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About Varied / Hobbyist Official Beta Tester Diana G.19/Female/Christmas Island Group :iconthe-irrelevants: the-irrelevants
 
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i heard the sunflower say that was her favorite color, i have a cotton gin mouth floating into a thousand eyes. coming down from the high that sine waved my formless parenthood, larval is the state beyond all else, chestnut wavy haired tree nymphs all giggling, blue eyes overwhelming the ocean into limitless sky borders with police crying teacup tears. from the shell was the wave, ocean convergence gazing over the water. ice age tremors evaporate testimonies plead plundering, waving flags dethroned, detached weekend willow whisked into heaven, burrowing deep into zeros. saw angel in checkers moving her queen, as the guards lowered their firm clarity and jumprope yelled, 'hello, child, take from my hand what was yours since always. rats fill my sorrowful burrows. igloos holding mischief only known to those hedgehogs harboring on winter's peeking tail. wave away the lightbulb whisking away the night. under the statement forgetting the threshold, finger fugitives yelling revelations, getty images were found in grandiose amounts copious in size. were we there, really? golden eyebrows shout my name. tribe waves followed me down the river the raft was leaving she was going to a home. mushrooms lived in villages settling in gnome heart corners. warm fire wrath wrapping, hot tea a'brewing, and stars shinin' bright! trekking through the night in beige boots and wavering shadows shout to us, beware the spirits in the grass, the inverse of one tree to another, to always.




here come again the forest children holding infants of no water source, breathing desert sands to lungs of silver mercury. in the ocean are the creatures you and i swam in
moons in a trace above rooftops and Brueghel fractals
he comes home from trailing toolbox in hand
and the snowdust has started again. Traces of moon cluttering the skycorners
fury of white quiet. What was yesterday? And the night before?
Squirrels in tribes and younglings frolicking, we’re quiet & alone. Ampersands dissociative reasoning
Boot tops with snowtraced linens, blue glow in the dust tailed willows. Soft, hum.
It is reflected in pale haired wise children—we have grown an broken the seal, so drink up with the dusk, and hide the bottle in a suitcase under your bed of many nights dreams. The conversations are no longer insipid, but grown, just as the sheet thickens and constricts, we are the arteries of treachery and dawn, the bonesickening disease god did not make or need. We are the blue lanterns trailing into nonexistence and the int7uitive philosophy surfacing from lotus moonwater made of man, if it were not for Him I may be a drifter amongst a sea of Dante’s satyrs who claim to be gods. I might be drunken and a’sunk singing the swift tune 3 eyed goddess Demeter sings. Nyx was of the night just as we embodied it, them, they are. Soft hush, do not sing, lay as we have always lain..slain daughters and dragons and talking to the seafaring wall of childhood, farewell now.
Yesterday was verticality in everything and the collapse of individual dimensions ,when floating somehow I became others just as Whitman did in Sleepchasings, when shapes assume alien forms and powdery smoke.
But paranoia, that purple demon who recently only clambered, out of the big boiling womb, it clenched my heart—I felt like the sinister painting in a picture of dorian gray who traded his soul for a progression of satan on canvas and was it because of boredom that we did so last night?
(but I would again, do so, and thus thereafter once more and again)

was it because of onesided wander? Or loneliness, just as the snowbelt divided islands of furthering tunes, we are always walking in a state of departure, the distance growing each everyday. As we’ve seen the small fish consumed by the mightiest jaws of sharp clarity so too would the largest eventually starve—we eat to subsist but we are in a tank of constant self destruction and every act of acquiring energy furthers destruction—we are simply relief from temporary death, our bodies all seek to deconstruct and implode

but the snowfall has picked up now, this dream of a newlywed man driving through highways to the unfurnished new pale house, with a soft sot woman n linen and the softliness of underthings waiting. He shifts wine from state border to border to the border between man and woman and he and she, and their cat, and wow, is this the snowfall of four days nonstop! Of valentine’s chamomile tea brewing and red velvet cake in the oven making love, this is the snowfall of Wallace, of Faulkner and father and oh father am I glad I’ve found it agayne! It was lost all I had were wet kisses confused in traffic light and the constant noise pollution of externalized wanders, how tragic everything was! For days and weeks.

The moons cluttering clustering the rooftops are just reflections of studylights and I am here, early afternoon now in calm Italian contemplation. I’ loved, and will once more, love. I had widened scopes of introspection and purpose and continue forward I expansion within and without, until lines are deceased

in father’s dreamland where things travel in trajectory lines, liquid laundry smears dust on plexiglass reflecting wide-eyed widows, whose feathers have fallen. and fathers fallen too, a thousand eyes in caves sparkling in the afterworld of hell, of ecstasy diffused in blue liquid. of Panini presses in rome, in local delis 7am mornings burning your lips drinking instant coffee, sleep deficits creeping over your shadow like a thousand blinking eyes, all asking, where is god, where is the switch of a thousand years.  where is the cosmic acceptance of death and the mourning i sought and longed for and hunted and made into mine own children, then miscarried to a seacreature’s dream, deliver, this child whose father is a million stars, burnt suns falling off the map of deceit, falling out of orbit the roundtrip of inverse zeniths. camera negatives undercurrent flowing, the drop of the iron gate, the water streams ongoing whisper. is it too late to love the dying, the decrepit decay, is it too late now. i hide crescents in my hands and curl up in flowers in rain in pebblestone towers reaching depths i’ve never touched. what I touch turns into ice, what he touches turns into stone. the immobile stone immune to the river’s rush, luscious hands liquefy silk into shimmering eyes of a thousand fathers before your father’s own, and the one after the first and last…. Shimmer, the cat, she hunts for gold, gets handmade letters back in bundles, takes your place in the throne and takes what was never yours

