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Literature
besieged
let's keep count of moments
tamed and titled
made
personal & precious
the little one
lost and found
her middle name is sin
the last is senseless
i was so lost
overwhelmed even
sent back to the surface
washed up
and in my mind
the world was black and
i couldn't read the words
a blossom of flow
desperation is turning
no where left for me to go
inside constant yearning
I swallowed the world whole
and found I was still empty
no matter what I shoveled in my hole
the strength I needed was not lent me
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 2
Literature
Suburbia
The backdrop was, in fact, a little overdone.
The backyard boys were still
laying in the grass, staring at and bottom of the
trampoline. Their mothers sat upon the patio
with their middle-aged spurts of laughter,
started out of politeness
to the uninspired gossiply stories they
told each other
in the boredom of the evening.
Their fathers, burly-like, stood
around the barbeque on the
cement pallet by the bungalow's kitchen window
discussing sports and politics
which they knew nothing about.
The girls stood inside the screen door to
escape the bugs and the boys, who
frightened them out of their socks at times.
Not literally, but...
The yard itself was mediocre. Flower beds
dying in the summer heat, uncut grass
long enough to sneak inside the top of your shoe,
and the broken gas pipe
by the beginning of the alley,
that daddy, in all of his brilliance, began to dig beside,
(unknowingly, of course--he isn't a jackass!)
damaging it a bit, because he didn't call before he dug
like the little
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 4
Literature
Jumping trains
gets jam in his peanut butter
unintentionally at every use.
doesn't mean a thing, he just needs to
be more careful.
'you need to
be more careful,' we'd tell him. but some things just don't sink.
other things do sink, though.
like boats.
one good example
would be the titanic.
lord knows i'm a righteous man. blameless in his eyes,
for the most part. but he's pissed
'cause i keep sticking my
nose into shit that don't concern me
like air pollution and sewage.
dumpsters in the slums of new york city.
i'm quite rustic in terms of
knowing right and wrong, and what's whole from half.
but jumping trains
never was a problem because i didn't have the
money i needed to live a life.
but we'd tell him not to worry,
because our peanut butter's in our jam, too.
and our jam is a lot harder to kill
then those other folks'.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 3
Literature
facts are fiction
Took control while I was still
stumbling,
setting the stage for
young ones not yet old enough to
think in the way of the world
and
what a world!
what a world!
With history speaking in whispers,
diseased as are our children,
some ill-translated spin
pursued by progress;
unforgiving and
unforgiven.
What a world.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 2 3
Literature
i trip over my own words
entangled in dramatic
theatre-like politics i trip
over my own words, and it is
no longer the
truth which matters, but the very
anger which now
controls the tongues of your
excited minds craving an
execution or excommunication.
The only one that does not spit me out is
Montreal.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 4
Literature
Montreal
Lily LeBeck.
I fell in love with her
while we were staying in Montreal.
Perhaps, it was the way
she spoke softly to me beneath
the chaotic city sky,
   spewing sirens, horns,
   helicopters, and electricity.
The electricity of her words
reacting with my ears,
   positively or negatively, I don't give a shit,
     "Le monde entier
       a été construit pour le
       bien de votre vanité."
It was in Montreal we had to say goodbye.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 2
Literature
Jazz club
I loved the night
too much for my own
good in those days.
Bottle in hand, I sat
watching, waiting, wanting.
tapping.
She had glowsticks in her hair,
I remember. Like he told me.
Swinging
to the rhythm of the
room, eyes closed and pretentious,
she was the only light in the night.
     And aimlessly,
as dancers so often do,
not that she was one,
she kneeled wavily toward the
floor, dreadlocks nearly touching it.
And I, among
wretched men, the proverbial
prostitutes of this society,
guzzle down, hoping still
to drown
away these beating
memories left upon my heart
night after night. How sick a
man am I.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 3
Literature
Train car poetry
oh i miss the lustre of your lips
so smooth and moderate.
i close my eyes, lifting a finger
to touch. how i long for you
in the absolute dead of night
and day and everywhere.
sweet, sweet slumber brings
you and the world and everything
upon me like perfume,
vaguely but utterly, and i sit
and stare and wait,
the train railing on,
i can smell your taste from here.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 5 2
Literature
How I hate this place
I am much too busy,
riding zebras upon the earth,
which I call my home, to
listen to you, even though
you call my true name across
field after field,
searching for me in desperation,
as our home burns away
spewing smoke like a factory.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 2
