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Literature
The Long Insomnia
We slept
with my back curving toward
you
and I got used to breathing
with you breathing just beside
me
and though the habit's new
enough,
a night without you
so soon
reveals a change
quicker than any Pavlov would
anticipate.
Now, on my own
I sleep
without rest
like those with impaired breathing:
snore,
sigh.
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 1 3
Old McDonald had a farm. :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 16 11
Literature
Movie Memories
I. Contracting Blindness
I first fell in love with the director
when I noticed the fine print
on the contract that I had
to sign
in order to play my signature
role in the longest
movie-series ever made.
Fingerprints to pageprints,
eraser free, I swerved
clumsily into the alternative
version and
erupted in goosebumps, as if to mimic
the tiny, mysterious mountains
rising from the page.
Entranced, I searched
the peaks and valleys, awkwardly
index(finger)ing latent
letteresque pattern formations.
Lost in translation, I suddenly
felt blind.
This gig is my one
chance, my own
special movie.
The script is
a little bumpy, but the show
must go on
and on
and on and on and on and on and
on.
I rehearse the lines.
Sometimes, I rewrite them,
but I never,
never direct.
I fell in love with the director
one last time
when I saw my finale
on the eleven-oh-clock news.
After that, though, the sets
changed too frequently, from prison
cell to suburban shanty,
sex appeal gone
to seed.
II. Revisiting
Reruns ar
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:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 3
Literature
Nice is different than good.
Mother surely knew that
wolves would lurk along
that path.
She had to have known.
For the world is
filled with wolves,
and they especially
tend to cluster
in forests
where little girls
walk alone:
easy prey.
Yet she dressed me
in the color
of raw meat,
filled my basket
with warm-scented goodies
and sent me
specifically
into the woods
to grandmother's house
unconsciously baiting,
conveniently on
red-alert:
all the better to find you with,
my dear.
Still, for years,
I believed
it was wolves
of whom I should
be wary.
I know things now.
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 4
Literature
Saracens On Parade
Martyrs stream toward old
mahogany mountains
to be(hind) or not
quite in front of a new yesterday--
an obsolete tomorrow--
the clash is the same.
These hills are alive with the sounds
of silence,
populated by the children
who survived
the war learning the new language
bit
by
b
i
t
under carefully assimilated watchful eyes of enemy
soldiers and shooting stars,
or bombs falling
like visitors from
another
world singing softly to
Goghesque ears that hear
what they
see.
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 4
Literature
processes, not things
The light spectrum bursts,
sprays,
scatters;
a circle stretching from here to here.
We explode as we go.
Subway lines and decaying marshlands
fight to occupy the same chunks of
increasingly dry
space-time, or just space;
the time stopped when they
tied for
the territory.
Now it's just the still aftermath
of a landsc(r)aped-duel that ended in a
violent draw,
littering the battleground with
corpses:
reassembled atoms that have
lost their
tick.
There are isolated patterns, but
even the chorus has stopped
singing.
Watching it is
timely, but
when it's strange,
I'm strange and
I start to think that I've stopped
ticking
too.
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:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 1 2
Literature
The Manic Actor
Room swirls, black dust. Smoke everywhere. Fog machines, house lights, affected mannerisms like birds on the oak-tree outside the back door. That's where the smokers go during intermission, dreaming of the lemon tea to be had indoors behind the curtain. The cold night air hurts their voices, they claim, and these cigarette geishas need to serenade real soon…
The manic lone ranger breathes in the musty ozone, scented sweat rings in his nose: the familiar stench of rotting rouge and stale mascara, of coughed-up cigarettes and throat-soothing lemon-tea, sheet music and costumes and props. The aromas linger in his nasal cavities, immersing him in his shared fantasy world of lights and deliberative scenery, of illusory checkmate. He plays make-believe backstage and onstage, for they are both lands akin to those from his childhood's projections of wonderland.
The former is a haze of reflection, an ancient story on a haptic pedestal, meant for his expression and true release. It thrives on th
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:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 1 3
Literature
Remote Control Neverland
I'll sit cross-legged
and smile
at your closed eyes, imagining
myself in pigtails
in your dreams
dancing around, wearing a tiny, carefree dress.
We'll throw autumn leaves
at each other like elementary
school kids. I'll kick you
