gardenXmacabre

mike

19 Watchers84 Deviations

4.1K

Pageviews

Latest Deviations

See all

life story by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

life story

Sometimes I through lift of lid or some toothy wisdom of eye number three can see it all--all together-- synchronized and tight of fit like a dance, a play, a cinematic film, flawlessly woven into all life's story. And I smile: at myself for the realization the penetration and at the evanescent flawlessness of this shifting glittering narrative in which every person is a character every object and action a metaphor and every seeming twist of fate or cause and consequent occurence is nothing but the thickening of an unpredictable plot. This should not alleviate reality though it may appear to flatten-- a work of this much

Propergander by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

Propergander

It seems we are living in the age of self-consciousness, self-exploition, interpersonal exploition, and propaganda. But the more the better, it altogether seems, so long as one knows how to adequately cover one's ass. What thenow would we do without anyone to prove all this to? AMusings: let us imagine each of us isolated in rooms doorless and padded heretofore endurers of neither interaction nor captivity? Does psychosis bear relevance? O! Hell-hot mourning dew face in grass horizontal rain 'gainst eyes, nose, lips cheeks hot water kills germs-- a propergander--ah!

reflections--this night thine by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

reflections--this night thine

with lines from "like" with lines from bend of bay tender this night of poetry, colorpage sketchbook streetlights glittering stars and symbols nocturnal daydream of this maze of mysteries fantasia phasmagoria ambrosial perfumes and skies all coming in in in on me like waves all the world seems to boast invisibilities of birdchirps glow worms and fireflies jeweless of all!: great mistress of nebulous density the bone-laced somnium centre foldings (in on, in on) static-based lacquer-glazed mobile mobius loop of night, this night thine & mine

Tin Manifesto by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

Tin Manifesto

I have read your expressions of the whitest fertility glossed like a plate, but not so flat. I've gotten accounts of the ever-bitter intranasal ingestion up a hole or two, mid-face (but below the eyes and above the mouth) of the finest snowflakes illegitimately concieved-- not grown, but pan-cooked like meat. Am I critical? For we all have our pseudo-dire needs and our wants, wants, wants, those can-I-please, may-I-have moments after which one might ejaculate into the receiver of the blackening telephone--unrusted-- and win or lose, with or without a game. Do not get me wrong: I have spent days in the garden mulling the mu

oblivion - strings by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

oblivion - strings

You hold me by strings, but I am not your puppet. Were I made of wood (though I'm not) I would be a fence, not a doll. (And a tree on a good day, goddamn sky-climber.) And in spite of this It is hinges that hold me, and my limbs are stationary until I am lifted by strings--antiquity! How I know you: The twitch in the neck, red flail of wrists, all hairs on end, a crowd of standing soldiers. And I've risen: translucent rubber drowned in the blue, white, black-- gunpowder which glistens, dragonfly wings. And I say to myself: "Remember this silence, the warmth of Alone, filling you like liquor from brain to bone." And I hea

See All

Featured Gallery

See all

the forest of hatred by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

the forest of hatred

this is the forest of hate; it is quite vast. It was grown for me by a large number of people. they took their time and planted it for me precisely selecting each individual seed. look at these gates! solid iron spiked with malicious barb wire bent into an ornate gothic design. they are thick and heavy. nobody can pass through but me. this forest is mine though some get indirect glimpses. a river runs through the entrance to the forest. it has the color of blood, the consistency of honey, and the stench of decay. i make myself sick. step across the bone bridge, lightly now, it is fragile. you dont want it to collapse.

untitled_ by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

untitled_

I write in the amber white glow that diffuses through three suns, scaled to fit in each individuals little world. The empty one has stolen my compassion. Many bits of cloth and plastic are strewn about. I lie in a clearing, heaven's netting at my feet. The gingerbread is old. I contemplate how many times its mood has been changed and my feet go numb. Right now it lies between somber and ethereal. It drags me deeper. There's a demoness in front of me. She's the angry sort. Self created, but my suffering lurks within her reaches. She's powerful and adores the focused eyes. In this same spot, just several hours ago I wasn't sur

incompletion and its tide by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

incompletion and its tide

This is the first time in a long time. Half a year? This is the type of lonliness i should enjoy. I'm seated on an artifact, a throne reminiscent of memories never experienced; The trees, mountains, and ritualesque fires, the plastic shelters and bottled light. I suppose a segment of me has wanted these things, But these branches are prickly and they do not grasp me individually. I am rotting on the branch, left to ooze bloody substances and dry up. Someday i might cave into myself, and the jagged shards of rock will peirce the outermost cover, the blanket at the top of the stack. It is dry and pale this time of year, decorate

Custom Completion by gardenXmacabre, literature

Literature

Custom Completion

Completion. The thought's it's own juxtaposition and wholly are own ambivilance. It's a bittersweet thing and we all have different taste buds. Only the bravest and weakest can sweep bits of flesh, words, and debris from the red floor. Only a number can taste the sweetness of cherries, strawberries, vanilla and substance. To some it's that glamourous. To apply you must be a courageous coward. You must be a victim of the ocean or flame, and you must be prepared. Many lack the last quality. Red fades to black or white. It's the known afterlife. It's a clear place, empty to the top. Little devils and angels wander around, clad