Literature
Yes.
I am only as mad as you make me.
And some people do find me quite mad, if I've taken their gestures toward me in the correct fashion. You know how it is, though. Little to no eye contact, limited interactions, short and dry answers to my questions, nothing's funny, etc. They find me intimidating, and serious. Like I am going to fulfill every word that unfolds from my tongue and brushes my lips as it exits my mouth.
But no. I am not going to teach your children the lessons they deserve, and I am not going to take justice (unless I see no other way) into my own hands. And I am not going to shave off your skin and feed you to dogs.
Your actual dilemma is not whether or not I'm serious, but whether or not you can trust a madman.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 4
Literature
Mountain Dew
It is 2:00 A.M. at Pete's house. He is asleep on the couch, and I am watching television on his father's seventy-two inch monitor sipping a can of Mountain Dew listlessly. I am bored, tired, maybe a little restless, and sick of television. I turn it off and reflect on the evening. My hands have found their way behind my head and touch their opposite's elbows. My eyes have found the ceiling where the drywall texture is a maze of abundant and interesting design. It appears to the naked eye to be random, because, in a sense, that is exactly what it is. I look over at Pete who is twisted, seemingly uncomfortable, on the sofa next to me. His left arm is wrapped around the back of his head, and his mouth is open wide and beginning to drool. I determine that it is time I leave. Being the sensitive and caring man that I am, I decide that I should not wake Pete up.
I leave the house quietly out the door into the garage so that I do not wake his sister, Julie. The garage is warm and moist and ha
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 1 3
Literature
it was an early afternoon
it was an early afternoon, mid-august,
and I took myself to walk along the rocks
in the beaming sun, barefoot. I sauntered
forward, the scent of the Atlantic
sweeping through my nostrils.
I was late for everything
it was refreshing, and I sat,
my back against a sandy slope,
a changed woman.
"hullo."
I turn smiling,
gathering the figure behind me
is Mr. Thomas Idlewild, or a supposed
noble in tailored clothes, searching
for eyes and lips that wish to be upon him. but
instead of a lover's tongue
greeting the rear of my neck and
crawling toward my chin, I am
met with a father's unshaven face,
and crooked teeth that long to devour
a young maiden once again.
twice again.
my mother once told me every girl marries her father.
but this my mother never knew.
she was old and frail and deceived,
in illusion of their lucid love. and my father,
the sickly sinner witching upon me,
my sickly arms stretched in attempt to drive my
foe out of reach. I struggle helpless,
out of breath, inhaling cigarette
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 2 3
Literature
Business.
eye shit oatmeal/ for a living.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 2
Literature
similis par fastidium
Then come I, emerging from in flames, hot
and burning, to end all your misery.
Not everything in the world agrees
with which you believe, and have tirelessly taught,
that the shit built upon our earth is not.
And time and time again, you are not free;
every word from your mouth comes out empty.
All the days, and life, and love, that you sought
are only nowhere to be found at all.
But yes, I loved you through smiles and sorrow,
and still, your taut lips burn and repulse me.
Like lust, and dust, and many things that fall,
I wish I could grind you to pulp, you know.
But your eyes drive into me craftily.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 2
Literature
Atop an icy globe
Thinking once was enough, the light
was switched off on my way out.
Front door shut tight but quietly, I'm
stepping down the hall, half ignoring
screams of horror from where I've
come. It's my duty, my job, my honor,
so I know what I have done. I know
everything. I've said everything I've
had to say. needed to say.
But I am not a good man
I was never a good man
I never met a good man
Not my father or brother
and I pocket my hands
The building is behind me now.
I slide atop an icy globe
into a storm
until the next destination
is underneath my feet.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 4
Literature
this is the way she walks
the way she walks
smooth
unbreakable by design
threatening fingers on triggers
and then
short, simple, sweet
elegant even
a joy in confusion
in-or-out cemented corners
that you work all day
and this
is the way she walks
she walks
without haste and without care
she is the reason
they are there  
she is the reason
they live for the dark
seeking a light,
a drink, a knife
to keep bad men away
like stinging swords in the back you cry
for more but in glorious memory they
cannot ever forget the smirk on your face
through pain
the brand upon your back reading love
as the dingy dungeon street set alight.
and wading through the urban waters
the way she walks
smooth
and they take her hand
walk her pace
they don't dare to throw her down.
not for a minute.
:iconFelix-Forever:Felix-Forever
:iconfelix-forever:Felix-Forever 0 2

