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Dear friends! my brothers and sisters
take arms against your sea of troubles.
And embrace - let us all embrace
All my friends are pencils and pens.
And I feel crazy, living out this
Ella Fitzgerald fantasy.
Don't call - she'll just hang up.
So sue me.
There's a pig in the White House.
And it's eating the Lincoln bedroom.
And it's eating Times Square.
And it's eating Malaysia.
This is our weapon of mass destruction.
My soul is an earthquake my face is the moon
Give me seratonin so I can be happy
Give me a nosejob so I can feel right
Stick it to the man!
If everyone craves normalcy no one will create.
If common sense was common they'd all be bored blind.
We'll all be sorry for the human race.
I don't mind being misunderstood as long as you speak my language
If you comprehended this poem then it would be worthless
This is years and years and years and years
of sweet repressed rage.
Violence ain't the cure, it's the disease.
Let us all be White Anglo Saxon weird
Mother Nature's Revenge
The radio in Stuart's tiny Japanese automobile was staticky and almost incoherent: "Massive grshgrshwkksh route wrkshhh highway krrrsh. DO NOT TRRRRRRK!! Repeat, do not be WRRRRKSSSHK!"
Grumbling, Stuart flicked the radio off and strained to see the road ahead of him. Perpetual rain played prisms on the windshield, and though the effect was dazzling and kaleidoscopic, it didn't improve driving conditions in the slightest. The sound of timpani drums rolled through his hearing, derailing whatever was left in his train of thought. Stuart bit his lip anxiously, not appreciating the splendour and natural beauty of the storm. In this weather, and especially in the dark, there was almost definitely an accident on route wrkshhh, and he knew that he wouldn't be driving back into the District anytime soon. Stuart sighed and pulled the yellow coupe to the side of the road in a suburban area that he didn't recognize.
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
Keep in Touch!
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