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From the edge of failure.I considered what I had in my pockets for a second, and then plunged my hands deep to thumb through my materials. Serviettes, badly bent paperclips, shavings. I digged deeper-- I had to know what my crimes have been. A poker chip-- I'd been down to the river. Rent would have to deal with itself that month, my gaming clears me out everytime the spirits take me. Even the cash I kept inbetween the tea-leaves or underneath my mattress had suddenly found itself preoccupied and unable to fulfill my sober request.
I always get knocked aside by my addictions. They take hold, strangling my resources to their lowest ebb. I lay there, drowning in the gutter as my bills wash away into the hands of reptilian mouth-breathers and banshee wailing whores. It's been this way ever since I could pick my tipple at the bar and it hasn't shown a hint of breaking. The day I hit the age of legal consumption my suitcase was packed and my ass was irreversibly kicked out of the family domicile.
I'm twenty three n
Writers BlogWhat the hell goes in this field here? The one marked 'Title'. I've jotted down a thousand utterances into this field before, why is today being difficult? Several hundred dots line up in rows as i firmly hold down the period key. No, this isn't going to inspire me. This is just a trail of idiocy, of stupidity. Get a fucking grip, you're a writer not an abstract artist.
Rapid clicking concedes the world thats waking around me. It's 5AM and I've got a deadline to hit. Scour newsgroups, forums and articles hoping for a little glimpse at todays inspiration. Could today be a colloquial witticism about society's spiral downfall or could today be a satirical blast at the entire concept of doing such an article?
Today is not a good day to try and write a blog.
It's time to go into a self-imposed catharsis, it's time to let go of last nights lack of literature and knock up a damn fine piece of dramaturgy. Hold on, that's not even the right medium. Dramaturgy is the art of play-wrighting, I'm n
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More