in the shins and pull
on your hair because
I like you
(I DO NOT).
May I have this dance with your brown eyes?
We can waltz to your steady breath,
and keep time with your heartbeat
You'll be leading.
Then I'll spot our reflections, tangled in
the wriggling vines and occasional blossoms
of the fading yellow(ed)
wallpaper in your room,
in a house so old and so clean that the only
things collecting dust are your parents.
Even when sleepy, I'm like a
five-year-old with you.
I confess, then:
sometimes I almost wish that I could
control your dreams on a mixing board;
twisting and turning
levers and knobs to make this
daydream of mine so real that you'd awaken
with my fuzzy pink-and-purple hairtie
(the one that matched the tutu)
in your hand.
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 3 5
Dad played ball. :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 1
Literature
On desolation row.
I scowl at the crosses, damned banners
honoring good works, the stars and stripes
atop every tall building; and I smile
at the red-cheeked man running for the bus.
At his feet are litter and ice; on the trashcan
a sign reminds us every litter-bit hurts.
It gets even colder.
Do the thinly dressed sit in the cathedral
for solace or warmth? Where do they go
to sleep? I know I'm entitled to nothing
but I don't want to be a democracy
(all never could just be for one
in my attic).
It goes like this: first, the scene where they dangle bread
before the hungry. Then the other
where they applaud loud and long, the scene before
I wake and ask, Who are the they?
Just noise.
They are incoherent. They are not complacent, except in
not being complacent.
They are tired. Some are
angry. They want, bless, confess. I can't read
the immense countenance of streets or sky.
A sign reads, Jesus saves. One of many.
Saved from what? Better not
to ask.
Saved by the process
of saving.
I'd get there eventually
tal
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 2 1
Literature
Here, by this fire, with you.
Stars don't taste much like snow
or wintergreen
or sunburst flowers.
Not that we've tasted
any of those.
No, there isn't a point of reference;
uninertial, unaccelerated and you aren't sure
if you really like it, yet
you always want more.
My jaw hurts from hanging wide open, tongue
outstretched, nouveau candy settling on the
tip.
Cathedrals tremble.
Glowing pinpricks and
gas giants, far away
fall everywhere, dots
checkering the earth, tickling the skin,
crunching between my teeth
in your mouth.
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh
:iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 1 4
Susquehanna river :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 1 Almost phallic. :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 2 Nightime Brightime :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 0 pointing at shadows :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 0 Get up. :iconexhalesigh:exhalesigh 0 3

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Activity


Someday I will bother to upload these to deviantland, but in the meantime, they've been flickrd:

www.flickr.com/photos/resperad…
  • Listening to: cosmic background static
  • Reading: everything
  • Watching: the sunrise
  • Playing: with fire
  • Eating: =(
  • Drinking: =(

deviantID

exhalesigh
dancing to insomnia blues
United States
Current Residence: Hotzeplotz
Operating System: mackity mac
Personal Quote: "Don't panic."
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:iconscheinbar:
scheinbar Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
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derkert Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2017
Thanks forcthe fave!

edvard
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:iconkeight:
keight Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2014
Thank you for the fave.
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JFBAYLE Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2014
Merci270614b by JFBAYLE  for the fave:happybounce: 
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:iconderkert:
derkert Featured By Owner Jun 26, 2014
Thank you for the fave!
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AllHopeIsNotLost Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2013
Thank you :aww:
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:icontobaal:
tobaal Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2013
thankx so much for the fav on "deserted".
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:iconbarankamiloglu:
barankamiloglu Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
:bow:
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MrsFaithlessness Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2013  Student General Artist
thanks for the fav!
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carlx Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2013
Thank You for the fav!
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