|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
God AlmaybeI'm creating my own supreme being
He's six-five, and he likes to gamble
Don't ask Einstein
My old system required solitude
And short prayers
Directed nowhere in particular
Is this what God is?
Something we mold,
Something that fits our eccentricities,
My higher power must be real.
I've suffered no terrible consequences
After all the horrible things I've done.
My higher power must be betting on me.
Right On TimeWhen I saw you
I was awestruck
I was doomed
You could never sin in my eyes
When I touched you
I was speechless
I was happy
You could barely be more than a dream
When I held you
I was hopeful
I was selfish
You were everything I'd ever wanted
The Real Truth: MarijuanaThe Real Truth: Why People Smoke Marijuana
If someone ever tells you they smoke because they "just enjoy the act of smoking", or really, anything else. They're lying.
The reason people smoke is because after you smoke you can sit down to a song and it takes you. That song is the only thing in the world. All of your attention and analysis are focused on something that seems to be playing just for you.
Sure, anyone could love something that much sober, but that would take a lot of effort. With marijuana, it's natural. Patience is freely given to you.
People smoke weed because, honestly, it takes real effort to be that human sometimes.
AlcoholicWe drink because we're from the country
We drink because we're from the city
We drink because we're still young
We drink because we're too old
We drink because our parents abandoned us
We drink because our parents were strict with us
We drink when our children are born
We drink when our dog dies
We drink Blood Marys at breakfast
We drink martinis at lunch
We drink wine with dinner
And we have a scotch on the rocks to cap off the night
We need no rhyme or reason,
We rarely even need a glass,
We barely even need to be awake
If there's a drink, then a drink we'll take
Stealing WednesdayJust this once,
let it be an angel plume
floating on the borrowed breeze.
Something living but also alive.
A bouquet of forget-me-nots nestled
in the arms of Alzheimer's
the hands of hatred.
We aren't asking for a field-
The strength to take back tomorrow
Just this once,
Give us something we deserve:
The hidden dirt road
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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