gladium auratum,
De quindecem anulo resonat.
Si feris id in proelio,
Semper pugnam vinciet.
Dabo te tunicam novissimam
Nitida optima causa vestiendi est!
Non suitur cum acu et filo
Sed de nivessimo bombyce facta est."
"Libenter acciperem tuas muneres
Si mulier christiana esses.
Sed pessima trolla monte es
De subole diabolis et daemonis.
Trolla monte saliet ex porta
Uluavit et clamavit magna voce:
"Potesssem habere caellebe pulchrum,
Liberaremur ex meum tormentum!
GreeterAll damnation be amazed
How quickly I contract
The ebb from open wounds results
As I forced to interact
She sways in place on chain of lies
And bleeds the words of agony
Upheaval in our short combine
As tears in fragile sanctity
She gains no peace from captured crowd
Whose courage dwindles steadily
A fading comfort in the share
Or knowing how to be ready
She tells how with a whip and blade
Presenting fact and title
Will deem you worthy of the place
And grant you leave of rivals
She shows from screams and open graves
The acts a failure ends
Depression fled from glassy eyes
As punishment suspends
Curse eschew down to the bone
Instead cut at my veins
My body given up its fight
Its royal lines in lanes
But she is one a prisoner
Grounded with texts arcane
She merely sends her burdens West
With scarlet setting flames
And in that light resigned am I
Entered through shaded veil
To meet the greeter without choice
Describing my face pale
With warnings held like blazing brands
In fingers red and
The people from page twenty twoHe woke up in the morning while she was still asleep
Coffee marked the beginning of another vapid day
Got the paper, skipped the news, 'cause he knew where to look
At page twenty two the cure for his loneliness lay
He skimmed through the page and there it appeared
It was capturing his sight and covering his view
It seemed like it was written just for him to read
Then he left the house with his mind at twenty two
She got out of bed, at least an hour late
A lukewarm cup of coffee soothed the taste of stale bread
Got the paper, read the news, skipped page twenty two
Escaping the reminder of the secret that she had
At page twenty three she knew how guilty she had felt
That the person she was lying to was the person she once met
Leaving everything the same felt like torture to her
But the burden of the secret was even greater than that
Late at night when he got home he couldn't hold himself
He was not surprised that she was late, once again
He passionately wrote down all the feelings he had
Nor Ever Shall I DepartIn this place I do abide,
a place where angels fear to tread.
Here they do not dare to stride
although the demons all have fled.
Once they all did wallow and hide
in this lair where they were born and bred.
But I uttered the predominant chide
I govern here instead.
A place He built of stone and fire,
a place deep within the earth.
What for them was torturous pyre
is, for me, a home and hearth.
In this home I feel no harm,
though its fires made others weep.
And its brimstone will me embalm
as I lay me down to sleep.
-"Nor Ever Shall I Depart"
La balada de Tomoko Kuroki
En un rincón sombrío
De la oscura habitación
Combatiendo su hastío
Viendo la televisión
Tendida sobre la cama
Está la niña Tomoko
El yaoi que tanto ama
Le tiene sorbido el coco
Se oye jadear su resuello
Con la amargura en el buche
Sobre la cara el cabello
Cubre ojeras de mapache
(Le pasa factura su vicio)
Que se la pasa encerrada
Sin un pequeño resquicio
En su existencia enclaustrada
En la prepa se lamenta
Y se siente ninguneada
Bulle dentro una tormenta
Acuciada por la duda
Obligada la pregunta
Que se ha de formular
Ella gime y barrunta
-¿Por qué yo no soy popular?-
Una idea se le comparte
Se le ocurre de repente,
Si la vida imita al arte
Acude a su mejor fuente
-¿Qué no sé yo del amor?
¿De los romances de escuela?
¡Triunfaré con gran honor!-
Dice la ingenua chicuela
Quiso entonces que su vida
Fuera como en la ficción
Cada lección aprendida
Le dará la dirección
Para que al final
Head Down the Rabbit HoleFall on down the rabbit hole,
where tea and cookies run around,
alive and thinking and breathing,
creating many a sound.
Step on through the mirror now,
to play chess with live pieces,
that growl and yell,
smooth with no creases.
Onward now to Underland,
where the Hatter greets you with a smile,
and nothing is bland.
Why not disappear into like the Cheshire Cat's smile?
when the living world is here,
and nothing speaks but hatred,
and frightful puppeteers.
LuminenPäivärinta kukkuu, on hänen sielunsa susi valkoinen,
joka pakkasella juoksee läpi metsien lumisten
ja saapuu sydänmaille laskussa leiskuvan illan
haluamatta muuta kuin ylittää routaisen sillan,
jonka takainen häntä kovin kutsuu ja kiehtoo.
Ei tuuli häntä kääntymään saa vaikka kuinka se riuhtoo.
Hän on kuulevinaan laulun syvältä jään takaa,
eikä hänen askelensa kivellä ole kevyt tai vakaa,
ja hän muistaa isänsä, joka vihassa hänet kieltää,
kun tie kaartuu, mutkittelee ja askelten alla viertää,
eikä hän ole mikään siltä itseään salaamaan,
eikä mikään mahti maailmassa saisi häntä palaamaan,
eikä hän pelkää, että askel vielä lipeää,
tuska jonka hän tuntisi olisi vain hetken kipeää,
eikä hän pelkää kastua
EraseLead crow flapped its wings and flew,
Fled to the heaven for ideas long gone,
Bed so lonely and cold by myself,
Shred up my pages and hope thereon.
Knocking on my pencil to get in,
Flocking birds to peck at my brain,
Mocking up at me from the desk,
Locking an image in order to feign.
Blow the confusion from off my paper,
Snow that spread to hide the depiction,
No longer what needed to be drawn,
Beux of today just a work of fiction.
'A goddess once came to me' [Incomplete][Ex Tempore XXXIV]
A goddess once came to me
Slipping in like sin,
Dreary in a lithesome dream.
Telling me of what had been,
And worse: what was to be,
I plummeted from my pedestal
As a newly prescient king.
My reign was subject to fall
And I, a subject to whims
Of Fate, fickle and mercurial.
M.M. Ianuarius MMXIII
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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