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Thought Dump #1I.
Could you prepare something,
that people normally eat for once?
Well we normally eat this stuff you know.
That is not what I meant.
never mind, false alarm.
I thought it was the---
I'm not sleeping in the tent this time.
My back has gotten all these weird pits and sores.
Don't sleep on the bones then.
Bones? you guys actually had bones put in there? I'm impressed.
What on mother rock do you mean?
the amount of detail for the camouflage....
y'know the elephant disguise!
Many people died in the process of acquiring the tents
by the time we managed to slay the elephan----
THESE ARE REAL?!!?!
That's it. Not sleeping in there again.
Don't worry the couple you met earlier rented it out.
You're too young to ask that question
I am not too young! We are the same age,
hell the same pers---
But someone has to save your innocence.
They'll only accept a pure mind.
Who says t
An Untrained Touch
An Untrained Touch
My fingertips take a spill,
covering your body, in your pockets they congeal
trace with pressure, I watch the blood resurface
daintily dangerous, and at the same time worth it
My fingertips take a pinch,
a rosy aftermath, almost similar to a singe
the color of your lips, now stand adjacent
subtly your body gives way, without misstatement
My fingertips take a break,
now I hold a firm grip, no longer I rake
palmed, static, to try and catch your heart
beats from beneath our chests tearing us apart
My palms break a sweat,
it's amateur hour, and I accompany a vet
this is not your first, and likely not your best
what makes it all worse, your rhythm remains at rest
My palms pinch a nerve,
myself stolen from movement, without a healthy urge
progressing sullenly, dare to seem brash
once was a thriving ember, now a single ash
My palms spill a way,
for me to get away, these goods are too used to pay
honesty's approach to life is something of a gem
with callousness it often opens up a void within
where insignificance meets a freezing desperation
a vacuum's symphony to a sophist generation
the primrose path powered by our decadence
said to have a cost but I laugh at the malevolence
rather us a hostage and convinced it's all a test
a coincidence is only miraculous if it's blessed
which leaves me at a standstill unable to contend
cause questions are a blemish and will lead to your descent
victim to the fear of death for it transcends existence
a guiltless trend to apprehend the lost and often witless
the extraordinary ability to comprehend
the ordinariness of which we are all condemned
the truth never hurts, not even on occasion
and if you're filled with lies, then this is your abrasion
Landmines and sexy slow jams
Landmines and SEXY slow jams
before or behind its time, existing in the present
it solemnly dances alone, the dance of death
hoarder of work unfinished, merely abandoned
unable to create whilst pleasing its audience
passion-stripped, with befuddled concentration
stripped of soul, left with phlegmatic impressions
unmoved with calm disregard for moral decency
no longer good or bad, knowing there only is
gripping the poison, with generous sips
creates an illusion of increased social ability
sensory synesthesia, juggles his taste and feel
a euphoria of stimulation, aided by incompetence
its moves first intricate, holding awareness
its moves now indolent, losing its steps
of the landmines that lay in wait for weight
a single one lies adjacent to the soles of his feet
time is the enemy, as is the sexy song's progression
one off beat slip and he will leave this cage forever
passing and existing only through the mouths of men
whispering amongst prodigally enslav
clash of polar opposites creates the balance
destructive construction that'll exude natural talents
the blind advantage give faint smiles fat pockets
to shelve creative freedom in return for profits
the exposure you hungered for is now in abundance
only problem is your forced to expose a lie to the public
the truth riddled and hidden behind tongues fencing
past identities too distant for memories to mention
only weathered grunts heard behind the media muzzle
to find artistic value is like fixing a broken puzzle
of a thousand pieces stretched across the holy nations
streets paved with gold only the peasant's anticipation
because they know not the masked burden of success
the hindrance mandated to please the general press
to be embraced with acceptance but only just to crawl
never fly and only allowed to stand if you're not that tall
forget your dreams and higher callings you face a decision
bend your image for the master or fly with the pigeons
two universes -
John-a-Dreams dreams endlessly in a dead dimension
remorseless to the time wasted on baseless perplexing
the subconscious universe expands to greater planes
of contrived existence unaware of physical disdains
when he awakes, he finds he's lost track of the world
it has heard nothing from him except thoughts purled
a burning wish to supply both with equal attention
but his conjured creation justifies his own pension
it outweighs himself that exists realistically instead
so long he has been invisible, its best to believe him dead
dead to the world because he fancies more the dreams
where he can wine and dine anything that he fiends
he cannot deny it, he would rather live vicariously
instead of handling his universes simultaneously
Return of the Big IdeaThis is an age without big ideas
No absolutes and thus no fears
Nothing now 'to live or die for'
We supposedly believe no more
Yet in this age when we disagree
We tend at first
To assume the worst
And howl at each other's hypocrisy
And when we claim that we are right
Convinces much less
That disagreement need not hate incite
The road to hell is paved with good intentions
When good will arises this gets the mentions
And sincere beliefs are labelled as hatred
Despite any attempt at being good-natured
Can anything now be said without passion
And silencing a chance at open discussion?
