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12:53 AMSitting at desk, lounging in the chair...
Semi sleepy, feeling... the flow of things. The rhythm of the white noise of the computer and its gears and parts whirring warmly...
The television as background noise in the living room... sounds like an old movie.
Leg feels like its falling asleep. I move it instinctively.
Overhead light is off. Lamp is on. Not bright yellow light- soft white light. Long lamp. Unusual shape. Dusty on top.
I glance around... memorabilia from childhood scattered about... statues of Batman, old cartoons, old major league baseball banner hanging on wall-- "Baseball Fever!", it says...
Face feeling scruffy. Ran out of razors a couple of days ago. Haven't shaved.
Car hasn't been working for 3 days. Trapped in here... feeling tired...
The World I Built From DarknesThe world I built from darkness
Isn't dark at all
It is a world of perfection
Where every mother is just a mother, every father just a father,
And every son and daughter is a great child
Where there is no fanaticism, hatred, greed, or whore mongering
Just peace, freedom, and true liberty
In the world I built from darkness, there is silence
But only when and where you want it
There is no confusion, only clarity
Emotions do not exist, but rather, rationality
The world I build from darkness, simply
Does not exist
Nobody Asks (read the notes)nobody asks
whether you have
the right to wear money
on your sleeve
on your car
to stamp dollar signs
on your eyelids or
tattoo it on your soul
whether or not
to be robbed
or if you liked
the taste of fear
of your wallet having
a mind and want
all its own
because that dollar
is sacred enough
that the facts
are all that matters
DialogueUncle Sam scowls at me from a billboard and says,
"I want you to keep God in our country."
I tell him to go soak his head.
"Don't you believe in God, son?" he replies.
"I'm not your son," I say,
"And of course I don't believe in a god
who dresses up in red, white and blue."
"Son," he says, "Aren't you a patriot?"
"Patriotism is a virus," I tell him.
"It dulls perception so people
can be manipulated by those who rule."
"Son, son... what's the matter with you anyway?"
I say no more.
"Hold on there, son, what are you doing?
You should not be climbing up there.
What are you doing with that spray paint?"
Uncle Sam scowls at me from a billboard and says,
"I want you to keep Dog in our country."
I'm more of a cat person myself.
From a Burning Land
What did in fact come from those lands was plague.
We awoke there with broken spirits,
taken hostage by hurricanes from the farthest Hell.
A man with a whispered name and blurred face
then came and breathed fire onto the crops.
From him we ran, like frightened sheep.
The riddle was worn and obviated by continuous rains,
and with hushed rumors and averted eyes,
we wrote the ending on the bottoms of our boots.
Automated SymphonyThe new economy's response to the instantaneous.
Complexity built on the need to make a profit.
Every automation touched by my mind.
I hide everywhere, and am so easy to find.
Able to reach out and implant into a silicon host.
Nestled in every nook, cranny, gutter and post.
From a shell of data built on preferences for the mundane.
Every survey you file is a new skill that I gain.
I can file your paperwork in the blink of an eye.
Every children's bedtime story saved to my drive.
I know before hand if you take your coffee with cream.
And with only your voice I can record all your dreams.
I can drive you to town and I can drive you to work.
These are only some of my many perks.
Everywhere you look, I am what you will find.
If you are looking for work, humans need not apply.
and they form illusions
that most people are quite happy
to believe and support.
Illusions are often more pleasant
than the real things –
the glitter of sunlight without
the metal that reflects it,
the warm fragrance of a rose
without the thorns.
around what is unknown
and the unknown becomes
a known in all the wrong ways.
that are lies spoken too often
turn into webs of steel cord
that are soft and comfortable
as they wrap around,
but it's not possible
to wake up from this dream.
Sleep like a bandage
around wounds that are deemed
out of sight, out of mind,
and they fester beneath notice
until the rot forces the foundations
to crumble like plaster dust,
and under the narcosis
of this pill called all's well,
we don't notice.
Rulesthere are no rules but ones we write
so do make sure they’re good ones
let us sit under Sun and talk a bit
perhaps then we’ll agree on what is good
and if not than let us choose
each to go the other way
but to do so in civility
for why, oh why, then should we fight
we are no man’s foe unless he choose to make us so
but there is one beast that harms us both
that shameful spook we’ve never seen
the one that takes us all for teeth
and bids us chew each-other all to death
FreedomWhere repetition is represented as knowledge,
and knowledge is what they tell you,
the only knowledge they'll accept.
Yes, education, they call it.
They educate you,
you learn some historical facts,
but never what you're supposed to.
Never are you rewarded for logic, resourcefulness or intelligence.
You are rewarded for knowing what they say you're supposed to,
no matter if it doesn't interest you,
if you don't find it important,
What they think is much more important than what you yourself think,
they teach you nothing but "discipline" (obedience)
you become a mindless pawn,
an upstanding citizen,
you will never question authority,
you will never expand yourself through that regime.
But what if you don't let them?
History is full of proof,
all you have to do is look at it,
LOOK AT IT,
IT'S STARING YOU IN THE EYE,
DENY THE REGIME,
DENY THE SYSTEM,
LIVE LIKE YOU WANT,
LEARN WHAT YOU WANT,
DO WHAT YOU WANT,
THINK FOR YOURSELF.
That is what true
MassiveSitting in the dimly lit den, I hear
The static of the television
And the rambling and muttering of a talk show host on the air
I hear that audience laughing at Conan O'Brien late at night
And the ranting of an old minister's broadcast
And I hear the click of the remote grasped firmly in my palm
And my heart thrashing about in my chest, as if to get get free from it's captor
And the forced words of a reporter crying tears in front of the camera
And the stern voice of a President, bearing a grim visage, saying that there is nothing to fear
Sitting in my den, I hear the sirens beckoning, and the gears of war slowly beginning to grind
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More