wicked saccharine skin.
wicked saccharine skin.
Woe to the writer at loss of words,
for he hath no more soul to bear.
Woe to the artist with mended heart,
for his canvas bleeds no more.
Woe to the spiritual with a perfect path,
for their soul will never be torn apart.
Woe to the one who cloaks himself in sanity,
for life on the fringe hath no compare.
with your designer cloth
to cover rotting flesh
your skyscrapers to claim
a heaven meant to be shared
evolving at a pace
that will soon get everyone killed.
how you boast your accomplishments
how you worship your objects
how you destroy life
how you grow in your self-loathing
and empty bubbles
made by your man-made materials.
why can you not see?
The beauty of your existance
is not found in your worldly possessions
not in your ability to destroy
so that you can claim creation
but in the fact that you exist.
A while back I posted a challenge to myself (and anyone who chose to accept) to work outside your comfort zone. I chose to write a love story. Let me clarify, a love story without me killing, dismembering, sex, or any form of the paranormal. It isn’t quite finished yet, but I found myself questioning whether or not I would even post it. It’s hard enough (at least for me) to share something that I feel good about. However, to share something that I have struggled so desperately with is truly terrifying to me. As I sat at my laptop last night staring at my short story and wondering how badly my story actually sucked, I reminded myself the reason I began my little project to begin with. To grow. I want to grow as a writer, as an artist. I don’t want to limit myself or my work to only one canvas. So when I’m finally done torturing myself, I will post my short story and hope that anyone who chooses to read it will be honest and helpful in their remarks. And that it will help me become a better writer in the process.
Originally posted on poetreecreations.org:
Not surprised, but still…
Originally posted on PATRIOTS AND PAULIES (Politics & News):
“A very dark philosophy is spreading like wildfire among the global elite…an obsessive belief that humanity has become a cancer that is destroying the earth.”
It would be very difficult to understate just how obsessed many members of the global elite are with human population control. There are now large numbers of global leaders that are convinced that the exploding population of the world has become like a virus or a plague, and that it must be combated as such. The United Nations puts out position papers about it, universities have entire courses dedicated to it, radical population control advocates have been appointed to some of the highest political positions in the world and some of the wealthiest people on the planet get together just to talk about it.” – Michael Snyder, End of the American Dream, “Yes, They Really Do Want To Reduce The Population.”
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“Strange love…dangerous love…”
Originally posted on In my mind's eye... and stuff:
Love is odd. I mean yes, it is a many splendid and wondrous thing, but odd none the less. We all want it, none of us really feel complete without it, but it is at the same time the source of great joy, and horrendous pain.
When I was young, I truly believed in the fairy book type of love; unconditional, unlimited, unyielding love that conquered all. You see, when you are young your view of everything is simplified. What we fear, what we love, is all very easily manifested into a simple image. The same can be said for the way we view love.
I was a lover from a very young age. I knew that I liked girls, knew I liked to make them smile and that I wanted love… the fairy book kind if love. Happy endings and all. I was just ahead of my time.
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The duck tape of the lame
slapped onto snarled lips
Wisdom and truth
silenced through covert intentions
a blasphemous human shame.
Don’t censor me. Instead, ask why I am really being censored.
I’ve been thinking lately about my comfort zones, of which I have many. I stick to a certain style and three genres: horror, sci-fi, and paranormal. But, more importantly, I have also been asking myself what kind of artist I want to be. Will I confine myself to a tiny box of my own making? I strive to be a well-rounded human being, so why wouldn’t I do the same with my writing? Therefore, I have started a new short story in a genre I don’t feel comfortable in and in a writing style that I have never done. I won’t lie, it has taken me over four hours to write three paragraphs. It is really difficult for me to not kill someone in a horrific way. Sad, I know. When I am done I will post my little experiment for all to see and I hope all of you will look at yourselves and too and challenge your comfort zones. Don’t let me struggle alone!