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Anything Will Do"Got any change?"
She asks, as you pass, clenching wallet in a guarded stance--lest you have to give your poker night spares to a nearly starved woman.
"Got any change?"
She pleads, groveling to the masses, staring desperately to her dog, sole companion of the scot-free foreclosure market that stole her, and her only friend's, home.
"Got any change?"
She cries. "I'll work for whatever you can give."
Nobody will hire the woman who can't pay her bills post-layoff in the scot-free we-don't-need-you-anymore factory, whose robots work harder and complain less than mere mortals.
"Got any change?" She pleads, not asking for cash--demanding action.
"Is your life any better?"
She rises from her defeated pose--A vigor in her heart carrying her starved body to its frail feet.
"Change. Stand for good enough no more.
Since when is good enough good enough?
Since when is just fine fine at all?
Since when is just getting by acceptable?
I'm not the only one who needs change around here."
A Lot To Be Thankful ForI've come a long way in life.
Once upon a time I was little more than a child,
son to two loving parents,
a thing I am always thankful for,
even if it doesn't always show.
Since then, a small handful of amazing friends
show me that love can extend beyond blood
Friends who show me true kindness, loyalty and trust
A relatively new gift, in many ways,
but absolutely glorious, and something to cherish.
I'm happy to be born in a place where, even if it's dubious,
I do have freedoms, I do have rights, I can safely
walk out of my door, and not fear getting shot.
A place where medicine may not be free, but it actually exists.
I'm glad I have a fully functioning body, and fully capable mind.
I have the golden ticket. I have a stable family, health, mind, and home.
I have little in the big scope to complain about.
While these are the greatest gifts one can experience,
There is a lot in life to be thankful for.
I live in a place that has come a long way. It may not be perfect
But compared to twen
Of no embrace
Of no contact
Of no conversation
Of no escape.
Even in a crowded room.
Even surrounded by friends.
Even surrounded by family.
That missing feeling.
The longing for someone to be there--be yours.
Amidst empty hands come empty hearts.
Amidst empty hearts comes pain--not just for you
But those you're too blind to see care for you.
Five StagesWhen you're young, they tell you you can be anything. There is no "except" there is no "however" and there's kids who want to be ninjas and super heroes and it's beautiful. Alas, our life doesn't come with such a blank check on opportunity. There must come a day in every person's life where their wildest (and sometimes highly tame) dreams are dashed to pieces. It can be a long process, but it happens to most people in their lifetimes.
For me, it went like this: I wanted to be a computer engineer. I had a great deal of fascination with computers from a young age, and by seven, I decided my intended career path. It was stable, reliable, and paid well. It seemed interesting, and my work would be in the hands of thousands or millions of other people.
Then there was college. It took one semester to cope with the stages of grief. Denial, bargaining, anger, sorrow, and acceptance. I was in denial starting in late high school. I placed myself into a very demanding calculus class when I reached
En Fugue - Ch. 2 - Naming NamesI felt paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I needed to do something, and fast. – A.S.H.
The basilica was packed with curious gawkers awaiting the names of the selected warriors for the year. Many stirred and struggled to get closer as the village chancellor stepped out onto the raised platform, dressed in his ceremonial gold-trimmed burgundy robes.
He bellowed in a voice that boomed across the basilica, despite how packed it was. He carried out his traditional speech, which many in the audience had heard a dozen or more times in just as many variations.
“Soldiers and heroes of honorable Calaban, we gather once more to declare our fighters for the Duels of Nerivad. An honor granted to the lucky few, one from each borough of our fair town. Though there may be only one victor, al
En Fugue (Updated) - Introduction and Part 1Introduction
When I was young, I wanted to be a scientist, a biologist. Life has always fascinated me. Maybe that’s why I was always at odds with my society.
You see, I’m no fighter. Never have been. I’m not strong. I’m not aggressive. I hate fighting. That is, I used to be that, as a boy. I still hate fighting, but I had to become a fighter in spite of that. I had to take up arms to fight for my life, and for the lives of everyone dear to me.
Things change in the face of fear. Things change in the face of hate. Things change when you have something, or someone to fight for. I've done things I would have never dreaded in my wildest nightmares to escape tragedy. I'm not proud of everything from my past, but I'm proud that those I love are safe.
Over Eight Hours and Nothing To ShowThere's a thing known as the "Three Eights." The idea that eight hours of a day should be dedicated to sleep, work, and recreation, respectively. Typically this is how society tries to veil itself as functioning.
