Behold the spinning sun, a marvel bright
Upon a path that's inexplicably
Certainly arriving in its dark home.
This everyday, ordinary miracle
Suffices to spin the earth and light the skies
Above our thoughtless heads and sightless streets.
To mend our sightless ways, observe an angel soft
In swift descent upon a golden ray.
Hold dear your awe: for after all, we have
Good evidence of world's creation.
Fear not an awe-struck sight of hidden joy.
Complexity's simple beauty arrives
And holds the seeing mind: be not blinded
By acclimitization's cold damp'ning.
Therefore we come, past word and drink, to soul:
The heart of I, wherein I bandy stars,
The toys of endless thought beyond hearth's ken.
A room, in solitude's entirety,
With walls who bear the burdensome dream-whorls,
Instead of colourful papers' murals.
And lo! A door of wood coniferous,
Many scenes thereon are written deep.
Beyond it lies one room, yet infinite
The paths which branch from here to firmament.
Observe, my friend: the floor is drowned in time,
And you who pass by quickly: you know not,
These waters; do they come, or do they leave?
You know not.
Now watch the shallow drowning's darkened depths,
Ruled often by the
It all begins one sunny afternoon.
At crossing corridors they called to me,
To draw along the asphalt way to home:
Not ours, but hers, in neighbourhood all calm,
Among the windy vapours caught in light.
I heard them throw her name into the house:
A bird to flit around the dining room.
I saw her come: a lady dark of grace,
Who ought, we knew, to be on elsewhere's hunt,
At crossing corridors where climb the doors.
Below the murmuring began the flame:
A ring of blue; above the blackened pan,
Wherein we poured the lovely golden oil.
And then: the sliced-up spuds, all creamy pale,
While oily scent began to permeate.
We spoke behi
While day remains the house of sentient thought,
Yet Night is Queen among our mist-soaked dreams.
We hunt for joy and blood 'neath starrèd dome,
Our thoughts in chase of long-forbidden touch:
The clichéd lover's kiss, or spinning dance,
Of intellect and lovely moist desire.
Pursuit and search together bind our hearts,
(In other ways, unfettered lords in silk)
While fog and sea do paw around the quays,
Of rationality's cold touch.
The lamp's warm glow atop my white-strewn desk,
And strains of ancient grace's matrices,
Bring liquid shape to still, domestic air.
The flawed and mortal beauty before us,
Which some would name the decadence of now.
But who can understand our beauteous works?
Grandfather's lamp, a warm young cat, who knows?
Some do not see the heights from whence we speak.
They have not sung of desire's sweet siren.
What lasts, outlives its master's span? A song?
The elegance of German make and thought,
Or rolling rustic fields, where stay no words?
Therefore I write, recalling golden light,
And sweet youth's passion laid before my eyes,
In hop
All around the stars stand,
Beacons burning brightly,
Guiding lights through the void.
The darkness cannot hold,
Though it is all around.
In this great emptiness,
Lives flare briefly like suns,
Their work lasting eons,
Despite the maker's death.
The life will not last long,
The act lasts forever.
I stand within my armour,
The knight of Death.
Darkness surrounds me,
A mantle of protection.
I hear the demons you fear,
The monsters that hunt you.
Why do you fear them?
They are not monsters.
They are dark angels,
The Truth of what we are.
They lend me power,
And bind me in the darkness.
In this darkness I can see,
Where you are blinded,
By your anger and your fear.
Alone I stand,
The Eldest,
Though I seem young to your eyes.
Why do you see only me?
Why do you not see my soul?
You see only my blood,
The crimes you perceive.
The greatest people are those who will gamble,
And sacrifice everything for the cause.
But th
Who would live forever?
Life stretching overlong,
Leaving humanity,
Like a tool overused,
One to be discarded,
And never seen again.
Though it has long been dreamed,
The old fountain of youth,
A quester's holy grail,
Giving life eternal,
Slaying dark dreams of death,
Though not to all of us.
What is to come of us?
We who have not found it,
Shall we give up our dreams?
Though not our mortal deaths,
So unlike the lucky,
The finders of the grail.
And of life overlong,
What will you make of it?
Will you throw back the dark,
Or fill it with the light?
Or will you forget it,
Leaving life behind?
The problem with the gift,
I
Long they have wandered,
Seeking the homeland,
A place that never was found,
Though long they did hound.
Ancient lore they learned,
Many strange things,
Knowledge of things weird and old,
All this did they hold.
The clans are scattered,
Sept from sept,
Brother from brother, father from son,
All waiting to be won.
Wise men are gathered,
From far lands,
All coming to the strong hold,
All waiting for the messiah bold.
Where is the messiah,
The shining light?
Where the opening of the way,
The long-awaited glorious day?
No one knows them,
Sees their goal.
No one sees what they wrought,
Or the place they sought.
In my cold dark tomb,
My prison of iron-hard ice,
I wait.
My only company is my thoughts,
Keeping the silence at bay.
I wait.
And now, within this chamber,
I hear music.
I listen.
It is quiet, strong, pure,
The music of angels, a heavenly chorus.
I listen.
A light shines through,
A kind word in the cruelty.
I watch.
Showing all the world,
Illuminating its beauty.
I watch.
And now, the ice begins to melt,
My prison vanishing.
I go.
Slowly, the walls break,
The locks crumbling.
I go.
And outside, the world is great,
A place of opportunity
I walk.
