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The Caged Lion of Wonderland/Lost, Lonely ShadowI followed the rabbit through the hole in the ground.
I lost myself there, in the place that I found.
How silly it is, to go looking for what is gone, only to loose what is there!
And I'm left here to wonder, "why did I follow that hare?"
I dined with the hatter, as mad as could be,
Driven to the ends and beyond what the mind can see.
But a truth he did tell, directed at me:
"The you that you are is not the self that will be."
His message imparted,
I bid him farewell and departed.
But the face of a cat stopped me before the night fell.
A cheshire smile of one who knows all, but might never tell.
In dusklight we stood, not saying a word, nor making a sound.
And as day turned to night, he faded away into the background.
One thing he did say,
As he faded away:
"My grin may be wide, but yours will be doubled,
Once you remove your mask of the troubled."
I knew what he meant, but I pushed it away,
The thought was all that kept the light at bay.
And as I recalled the light,
Gazing at the moon
The Wind is Blowing/ The Lion's WakeDream a dream of simple lies,
And weave a web of sly deceit.
Play your part, create your ties,
And pretend you can't be beat.
For in the end, your feeble flame,
Will be oust'd by the roaring wind.
Because the day will come the same,
When you shall pay for all you've sin'd.
Do what you will to best prepare,
Because the waking beast has started.
You can't deny, nor lie, that you're aware:
That you have stirred the Lion-hearted.
And so I stalk and hunt my prey,
I will tear him, like a wind-borne flurry.
The trickster Fox, both old and grey,
Prepare yourself for the Lion's fury!
Project "Ad Infinitum"An individual who shall remain anonymous recently asked me:
"What brought about the existence of the clones who are featured throughout your series?"
Read on, to learn the origins of the DUSC Replicas!
Our tale begins in another plane of existence entirely; in a world called Demoa. In its long history, Demoa has never been at rest from the savage nature of war. Countries rose and fell, sometimes in less than a decade, and the political systems were always in a state of upheaval. Of the multitudinous struggles, one group of people began to distinguish themselves from the rest: "Infusers."
With the ability to command the very elements of nature itself, these warriors quickly became the mainstay of military force. A country with more infusers to back its ranks could turn the tides of war in their favor, no matter the number of their enemy. But there was a problem: infusion was not a common occurrence, and those who knew its secrets often died before they could ever pass on their knowledge
What's InfusionA term I've been throwing around a lot is infusion. But what is it, exactly?
Infusion is the manifestation of one's mental psyche. Similar to chi, or auras, our mental psyche is an ever-present thing that leaves us only in death. Everything that lives is possessed of it. "Mental psyche" is our state-of-mind; our willpower and resolve, if you will. And just as chi and auras may be harnessed by those select few who are sensitive to it, so may one's mental psyche be employed. Among the many different planes of existence that span throughout space, infusion is possible in only a select few, making infusers (those able to harness their mental psyche) all the more rare.
When manifest, one's mental psyche takes on a form based upon an individual's "elemental bond." An elemental bond, as its name suggests, is a particular affinity an individual has for one of the many elements of nature. Someone who likes water, for instance, would probably have an elemental bond with water. This is not always
Secrets Revealed: Project DuskGENESIS ORGANIZATION:
Organization devoted to the scientific study of genetic copies and their uses. Contains many different sub-groups each dealing with different aspects of cloning, or other genetics-related material.
The DUSK CLONING GROUP:
A military division of the Genesis Org. dealing with the mass production of clones, their interactions within groups of "pure-breds" (normal people) and their aplications as potential combat operatives. Also, recently developed methods for producing half-bred semiclones, as well as made new advances on the theory of "gene splicing."
A small-scale cloning project that is being carried out by the Washington branch of the Dusk Group. DNA samples of three individuals were taken and cloned to create five clones of each individual and mark differences between behavior, as well as develop new methods of gene research.
Abnormality Factor XI:
One of the DNA samples used for the production of five clones was submitted by an individual who's a
"TH1RTE3N": Revised 1-4"One story. Three lives. This is
CH.1: Perspective Overview:
Jay heard it, the sound of rain pounding against the window. He turned his head away from his work and looked out of the window. He could see the gray of the sky, looking ominously dark; the clouds were thick; not a single ray of light penetrated them. He got up from his workbench and walked closer to the windowhoping to see a flooded stairway. Sure enough, the ground outside near the steps was soaked and about an inch of water flowing off of them. Its a good day, he said to himself, smirking.
Weekends when it rained were always the best for Jay. April rain during a weekend meant it was time for the annual camping trip. The same each year, after the first storm of April it was time to go camping. It was a curious ritual, but the beauty of a gray sky always enhanced the trip, that is why it had to be raining. Colors seemed more vivid, grass was like a comfortable pillow for the fee
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
1969, and time goes oni imagine you
thief of space affairs, time would go on;
wonder if you'd manifest
to govern gravity’s empire
physically, just as aurally,
so to walk with a
winds at war
captivated by you; sunshine
gathered in the organized
chaos of your hair: eyes would
dance fires domesticated by
your fingertips, boasting wander-
world laws of light (reigned in
earthen measure). i’d
boast mountains by your name.
the exhaust for gods
of transience (north-
hazed) transmuted back
(for easy drawls from the east)—
i’d sip wine
from the wishbone of your
body of sea. plead
the noise of bedroom eyes
& sleepy smells to soften your
siren’s unquiet tease.
i imagine you,
thief of space affairs;
imagine you in 1969
where our time would go on.
Hope in my Lawyer's Paperclip JarMy lawyer's desk on a normal Wednesday afternoon
is flooded with sheafs of white legal pads and errant staples.
Today is Wednesday, but the clouds outside
his twelfth-story window are shaped like loss
and the lines around his eyes seem crater-like in the shadows
and nothing about the last three weeks of my life
has been normal, so I don't know why it surprises me
to find his desk cleared of debris.
I wait for him in a silence that ebbs and flows with my heartbeats,
the zipper on my knee highs tapping against my leg like rain.
When he returns, hands filled with coffee
and the paperwork for a restraining order
against the man he set me up with almost a month ago,
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
"There's only one paperclip left in the magnetic jar.
It's bent like a swan."
I can tell, from the awkward shuffling of his loafers,
that he's wondering if he should have brought the Kleenex, after all.
He knows women often cry at things such as these,
reminders of the men they've love
Broken Glass/The Void Between HeartsWe are possessed of the tools which might guarantee we are never alone, yet we all lament in silence. Our solitude comes when we are at our weakest, while our friends embrace us only when we are at our best. We are all fragile and afraid of being broken like some small porcelain doll. And so we lock ourselves behind glass, that none might ever lay a finger on that most precious possession so central to our lives. It is safe, without pain, but also filled with suffering, because that glass separates us from those we care most for. It is only an act, that we falsely claim to be happy, because behind that glass, there is nothing. Only ourselves and the inevitable darkness and fear that reside in the heart of a hermit. Loneliness is not mitigated with age, it is amplified, so that one day it may drive us mad. And in our frenzied state, we shatter the glass cage we meticulously built around ourselves and run headlong into the world, driven by fear, madness, desire, and the all-powerful real
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More