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About Deviant Is a vegetable.Male/United States Group :iconthedeadbeatpoet: TheDeadbeatPoet
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Free Will or Nah?
I'm not sure if I believe
Free will actually exist.
But I once did the moon walk
On the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.
If I ever have to give a power point presentation
On why free will might exist
I will use that moment as evidence.
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 1
Orange Driver
I think there is a market out there for
Self-loathing poetry
And like any aspiring young capitalist
Of course I want to tap into that.
I mean they type of poetry where the author talks about
Drinking too much cough syrup
and crashing their car into a gas station.
Then as the smoke clears you see him
Running down the street.
His pants bulging with
Mad dogs, Orange Drivers, and cigarette cartons.
If I could harness that type of self depreciating
I'm sure people would eat it up.  
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 0
First Star of the Night, a Child's Mind
Eating apple pie,
I could see you from across the street,
under the rosy hum of the city.
You looked just like a daytime version of a night hawk Jesus,
With your burlap loathing and electric halo suspended.
I was mistaken.
I thought about the time I brought flowers to your father in prison.
We talked for an hour about Picasso and drank milk.
He never told me why he hated you so much.
I thought I could become that bridge between love and dead love.
I was wrong.
Was it because he never saw your bedtime Buddha face afterglow?
I said I would be there if you ever got sick of wading through that
Chrysanthemum kaleidoscope of disappointment.
I was a liar.
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 1 0
Epistle to the Lost
I don't Care
If anyone sees this
I'm putting this here for the nobody's
The no ones
The Loners
The Outsiders
The desert dwellers
The wine drinkers
The Junkies
The poets
The mad men
And the vintage alarm clock collectors
I'm putting this here for you.
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 3 1
Beat it bend it wreck twist it
Stomp it in with my foot
It still doesn't fit
It use to look like a square
Or was it a trapezoid?
I can't remember anymore
Whack it with a hammer
Bash it with a rock
It will never fit
We are trapped with this
Horrible thing forever
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 1 1
When I Lost You
I lost a part of myself
Someone died
I held your hand at Angkor Wat
I kissed you in Petit Champlain
I lost you at Schönbrunn Palace.
Who were you?
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 3 0
There use to be a house here
But now it's gone
The former owners are
probably dead
The only way you can tell
That there use to be a house here
Is because every year
The daffodils they planted
Still bloom  
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 0
I bought a couch today
Colored a hideous split-pea soup green
Probably from the 70s
With a giant coffee stain on the armrest
Ten dollars
and it has a pull out bed too
I sat on it
It was uncomfortable
I like that
Because I hate having company over
When people sit on my ugly uncomfortable couch
It will hurt their back and they will leave quickly
It's unsightly really
But I like ugly things
Pretty things are over-rated
I feel like I was put on this Earth
To appreciate ugly things
And make people uncomfortable
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 1 0
You're Still Out There
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 0
Untitled 0
c                                          k
m a                                                                                tt                                                  i
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 1 1
Its Form Was Perfect
Every line intentional
I had to destroy it
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 5 3
Six Miles to Providence
Part One
In a mid-day metallic dreamscape
We came upon crosswind battered
Dust bowl shanty town mystics in gold and purple shrouds
Bartering poker chips for herbs, spices, fine silks, silver and cotton
In warm dark places even Fremont feared to tread
Waiting for the ships to burn
They cheered a joyful shrill
As the destitute were baptized in the Grand Prismatic Spring
Beneath crystalline blue skies, bison and aspen
While buttering their toast
Waiting for the ships to burn
We watched minimum wage junkies
Turn towards the static empire Mecca of midnight infomercials and televangelist
With clean palms pressed against the moist Earth
Radiating hope
Waiting for the ships to burn  
We listened to oral epics of
Modern day pilgrims chasing vice between
Bright white roadside reflectors and liquor bottles
Beaconing them towards paradise and pay-as-you-go morality
Waiting for the ships to burn
I observed doubtfully
The commercial meditation of roadside monks donning Sanbenito
Amongst the neo
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 3 3
#1 of 100 sunsets
The canvas was blue.
A shivering milky way
Of swirling whites and purple applied.
A darkening phantasmagoria
Was closing in from beneath;
Melancholy rivulets
Dancing on the back of a winter afternoon.
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 0
Fragments Collected #0001
Balkanization of morality.
Pay as you go philosophy.
Vats of Tar.
We work into the night.
Monetize everything.
Waiting for the ships to burn.
Superconductivity in iron compounds.
Slowly now.
Ravens overhead.
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 1
Nothing is declared anymore
Not even war
So we reside in a haze of ambiguity
Our doors locked and curtains drawn
Horizontal lines shifting slowly
like snowdrifts across the television screen
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 0 0
It came to me in a dream
It left me in a nightmare;
Disappearing on the horizon
Between static sheets of white
In the mid-summer heat
:iconwaffle26:waffle26 2 0