Along the road I go,
The lonely road
I walk.
It is not cold;
It sim
So similar to life,
A toss of the dice,
A random event,
No way of knowing the end.
Perhaps God does not play dice,
Yet how are we to know?
Nothing can be foreseen,
When we leave it to chance.
If God is not playing dice with the universe...
...Who is?
Humanity?
So many people,
Saying there is no God,
Yet they do not control their fates...
...What is the answer to this mystery?
If We are not playing dice with the universe...
...Who is?
A toss of the dice,
A random event,
No way of knowing the end.
So similar to life.
Perhaps God does not play dice,
Yet how are we to know?
Nothing can be foreseen,
When we leave it to chance.
Yes, my son,
We cannot see the end,
Of chance.
Such is life.
If God is not playing dice with the universe…
…Who is?
Humanity?
One might say so,
Yet if we control,
What is fate?
What is destiny?
So many people,
Saying there is no God,
Yet they do not control their fates…
…What is the answer to this mystery?
How can there be an answer?
Life is so vast,
And we but a tiny part,
How can we know the answer?
How can we be rolling the
Darkness not yet come,night still a far-off dream,
Down I go, into the maze.
Even in the maze, the single room,
There is still light, my friends not yet full of song.
Simple.
Then the night comes on, both above and below,
Bringing with it our music, songs to move our souls.
Darkness folding all around me, warm and comforting,
I am with my friends, and their simple joys.
And so it goes, until all is full,
And the air is thick, a blanket of sound and thought.
Then into the night, now dark and still,
Full of the music of rain and frogs.
Calm.
Even after I return to the maze, the songs and blue light,
I remember the rain, the quiet
The masks hang on the wall,
Bright and clear to my eye:
The Ghost, pale and lonely,
The mouth turned down in sorrow,
Or the Green Man, covered in leaves:
Ivy beard, grassy hair, laurel cheeks.
The sun gleams off the Wise Man,
Old and lined, yet one can see,
The lines are words: the mask is truly young.
What mask shall I wear today?
Who shall I be today?
There is a great joy,
In wearing a mask,
In being someone else.
But the danger of masks,
Is that when you wear them too much,
One cannot tell,
The difference between face and mask.
Beware, ye who would wear the mask!
Beware becoming the mask!
BUS 57 TO CEDARWOOD
Why Today
Amanda woke up as the bus plunged down the steep cliff.
Around her small things flew, floating in the falling vehicle.
Time began to slow down. With it, everything around her blurred; all
ambient sounds became a slow stream of incoherent waves.
Today, of all days? Why did it have to be today? she thought.
Some moments later, time came to a full stop. Silence and blurriness reigned.
The bus driver was nowhere to be seen, and so were the other passengers.
Except one: a teenager seated in the very back row. He wore a hood so
she couldn't see his face. In his hand he held a small metallic thing
that shone
A wondrous symmetry of long-shorn words,
Caref'ly hewn into gleaming, lacy lines,
Mimicking dances, curves of thoughtless grace,
A hung ballet of force amid phrases:
Between metaphor's edge and rhyme's long fall,
We hide the meaningful young lines in scheme,
In beat, and meter's spinning tap of song.
We choose to hide the sentiments who hum
Within our skulls: conceal them 'midst dull sheens,
The silver cry of monologue, satire,
And bitterly prosaic soliloquys.
We make us masks of polyethylene,
For who would dare to shape their songs from fire?
The very thought of showing all our thoughts!
Current Residence: "Home is where the heart is" Favourite genre of music: I like most music MP3 player of choice: My grubby little beast... it's served us well Shell of choice: Mollusc shells are pretty fine Wallpaper of choice: I favour blacks and blues and dark purples Skin of choice: The one I've got on works pretty well... Favourite cartoon character: Garfield! Personal Quote: Foolish mortals.
Favourite Visual Artist
Leonardo da Vinci
Favourite Movies
Donnie Darko, Big Fish, Moulin Rouge, Constant Gardener
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Vertical Horizon, Rascal Flatts, Panic at the Disco
In case anyone's watching, I'm going to be switching computers soon. My art will probably "disappear" temporarily from deviantART - the photos and manipulations, at any rate. I'll try and get it all back again ASAP - but please let me know if I've missed something.
Je vais changer mon ordinateur bientôt. Donc, presque tout mes pièces d'arts seront "disparus". S'il vous plaît, ayez de la patience, et dites-moi si vous remarquez quelque chose qui manque. Merci. Et comme toujours, excusez mes fautes de grammaire.
I'm done! Oliver is over now! Finished! So perhaps there'll be some art appearing (not that anyone's counting/paying attention, hey?). Hopefully I'll have time now to actually appreciate what other people are doing, too, rather than just glancing at it, going, Oh, that's nice, and doing whatever comes next.
On the other hand, now the real stress sets in... little things like university applications. Anybody want to donate money so a broke and largely unemployed student can go to UBC?
I'm sorry, but I'm simply too tired to write more tonight. All that caffeine I just had is finally wearing off.
J'ai fini! Oliver a fini aussi! Peut-être
Excusez-moi... j'étais très occupé pour trois semaines, et maintenant, je serai occupé encore. Je travaille dans le théêatre, vous comprenez, et alors je n'aurai pas le temps pour les artes.
Yes. I'm not going to be submitting much - not that many people are paying attention, hahaha.