the internet is hollow, now. table-cornered silence, chairs unfold such a divide.
the white race of concrete walls, the waters where wings dissolve. on the highway of love!
fighting the nonexistent war exigent in the head! ginsberg is dead by a thousand copies of poems stuck in bookshelves! the suburbs has forgotten how to breathe!
america and its cars & parking lots omnipresent: where will we bury our children!
thinning hair heightens the awareness of difference! corporate illusions! tarkovsky is mourning in his grave!
machines dressed in luxury! they all have their chins pointing to the heavens!
(the gates will not open for them until purgatory! )

we've dried up the salamander of the soul! you take what is not yours and declare war!
you fight god's tears with your machinery! you argue one-sided truths in a multidimensional universe! politicians on TV look like werewolves having sex with their own facial contortions! the macy's parade is a nation-wide conspiracy starring lies! lorca is dead, THEBODYSHOP lives!  

punks continue squatting in the basement! youths perpetuating tropes with their colorfully dyed hair! rainbows grew over our eyes and painted our vision with fog! clinics are where they send the already-dead! my insurance ensures the survival of my damaged toe!

we are not destroyers, we are creators! we are saviors of our own blue eyes!
the dove sings what the dove can’t see. she is the oceanside slant, throwing the shifting shadow on white plaster where people sleep
these buildings are decades old repainted on splintered crimson wood, she said,
the woman with the ashburnt voice said

when the cathedral caved in on itself
i said no i do not want to be the withering bones in your body
he said there are heights you have never reached never reached, "reach
high into the branches where i am "
but now i only stand there and watch the remnants of autumn disintegrate into protruding bones

i heard that the winter creatures were looking for their messiah
so i stood by the doorway with a half eaten apple and watched the trees of gold losing themselves in the wind

and in the museum i looked at dead creatures
their arching skeletal frames like some hollow abandoned cathedral,
like the one  we built out of far-fetched imaginative nonsense
so in the end i guess the dove sings what the dove can’t see

why do i wait for a letter from the graveyard? why do i wait
in the gas station parking lot, praying at a stream of ersatz consciousness
praying for the lottery to have mercy on sherly’s father
to give him one more day to sit on that balcony  
him just sitting there mute and wordless, quivering in some nonreligious fever eating cubed mangoes all the way from china
MANGO to the power of three
and then to the power of holy trinity
to timelessness
to the heroine shooting in your veins

[he said i should not grow into his bones but i already did, i had done what i did, i did what i had
already done what I done, did what i did and done what was done, it was what it was, it was nothing it was what i did,
it was done, did, final, i grew into you, i grew so much,
i am sorry i grew so much into you ]

on the seventh day of college smoking a Marlboro on a dawnlit parkbench
i heard a boy play violin in a tree in a throne of leaves, and i cried
shh, said the moon
shhhhh, said the open palm, he was holding something out to me
i asked the night to hold me
when i touched it it was gone, hollow
he laughed at my deification of wallace and faulkner  
but he also once wanted to live inside me,
i am not your holy mother, not your virgin mary, you didn’t want to believe this was the ending
or the last page to another one of your fucked up bedtime stories

the dove sings what the dove can’t see
in a vault emptying what i’d never seen before,
the body emptied itself of heaven
naked and unclothed i hide the dove feathers under my bed
and hope that Mother never has to find them in her heart.
i heard the sunflower say that was her favorite color, i have a cotton gin mouth floating into a thousand eyes. coming down from the high that sine waved my formless parenthood, larval is the state beyond all else, chestnut wavy haired tree nymphs all giggling, blue eyes overwhelming the ocean into limitless sky borders with police crying teacup tears. from the shell was the wave, ocean convergence gazing over the water. ice age tremors evaporate testimonies plead plundering, waving flags dethroned, detached weekend willow whisked into heaven, burrowing deep into zeros. saw angel in checkers moving her queen, as the guards lowered their firm clarity and jumprope yelled, 'hello, child, take from my hand what was yours since always. rats fill my sorrowful burrows. igloos holding mischief only known to those hedgehogs harboring on winter's peeking tail. wave away the lightbulb whisking away the night. under the statement forgetting the threshold, finger fugitives yelling revelations, getty images were found in grandiose amounts copious in size. were we there, really? golden eyebrows shout my name. tribe waves followed me down the river the raft was leaving she was going to a home. mushrooms lived in villages settling in gnome heart corners. warm fire wrath wrapping, hot tea a'brewing, and stars shinin' bright! trekking through the night in beige boots and wavering shadows shout to us, beware the spirits in the grass, the inverse of one tree to another, to always.




here come again the forest children holding infants of no water source, breathing desert sands to lungs of silver mercury. in the ocean are the creatures you and i swam in

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ersatz-moon's Profile Picture
ersatz-moon
Diana G.
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Christmas Island
shh...just listen

college kid.
Interests

inspirational people

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:iconnintendo1889:
Nintendo1889 Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2015
:iconmacplz::iconbookplz:
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iDreaminColor14 Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015   General Artist
Happy birthday!
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Sapphire-X-Dreams Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015
Happy Birthday~ c:
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crimsonized Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Happy Birthday!
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fullhousekissrox Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! :party::iconcakeplz::icongiftplz::party:
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