Mr. Lee'sHarry's gums were bleeding. Rictussing in the bathroom mirror, he laughed the wry laughter of the dispossessed, and felt his soft heart beating against his cold ribs. He looked at the blood-spattered razor blade in his hand. His teeth had never been whiter.Mr. Lee's by Farand
The blind date had been his mother's idea. Harry was seventeen, and had never had a girlfriend. His face was a little grey, and his eyes were tired — he had spent most of his brief life alone in his dark bedroom, sitting in front of a glowing computer screen — but he was good-looking. His face was symmetrical, well-proportioned, and framed by thick, natural blond hair. His mother couldn't understand why he was single. Was he a homosexual? And if he was, would he ever provide her with grandchildren?
'... in the vegetable aisle,' Harry's mother was saying through the door. 'There she was, picking out butternut squashes. At least she eats healthily. I knew she'd be just perfect for you, Harry! And so, I
The Mountain Climber'It's so quiet at the top of the mountain that the snowflakes tinkle softly like little bells as they fall.'The Mountain Climber by Farand
Only one man has ever climbed the mountain. On descending, he made no statement to the anxious press assembly, save for the above-quoted remark. He went home, got into bed, and remained there until his death a few weeks later.
What had happened? He went mad, said some: he had seen or heard something divine ― or evil. Others suggested altitude sickness: as one person put it, 'When you've lived among flat fields your entire life, you'll be breathless if you so much as stand on your tiptoes.'
Personally, I wonder whether he fell into a deep depression on hearing the purity of the snowflakes' music. Did it sadden him to think that he might be the only one who would hear it?
The mountain isn't tall; but the locals are superstitious. When you're eighty-two years old, perhaps you're less afraid of the punishment of the gods.
The 16 in Nietzsche.The Scientists.The 16 in Nietzsche. by muscularteeth
We remade our eyes of plastic
because we can wipe them clean
without pain: at night our skin
has been fitted with lights and we
altered the chemical pattern
in our brains to forget ourselves
or maybe the rest of you,
life is hard without numbers
to describe it because the Earth
is an irregular rock floating somewhere
inconceivable: and I am even more
a mystery, a contradiction seeking
a definitive despite the logic
the only continuity
I'll rewrite us again. We are nothing
but an idea of the issue and its
resolution, the bum sleeping in the back
of a truck or your quantum physics class,
always borrowing notes but acing
those tests, drawing a crowd with nothing
but an idea and a voice to speak it,
isn't it charming to be alive?
Isn't the world so beautiful through
the right fish-eye lens?
I think if we think hard enough
it'll turn over or at least I'll pass this
our spirit aches at every slight
we imagine and every victor
teen sitcomshe's a carousel of lovers; bow before homecoming queenteen sitcom by hraesveIgr
built from holy Roman marble and a pound of Maybelline
a hundred cameras catching teeth; unconscious girl out the door
friendship bracelets slipping off and melodrama turns to gore
cherries popped beneath high-heels; pulses slow down to a crawl
no more teacups, dolls are gone- big girls play with alcohol
DeviantArt: I am a longtime member of DeviantArt (my original account was created during the site's 4th version). I once spent a season helping moderate the chat and forum networks, and was awarded senior status on 28 November, 2013. In 2014 I was awarded a Daily Deviation for a highly silly, fictionalised case study of a user's experience of DeviantArt. From 2017, I'll be uploading photography|
Personal: I studied English literature and philosophy at the University of East Anglia; I have AvPD and manage the symptoms through meditation; I'm a vegetarian and a Buddhist; I don't currently have a job, but ultimately I'd like to work for a homelessness charity