Random Favourites

Experience by ink-in-the-doorway Experience :iconink-in-the-doorway:ink-in-the-doorway 3 2
I felt kansas flying by in reflections of green sighs.
At 75 mph under the raw tires, hovels and trailer houses
look smaller than life. They pointed me to manhattan and salina
but the dashed lines of hurried mapmakers and the jerked thumbs at rest stops
didn't honestly expect me to visit.
No one exits at mile 117: there are only chryslers running on pure speed straight through
to honeymoon mexico.
The interstate makes america untouchable and
the two-lane highway people too friendly,
manic roving eyes and tongues cannot conceal that
it's been too long since fresh wind blew over these old chicken-grease
lacquered walls, what a treat, god bless, try our steak fries,
they're simply the best, all-american, cracked bathroom tiles,
established 1966.
The gravel pathway squealed, "I told you, I told you,"
and my grease-softened fingers slipped on the wheel.
I spun out dangerously and decided to slip by America on the freeway
heading to the honeymoon mexico that only exists in brochures and bill
:iconinkatmidnight:InkatMidnight 15 17
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
The graceful ringing crunch
Of a blue sheet
Being pushed and pulled out of the civilised world
Only to return to another version of the
Unstructured wild it once came from
The only remnants of its past life:
Blue paint.
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of reflective glass splintering away
From a shiny silver page
That tells the stories of fleshy robots
Cynical and vain
Looking for aurbrushed photographs
In the simple dirty reflection of mechanical procedures.
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of small, rusted, shining shapes
Dully glinting in the brightest midday sun
Reflecting everything in the blackest night
Biting robots and drawing red
Turning even those who don't want to feel into a breathing creature
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of dull molded stell bent against
Shapely painted gold
And the uncivilised rush of everything shattered,
The truest reflection broken
In the leak of red that turns robots, in the last split s
:iconpari-a:pari-a 6 8
New York City, Summer 1988
The sun is a strange acidic-shade-of-pink
and metallic waves of shimmering heat obscure the asphalt –
     all I can do is sleep.
Scorched air – from the concrete sidewalks below, floats –  
through the open window.
A constant-thump-of-rap vibrates the floor
     and filters into my dreams.
Garam masala and saffron rice –
fresh falafel and Hare Krishna beans –
escape street vendors
     to invade my afternoon nap.
The rosemary, basil, sage, mint,
coaxed into existence on the kitchen ledge
may fight this battle bravely –
     but they will lose the war.
:iconllyrentheshrew:LlyrentheShrew 7 18
Faded Glory
The birds
on display in their gilded cages
Admired by all as they
stand proud
eyes sharp
chest plumage puffed
rainbow wings spread
Touching the tips of the sky
erasing boundaries
resplendently sparkling
in that summer cage
illumintaed by holy rays
glittering light
a song of wondrous tales
upon their beaks.
Glory does not last forever
that golden cage
will one day
bend and dent
brittle like twigs
it snaps
the birds
eyes lackluster
feathers oily,
plastered to bone
leeched of life, color
beaks force out a hoarse final lament
cold and all alone
caught by the knife of death.
:iconangelicrebel15:Angelicrebel15 1 3
They make me wonder
Why I feel so alone.
:iconirrelephantlovesyou:Irrelephantlovesyou 11 11
buoyed in the street—
monochrome chrysanthemums
bound in a bushel
:iconkatiekerr:katiekerr 3 2
A tourniquet bed
tarnished and scented sheets
moth eaten cloth of heady, anticipation
dull static flicker from the TV
shaping your face with its
attention seeking vortex
damp walls and a wet heart
flooding inside your shirt
you, holding steady and prepared
you, touching lightly to prepare
I, only a broken gloom of skin
I only a faceless pity within
You, with your soft lips
and softer hands
you with your
dreamy earlobes
and your metal earring
you, are so beautiful
you are so doomed
Here in my arms you are doomed
as i am
without the knowledge that climbs into my eyes
like vomit
ready to upturn violently, but surely
upon your poetry
of this and that wisdom
this and that cunt
this and that country
this and that cock
and bull
this and that pubic enlightenment
of un-shy words.
you asked for an open can
an open woman
an open book
of an anal girl
stuck inside her own ass with her head in between
her head swimming in her rectum maybe
looking for all the value punched
:iconskyorphan:Skyorphan 6 4
It begins as a static noise
swimming in the womb-
curled into a parasite,
developing limbs
and volume.
And soon,
it is a fetal snarl
equipped with body,
clumsy swells,
and stub fingertips
clenching at thoughts.
I try to will it away-
remove the foreboding growth
in the uterus brain,
but the sounds are tethered
fondly to the umbilical.
The size doubles,
and my head swoons,
lulling under the weight
of dissociated whispers.
The water breaks-
my mangled mind peels apart
forcibly pushing blood drenched
child of harsh notes
from skull.
Malignant newborn murmurs,
cradled in the ears
ruptures the thin line
of sanity.
My head aches for silence-
no more screaming brainchild.
:iconop1ateddreems:OP1atedDreems 16 12
After the yelling,
The broken glass and
Bent dreams that were
Thrown away in the black
Glad garbage bag
Hung over the knob of the cleaning cabinet.
The floor was dirty.
Covered in sticky, spilled beer and
Half empty soda cans.
Paper plates and coffee filters and
Ashes and cigarette butts and
Littered with expectations and hopes
That spilled out of every orifice
Of the human who lost them.
Crushed by the weight of knowledge lost
When the blood came.
And when it came,
The soul escaped
Along with the hopes, dreams and
Expectations for the new beginning
That caused the end.
It shone and glittered
Casting light on the dank,
Claustrophobic nightmare that she ran to,
     Because running away
     Was too painful without a destination.
:iconpari-a:pari-a 18 33
Screw the Reset Button
Sometimes I wish my life was a video game.
That way, I could solve all my problems
Through Jumping
:iconrorschach723:Rorschach723 2 5
Babble of Some Sort
I am a ruined isolationist stumbling into a desolate spume with no way of escaping. I shall never reach freedom. And freedom shall never reach me. We are destined to be apart—tragic Shakespearean cliché without the drab romance engorging the insides of a faltering plot.
Trapped in cage.
Ensnared, like a bird between thick fingers of curious child.
Caught in the tired fixations of the non-universe.
'What is the non-universe' an outsider might ask.
I would respond in kind, my voice distant and hollow, 'Why…it is where I reside of course.' And then we would share a laugh, not really comprehending the joke.
Soon, the outsider shuffles away in a sudden need to run from my presence. I remain, listening to footfalls and twiddling my thumbs.
My insides felt hungry. I was hungry. I needed food—anything to fill the sudden emptiness.
I count my nimble digits instead. Starving just a little bit more. I needed my skins to fit just right—taut over protruding bone to satisfy
:iconop1ateddreems:OP1atedDreems 3 9
beepbeepbeep goes the monitor
and the doctor walks in who is
as cold as [the blankets i'm lying on are
white and hard and
all i can feel is] ice
he says something and it sounds
but all you can do is
stare at the ceiling where
there is a spider who keeps
trying to climb down his
gossamer ladder
and there's a whoosh
from your mouth
like the html codes you're
so used to typing
beepbeepbeep goes my phone
and all i can think is
i can't text you back because
i'm in the fucking hospital
:iconlissabug416:lissabug416 8 25
Oval exodus
Oval exodus
watch the eggplants
grow larger -
come Easter they explode
and snuff out
like powder to a candle flame
the 1-verse, the 2-verse,
the 3-fold universe
dances on its axes (you
can't fathom another direction,
but there is) and on the 4th
curvature made it happen
and she is a beautiful woman,
a purple shade of brown
with an undertone of naught but black -
yes, dear Aleister,
every eggplant is a star
:iconirvon:irvon 8 11