In speaking of 'freedom of speech' and 'rights'
We believe so much it causes fights
KrutostLidé o mně povídají
že jsem krutá, zlostná žena.
Přála bych jim mnou se stát.
Pro lidi, co zklamali se,
zahořklost je přirozená.
Poznali jsme mnoho zrad.
Nestojím o vaše tváře,
pokrytectví, krutý chlad.
Nechte si své komentáře.
Nechte svùj jed odkapat.
Přátelství je velmi krásné.
Musíme si pomáhat.
Nenechat tě padnout na dno.
A pak těm, co ubližují
před věrností přednost dát.
Vždyť jsi to už věděl dávno.
Sázím růže do popela,
jen ať si v něm vykvetou.
Když jim půda nestačila,
tohle je mou odvetou!
Na tvé zradě, milovaný,
těžko můžu něco změnit.
Nedal by sis šálek čaje?
Insider.thirst quenching lemonade on a long day
leaves one lonely thought gone astray
burnd by the autumn, fall of the tree
it slums along slowly, burdened by grief.
passing from stranger to stranger it flies
brightly a kite rips right through the skies
and tangles the wire with it along
the little child staggers, tries to hold on.
no snowman is lost, no workman is spared
it catches you swiftly and unprepared
don't worry the feeling of freezing will pass
don't worry, you know this insider won't last.
Instrumental nothingnessCapitalizing on the fears you hold inside so close
The ones you try to hide and run away from the most
From fake façades to false fronts the walls built so high
The entire world sees teary waters collect in reddish eyes
A sleeve is often meant to cover certain tender flesh
Yet this is where passions lay displayed for all the rest
It should be effortless to control a part of you
But why is it so difficult when emotions go askew
I know logic is folly and that I am no machine
So how does one control a fiery love lined passions unseen
The Great Blindness
We are thrown into this world
having never seen the dawn,
into chaos we are hurled.
I don’t know what’s going on.
These are faces with no names
now they’re here and next they’re gone.
There’s no time for funny games,
I don’t know what’s going on.
Give me info, give me scope,
give me prayer, give me hope.
Give me beers, give me cars,
Give me blood, give me scars.
Mind in Madnesscan you see what coils inside?
behind these sleepless, weary eyes?
a chaos, i cannot abide
yet within my thoughts it lies.
A drum beat or a lambent cord
pulsing deep inside my skull
i pray my sense to be restored
yet the drum beats never dull
Swirling, like a vortex storm
ceasing not, its twisting ways
again i pray, for lucid form
and wait for brighter days
such a mind, in madness caught
beseeching, clarity to come
yet all my prayers i know are naught
this inner tumult leaves me numb
Drugged SanityDuring times of great depression
pills come in handy.
Meds drag me back
to drugged sanity.
Heart of the Woman IIHeart of the Woman
What will glow like fire every night?
What will shine like the stars?
What will glimmer so brightly
That one will see it from afar?
What will have value more than precious stones,
More than silver and gold?
What has a price so dear when bought
But never should be sold?
Men, if you don't know, then ask your wives; if they don't know, then ask Puabi.
as my remaining adolescence divorces it's host
and my teen angst hooks up with sterility
I feel grounds for my future raising a toast
to all my dreams and fancies that'll never be
there's little time left for all these idle pleasures
and it's too late for me to design a better plan
I'm tying the knot to my noose with my own endeavors
and my procrastination is kicking the stand
I feel hatred for the people that led me astray
but at the same time I'm angry with myself
I know there's plenty more that feel the same way
open your eyes before you end up getting shelved
while the almighty ra continues to kiss the carrion
for more souls to follow a bitter lost passion
I hope they wake up to the heavy load they're carrying
and pick better goals that'll led a life without ration
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