As of February 2013, the average cost of food in the US for a family of four (est. children of 7 and 11, father aged 30s, mother aged 30s), is, in the cheapest scenario shown, 636.30 a month, or 146.90 a week (587.60, the price we'll use for the rest of this, as it is the lowest scenario.) On average, a person who works full time minimum wage on a single job is $290 a week. Electricity, estimated by the EIA (most recent estimations only as recent as 2009), is around $103.67. Average gas costs according to
The CyborgA mess of wires, and an apathy for the human condition, uncaring eyes and a constant stream of electronic input, he works to please himself and nothing more, even at the inconvenience of others. A glowing device in his palm, relaying information from others like him, his head wired to another contraption in his pocket, he blends in perfectly with the surroundings. The vast majority of his input is vapid and vacuous, a stream of media behind shielded, darkened lenses.
Most of his motion is autopilot, so absorbed in his world. He jaywalks in front of cars without flinching at their blaring horns, or leaves carts in parking stalls, or, valuing himself over mere mortals, cuts right in front in lines of people, much to the outrage of the humans, behind.
He glances at his device again as it reads "U up 4 Pizza 2nite?"
"Ya, u'll never guess wut just happened, sum jerk blasted his horn rite n my ear."
He changes to the latest top forty on his MP3 player and puts his cell away. He continues to
The Little FirecrackerAlways full of pep and energy
Always wanted to play
Always wanted to spar
Even when the others wanted to rest
She was not always the cuddliest
But she was full of love, like the rest
She always saw herself as big as
Her brother, the one who towered
Above the others.
Shorter in stature, her soul and shadow
Rose above the others
But as with everyone,
Such things are not permanent
Kidney trouble came so fast
There was little time to futilely react
Within a couple of weeks
She was gone
A devastation, out of nowhere
The little firecracker
Had burned out
But her glow was so bright
No one could forget.
A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.
You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, Ill know
that Lears been there before, and
Ill not swoon.
And if Hades doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, Ill recall that
I am not the first Dantes been down
there as well.
And if on my death-bed I mourn
the life I wasted on wine and stale
chocolate bars, Ill recall Wildes words and
hope that, though long in the gutter, I did
glimpse the stars.
NonexistenceI pray to a God I have never seen,
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.
My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?
I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.
My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
I think that's 'cause real light brings nothing but fright:
It's bound to discover
all crimes, neatly covered.
I pray to a God because maybe he is,
unlike me and the world,
in them I miss
something to reach.
AnarchyScream the anthem of the anarchist!
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.
out of Gardenwhat sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes
stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you
but to lay in gardens, oh
a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars
what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us
where walking air pushes every dust
one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honey bees minus harvest
one from sands of human crust
when traced is an orb monster, Jupiter
around your left breast, so that nipple
a blood storm just under the skin
and asking where you sowed the marigolds
is only to hear you choke the words time and water
in the same sentence
to hear you say there will be no rain for a week
while an ocean is
Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.
the plasticized quantum theory
une voleur honteux
slip of the tongue
in each saturated pore
spectrum rehearses its symphony
crooked whispers of a flute
a glimpse of blue infinitude
quiets the confines of los alamos
¿quién es él? eso piensa
paralysis in the peristalsis
jewel in the vitreous humor
until it watercolors
the poison of psyche
papillae the plagues
oxidizing ash and ember
a quivering effigy
splinters the moon
the mirrored hand exhales
swept the epileptic ceiling
dissolving tendrils of mahogany
detached from the retina
tranquil, the deception
the film frame fades
captured in the mercury
Snowflakes fall, blood is in the air,
Covering white figure of pride,
Lying forceless on the ground,
Having no strength to fight with the snow,
Nor even with reality,
Which drifts down from the empty sky,
Where the moon cannot be seen,
Where birds cannot be heard,
At which wolves can only howl.
Vampires heartacheI awake in the night;
I can no longer sleep.
I don't see myself in mirrors;
I see somebody else.
I am alone.
I am dead.
The red stripes on white flesh
Keep me somewhat Sane.
I stare at the ceiling;
It is as cold and dead as I am.
The pain burns within;
as my life slowly fades away.
Life Like a PoemLife is like a poem,
Some people like it,
Some people hate it,
It can be ugly,
It can be beautiful,
It can be both,
It can be simple,
It can be complicated,
It has feeling,
It expresses things,
Its whole purpose isn't expressed in its words, alone,
It can be studied,
Its whole meaning is up to the one dealing with it,
It can change in an instant,
It can tell the beholders about themselves,
It always ends.
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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