It is ugly, painful, suffocated. It is uncomfortable, active, hated. This is punishment. These feathers of bone and flesh must carry our meaty weight, but O how they tread! Soft human skin is pierced and pulled and stretched and torn. The beak is a mask, the face has never felt so clothed and clammy, eyes turn away from the sky and out toward the horizon. For once man only looks out and down and under, and experience becomes grounded as he takes to the sky.
(Here the viewer watches, takes for granted his ability to see and wait and judge, while the bird just experiences. Is it here, is it done, is it permanent? Yellow blue and red shock me into questions that I cannot answer. But ask me a fourth time, and maybe an answer will come to me. The bird can see another color, but the human inside cannot. Repetition becomes immortality in its meanest sense.
(I will not amend with the skytear through it and pollute its lungs, and its body will not longer take abuse.)
YOUR ARTWORK GAVE ME DIFFERENT FEELING FROM WHAT YOU DESCRIBED. AND SOMEHOW IT REMINDED ME OF MYSELF. SO I TRIED TO WRITE POEM THING. SORRY FOR THE GRAMMAR, I'M NOT A NATIVE SPEAKER! AND I HOPE YOU READ MY POEM PATIENTLY AND CAREFULLY, I WILL BE GLAD IF AT LEAST ONE PERSON READ MY POEM FULL.
INSIDE THE SILENT ROOM
AN EVENING IN MY ROOM … THE CLOCK IS TICKING THROUGH THE SILENCE … LAYING IN MY BED WITH MY HANDS ABOVE MY EYES TO SHIELD A LIGHT OF THE LAMP TOO LONELY TO BE IN DARKNESS … . . HALF ASLEEP HALF AWAKE, MY MIND’S FLOWING THROUGH EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY BODY, SHIVERING FROM EMPTINESS … … . “THINKING ABOUT REALITY” IS FLOWING AWAY FROM MY HEAD, DAY BY DAY, “DREAMING ABOUT FANTASY” IS GROWING INSIDE ME, ENDLESSLY … MY OWN FICTION IS JUST LIKE A FLOWER BLOOMING IN DESERT THRILLED WITH HAPPINESS … … . I’M FEELING ALIVE … MY DESIRE HAS MADE ME BRAVE, REALITY WON’T BEAT MY FANTASY DOWN TODAY, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT … I’M IMAGINING AND IMAGINING … CLOCK IS TICKING, TIME GOES BY … DON’T WANT TO BREAK THE SILENCE THROUGH THIS PLACE … DREAMING AND DREAMING … DREAMING ALL ALONE … LONELY … JUST A PURE LONELINESS … NOT AFRAID … FALLING ASLEEP AGAIN … DREAMING THROUGH MY FANTASY WORLD AGAIN …
--
Paperchild Fag
Keep your wrists clean kids!
INSIDE THE SILENT ROOM
AN EVENING IN MY ROOM …
THE CLOCK IS TICKING THROUGH THE SILENCE …
LAYING IN MY BED WITH MY HANDS ABOVE MY EYES TO SHIELD A LIGHT OF THE LAMP
TOO LONELY TO BE IN DARKNESS … . .
HALF ASLEEP HALF AWAKE,
MY MIND’S FLOWING THROUGH EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY BODY,
SHIVERING FROM EMPTINESS … … .
“THINKING ABOUT REALITY” IS FLOWING AWAY FROM MY HEAD, DAY BY DAY,
“DREAMING ABOUT FANTASY” IS GROWING INSIDE ME, ENDLESSLY …
MY OWN FICTION IS JUST LIKE A FLOWER BLOOMING IN DESERT
THRILLED WITH HAPPINESS … … .
I’M FEELING ALIVE …
MY DESIRE HAS MADE ME BRAVE,
REALITY WON’T BEAT MY FANTASY DOWN TODAY, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT …
I’M IMAGINING AND IMAGINING …
CLOCK IS TICKING, TIME GOES BY …
DON’T WANT TO BREAK THE SILENCE THROUGH THIS PLACE …
DREAMING AND DREAMING …
DREAMING ALL ALONE … LONELY …
JUST A PURE LONELINESS …
NOT AFRAID …
FALLING ASLEEP AGAIN …
DREAMING THROUGH MY FANTASY WORLD AGAIN …
--
In rust i trust
--
In the Infamous words of Davis, "I REFUSE TO STOP POLLUTING THE INTERNET WITH THIS SH!T:" [link]
I Am Not an Artist
I Am a Weaver
your work is simply stunning
cheers
k
--
Deviantart: [link]
Twitter: [link]
--
Imagine Your Brain As A Canister Filled With Ink