With my introduction to college, I've decided to make a new DeviantArt account more suited to my needs. It also has a better user name... Anyway, if you want to watch me please do so on Rattus--Norvegicus. That is where I will be living from now on.
Vultures and EaglesIt's popular cultureVultures and Eagles by MutantQ
To shoot at the vulture
Who files from the wicked one's tether-
But am I so evil
To shoot at the eagle
When you're the one buying the feather?
tribute to the moth on floor 7the beauty that we fail to seetribute to the moth on floor 7 by MutantQ
in moths survived by poetry-
a quiet death, a paper wing,
beside October's bitter sting.
a window cold above a place
where everyone has lost their face;
a thousand zombies shuffle by
as snow begins to paint the sky.
an epitaph can hardly sing
the beauty of a living thing,
or horror of its slow demise-
the empty blackness of its eyes.
a friend where friends are scarcely found,
so many floors above the ground-
I carried secrets on my breath,
and friend, you took them to the death.
your weakness lasted far too long-
trade paper wings for something strong.
The Business Wolf stopped gnawing on his third plate of Lapin Bleu d'Auvergne and pointed at Deer with his fork. "The problem," he said, "is that you've got a bum deal going on with your agent. You're paying him far too much if all he was able to get you was public affection. I mean, there's what-- thirteen million white-tailed deer in the United States alone, right?"The Business by fackeltanz
Deer looked down at his glass, which was half-full of some white wine. He was a little unsure whether or not he liked it, as he didn't really know what made wine good or bad or even what type of wine it happened to be. He'd looked at the menu, become flummoxed by the French, and had simply asked the waiter (in English) for something vegetarian with a suitable wine. This was his second glass or maybe his third; he'd already forgotten. He swished it around a little.
"Thirty million, actually," said Deer. "Not thirteen."
Parasiteeven in the fields that my mind, fails to see,Parasite by DustinPanzino
for we shall seek you,
me and the trees
have discovered you
from the brown earth
from the white torn crown
the crown made for a, a oh so dead king
and all moments
to become, no moments
me and the trees
are we and the trees
are all but one moment