| A featured deviation for your viewing pleasure... In this case, artwork. |
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The DelugeAnd all these fluid thoughts come flooding back, As if indifference bore right through the dam Which had restrained torrents of passion, That I had erected, an unsecure rig, Brimming with the white foam of rapid currents, And now waters spill onto innocent paper, Pure white before the blemishes of madness Sully immaculacy with a man’s anguish; Admit the pangs of despised love, And paper grows heavy, saturated, Darkness permeates, soaking through, Creating a subtle transparency, Were you to hold it up, you may see Quite clearly set behind smudged poetry MyThe Deluge
by ~MalusPontifex
Turn Me On, Dead Man.He was nauseas—his visceral organs seemed to leap about frantically within his stomach, trying to escape the fate that they shared with him. His right hand was placed tightly against his stomach, to put pressure upon his disobedient gut, calm his violent nerves—the left, however, remained firmly gripped to the steering wheel as he sped down the deserted highway, abandoned with the flight of the battered sun. His high beams stabbed at the icy blackness with futility, illuminating but a few feet at a time of the empty road before him. Only the purr of the engine, brutally permeating into the silence ofTurn Me On, Dead Man.
by ~MalusPontifex
Nothing...The midday drizzle sprinkled sparse beads of water atop bystanders amassed in the streets, packed elbow to elbow with but sporadic interludes of clarity—and even these proved only fleeting, usurped by feverishly compressing crowds seeking to meet the expanding swarm’s needs. Yet with this unfortunate revelation—the accumulation of stark black clouds in the city’s pollution-marred, grey sky—they began to disperse and only a few wandered the squalid streets—one man, in particular, strolled forward, his perceptibly somber mood and austere exterior reflecting the environment’s apparent sickNothing...
by ~MalusPontifex
| This is my art. Enjoy or disdain, its up to you. |
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deviantID
| Who am I? Possibly the most amazing man in the world. Possibly the most mediocre. Doesn't really matter. And, yes, I realize that colloquialisms--i.e., conjunctions--are bad, but I use them anyway. I've got a morbid sense of humor, generally. There is really little more of relevance to speak of and so I will stop speaking/typing right now. Temporibus omnibus, vir miser sum. |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: : A mental state between madness and sanity.
- Interests: : Anything interesting.
- Favourite movie: : I love how deviantART utlizes the British form of "favourite."
- Favourite band or musician: : Thats too difficult to determine.
- Favourite genre of music: : Above.
- Favourite artist: : Above
- Favourite poet or writer: (s): Voltaire, Poe, Shakespeare, not that jerk Hemingway.
- Favourite style of art: Music is the best form of artistic expression. The one I don't have.
- Shell of choice: Shotgun? Even though i've never used one.
- Skin of choice: White. Kidding? Yes, don't hurt me.
- Personal Quote: "What's the point?"
- Tools of the Trade: Anything i've got.
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--
Well the market research is showing off her new tits,
Executives' jaws drop to the floor
"We've got the new data and the good news
is they don't think for themselves anymore"
you can't have sex with a coffee table.
--
Well the market research is showing off her new tits,
Executives' jaws drop to the floor
"We've got the new data and the good news
is they don't think for themselves anymore"
i feel obligated to draw the band in some way...
--
Well the market research is showing off her new tits,
Executives' jaws drop to the floor
"We've got the new data and the good news
is they don't think for themselves anymore"
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