I'm not sure if I believe
Free will actually exist.

But I once did the moon walk
On the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.

If I ever have to give a power point presentation
On why free will might exist
I will use that moment as evidence.
I think there is a market out there for
Self-loathing poetry
And like any aspiring young capitalist
Of course I want to tap into that.

I mean they type of poetry where the author talks about
Drinking too much cough syrup
and crashing their car into a gas station.
Then as the smoke clears you see him
Running down the street.
His pants bulging with
Mad dogs, Orange Drivers, and cigarette cartons.

If I could harness that type of self depreciating
I'm sure people would eat it up.  


Is a vegetable.
United States
Current Residence: Underground bomb shelter
Favourite genre of music: Everayyyyyyyythangaaaa :D
Operating System: AVIDAC
Favourite cartoon character: Ed wong hau peplu tivrusky the 4th
Hello, kind of drunk at the moment. Listening to some free jazz and drinking a beer. Down to my last one. John Coltrane can play the Hell out of the saxophone! Good God! Interstellar Space. You have to check out this album. I don't know what else to say. Happy holidays. It's December first. Pay check time! Mmmmmm My fingers fell tingly. Weird. bYE
  • Listening to: Acid Mothers Temple
  • Reading: War and Peace
  • Drinking: Tea


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TheFlawedOne Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for joining our group.  If you are interested in prompts or contests please see the journals.  Please read the upper left corner for group info.
PelicanDeath Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2013
thanks for the :+fav: :dance:
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thanks for the fave
nochs Featured By Owner May 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thank you for the Fav :)
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I tagged you in this journal meme-thingy... I hope all is well (even if you don't want to do the meme-thingy, lol)!
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I thank you most muchly!
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Thank you kindly for the :+fav: and the watch! :D
I greatly appreciate it.
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thank you so much for the fave!
ink-in-the-doorway Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2012
Fankoo for the fave :heart: :heart: :heart:
blockmyster Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2011  Professional Traditional Artist
glad you liked it
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