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america is
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Literature
famous last words
"dino-gun from the future. the sky's on fire with
possibilities."
that's what my mother said to me right before she left.
it was polar opposites & ice caps looking for a single life raft.
waves of pure ocean and like sounds they wait for
the light to change. waiting for the child to grow up
and start paying rent. life's full of responsibilities
and, the sooner we learn that, the sooner
we can hurry up and die. lessons learned:
readin',  writin',  and rudimentary grasp
of socioeconomic circumstance.
it's the place where dollar signs
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the crossroads, baby.
amen.
now that we're done prioritizing, we can safely say
only satellite images can really replace a higher power.
(as long as the rates are good and you don't mind
thinking yourself to a puddle.) memories drown
as easy as anyone; some do this while eating fire
& laughing at the irony of it all. meanwhile, three
elephants raise a toast...
"here's to keeping your room cle
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tag the world with your
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Mature content
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Literature
at intervals of two
the man with the backwards baseball cap
visits the same grocery store
every thursday, buys exactly three items,
and then leaves quietly. he doesn't want
to cause any problems.
"always the same old thing", he says to
the undercover cop posing as the
lady at the check out counter - it's quite odd
for him to tell her this because he's been gone already
for over five hours and she doesn't speak
english anyway.
meanwhile, on the other side of aisle six,
a woman discovers something is very
wrong.
"this won't be the last you hear from me." she
yells defiantly into the camera. the director
yells cut, but going through the motions
has become all too natural and unfortunately
the caterer has brought only egg salad sandwiches
for lunch. they wash this down with ink from a nearby
quill and, though the timing is perfect, no one seems too
happy about it.
I can't say I blame them. But secretly, I do and,
publicly, it's all their fault anyway. It was, of course,
the fourth and final time we ever heard
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Journal
Plagiorism... How to spot and stop it.
I know many people here in the DA community have suffered from plagiarism recently. I was surfing through the net when I found this... Just thought I'd help the community out a bit.
God bless...
TTFN
Me
:)
[http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/343064/been_plagiarized_how_to_spot_and_fight.html]
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Literature
The Meager pt. the End
I shed myself of the meager
ignoring burning, defiant glances,
head held low, shoulders slumped.
My booted feet crush brittle grasses
and grind shards of glass over concrete
forming tiny crystals.
The meager hone stolen machetes,
carving runes of power into their flesh;
they are tribal now, their ugliness
beautiful, like butterflies emerging
wet-winged and flightless from cocoons.
They have outgrown me as saplings outgrow
the seed; I am just a shell in the dirt.
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She wasn't one of those teachers
that everyone talked about,
but everyone who knew her
knew how loving she was.
I certainly didn't have her
or know her personally
but every day I see the changes she wrought
through simple kindness and caring
and I love her for that.
She fell down a set of stairs and hit her head
I don't know how long it took
but it was fatal.
Such awful luck for such a lovely soul.
As these thoughts race through my brain,
looking out my window, I see
snow blanketing the town; softly, gently.
Slowly falling, the elephantine flakes provide
a quietly perfect, ironically cinematic ending
to an earth-shaking day.
:iconskulblaka99:skulblaka99
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Death By Doorbell
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It was my reincarnation she sought,
so carnal and so new,
after a lifetime spent
plucking obsidian shards
from volcanic ash and
nursing wounded wrists, she dragged
me, wordless, to the beach,
black sand crunching underfoot
as she bade me swim until I lost sight of land.
I never lost what I did not have,
but did duck beneath the waves
for what felt like eternity.
I emerged headfirst, coughing
kelp onto snow-white sand  --
my wretched form did nothing
to ruin the purity of our island,
and she pulled me, tide-like, to her breast.
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Activity


deviantID

Felix-Forever
'lix
Canada
Personal Quote: lolita!
Interests
Hi

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconnoirmalaine:
NoirMalaine Featured By Owner May 16, 2013   Writer
You still alive?
Reply
:iconangelgarnet:
AngelGarnet Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2011
helloooo? : D
Reply
:iconbelfalf:
Belfalf Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2011  Hobbyist Artist
Heyo Felix! How's it hanging, buddy?
Reply
:iconcowgirl-ali:
cowgirl-ali Featured By Owner Oct 2, 2009   Photographer
I just logged in for the first time in... years. wow. I better change everything. I guess you're not ever going to read this though.
Reply
:icondorianp:
DorianP Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2008
Hey, mr. A! You still around here?
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner May 9, 2008   Writer
thanks for the :+fav: on
note to self...

xo!
Reply
:iconlnin9:
LNIN9 Featured By Owner May 2, 2008  Hobbyist
thank you for the add and the participation on the joint work...
Reply
:iconcolacandy:
colacandy Featured By Owner May 2, 2008
thought provoking work.
Reply
:icon007-felix-forever:
007-Felix-Forever Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2008
Get me out of here.
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2008   Writer
thanks for the :+fav: on
america is

xo!
Reply
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