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Shelby Lydon Aug 2010
Glassy eye.

While one sleeps, keep the second open blankly.

People believe you when you look at them. Stare at them. Break into them.

They'll believe in your strength. So you won't have to.


Tangled yarn.

Matted hair; red. Vibrant. Stand out before you stand up and sink.

Pull it. Yank it out in devastation, frustration, desperation.


Can you feel it escalate?


Ripping thread.

Twine comes tangled; tousled ropes of faith strung out. It's all a mess.

There's a breaking heart here somewhere. Dig beneath the filamentous skin.


If anyone dares to dig that long.


Stitching smile.

I'm tearing. Falling apart at every seam.

Stitch me...pin me back together. Lift me up; I'm weightless.


I present to you a plaster smile; don't forget to stab in dimples.

After numerous unfaltering years, it's wearing thin. A tiny break appears.


All the strings are coming loose.


Iron-on teardrop; a permanent stain on a withered face.


There are many uses for a Ragdoll.

Play with her. Use her. Dress her. Change her. Throw her. Hold her. Hate her. Tear her. Tell her.

Everything.

She'll never let it go.


Dance with her. Sleep with her. Hide her. Break her. Blame her. Love her.

Trust her.

Her stitching will hold. The perennial line of happiness will always prevail.


Ragdolls look brightly into any light. Opening lifeless arms to please. Everyone. Anyone who needs them.

Now, someone needs to need her.

A Ragdoll is good for many things. Fitting any character and criteria.

A Ragdoll can be selfless, ageless, fearless, reckless, seamless.


However.



Never






worthless.
Clayton Woolery Dec 2010
Such a shame to let loose
That I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing
But pretending seems to work so well;
You all claw at plasticine symbols
The letters deplored with a swish of the ink well.

Calligraphic self destructions mean something to somebody
Over an ocean with eyes so slight as to shine in the darkness,
Glinting in robes of black on the rooftops of rich dynastics
And the rhymes of yesterday creeping to the forefront,
Reminding me just of how hopeless hopelessness is--
The assonance of a retreating boxcar
Is steaming into the backdrops of consciousness.

Is it time to rewind somewhere?
The visages of paintings only mean so much
To the blind bats on cave walls in cavernous reaches
Of static television snow drifts.

It seems that you and I have come to the biggest of filamentous rifts:
Sifting between now and then we have mind-skips
Of epic proportion, a sickened distortion
Of all of the children left in their contortions
It's all leprosy in my eyes
Since the skies are burning down as we pinpoint abortion.

And we release that defeat, and try to find meaning in it all:

A lie of great size
Told from my lips yet it was--
You who believed me.

Together we made a chimera
A deception even worse than anything I've ever known
I said that some god had told me all the things that
that
that--

I can't begin to begin an apology
My mouth mummified by request next to Jeremy Bentham
I only wanted what's best for you--
But look at what you've done!
Oh, Crusades! Oh, Crusades!

Children don't lie with your eyes on the sunset
For Nietzsche is the ultimate navigator!

And you finally catch sight of the top of an alligator
floating in the oil, staring at you
slanted eyes smiling cruel.

It all makes sense now, what half believed lies
That explain how the darkness will come to rise
But the opposite side of our crystalline marble
Has known all along, they knew all along!

Facing the east, wasn't He?
Then even he knew
Perhaps what I said was not all untrue
And in fact
the fault lies with Him
Not me,
Not you.

Sincerely,
The Bible.
Western Philosophy / Eastern Philosophy
Elioinai Oct 2014
Gena is a fragile spiderweb
Glorious in the morning sun
but shining with her tears
Gena is a kaleidoscope
red, gold, blue
Changing her patterns
always sometime new,
Gena is a glass beaded puzzle,
The filamentous kind which gentle fingers could solve,
If only she would let them,

She shouts her strength and wisdom,
Covering her brittle heart with sheer curtains,
But she will choose the right path when she screams for stability,
And her painted lattice masks go up in final flames.
circa. 2011
About a girl I know. I think she has come a long way since I wrote this.
Patrick Kennon Jul 2017
Males of Dynastes bear two long horns, one on the head, and the other on the pronotum, forming a "plier"; the pronotal horn has reddish setae on its underside. This pronotal horn is absent in females.[3] Some species have an iridescent colouration to their elytra.[4] Certain species of the genus Dynastes also have the ability to change colour.[5] Specific species have been noted to occur with either black or yellowish to khaki green elytra.[5] This variation in colour is due to a spongy layer below the transparent cuticle;[5] this spongy layer is a network of filamentous strands made up of three-dimensional photonic crystals lying parallel to the cuticle surface.[6] When the cuticle is filled with gas this layer can show through, presenting the yellow to khaki green colour, but when filled with fluid the cuticle appears black.[5] This is due to the change in refraction index allowing us to see the difference in colours.[6] This system is known as a hygrochromic effect.[4] Female beetles can change colour but not as completely as males, which is not yet explained as the mechanisms for the colour change is still not completely understood.[5] What is known is that changes in humidity affect the levels of moisture in the cuticle which leads to a change in colour in most cases.[5] Since the change is due to humidity it is a reversible process, however, it has been observed that after multiple colour changes or high stress the beetles will maintain some dark spots on their cuticle.[4] Some hypotheses for why this colour change occurs at all are the ability to blend with surroundings depending on the time of day (black for nighttime and yellow for daytime) to best avoid their main predator, the tropical screech owl (Megascops choliba).[5] Another theory has to do with thermoregulation in the sense that a black beetle heats up faster than yellow and then once they have warmed up theoretically there will be less moisture in the cuticle which leads to changing to a colour which does not heat as quickly so they won't overheat.[5]
Vernarth, after rescuing Valekiria, entered the Sacred Planetary Path, right here and later before 700,000 thousand souls who were lost in the Forest of Hylates, they were released from prison and they were given the offering of flowers in their hands agreed by a goblin on a Sycamore, going to the vicinity of Kourion, and then attached to the ship Eurydice, where the Auriferous Medallion was.
Hylates, was a worshiped god compared to Apollo, his name obeyed Apollo of the woods. Being a god of the forests, who were ritualized by their knowledge, they were condemned for harassing Vernarth. Much of this site of worship had immense monumental gardens, an atrium leading to the architecture of the Kourion and Paphos gate columns surrounding the grove sanctuary. Vernarth bathed in circular leaves in procession after Valekiria's chimera, after indulging him in the bath of golden holm oak flakes, which were shaped in dihedral cloisters of an invisible abbey. It was the appendix of an intuitive poetics molding the titanic epic fibers of Hylates and his spiritual nervousness that was extreme in the tectonic conditions of various continents on his sturdy anatolic layer; peroration of the afiolite rocks of the Troodos mountains, adorning itself on the oceanic mantle, as an idealistic geological process in the Hexagonal Birthright as a testimonial zone of Judah, which would be elongated from the earth's crust, here shortening and thickening by deformation and fracturing as a consequence of lateral tectonic forces. In this ****** over the Hylates Woods, the apparent calm of the island was seized, in earthquakes that Vernarth captured under the soles of his feet, taking him to the ocean bottom where the medallion guarded by the Christians rested. The concomitant range is a rigorous hodgepodge of cliffs and very heavy cliffs, incoherent and scattered that hung from the edges of Mesorea as a backdrop. The beauties he possessed were found in his hidden villages, nestled in hollows and valleys on the slopes, some rich with apple and vine trees, others higher up, covered with ferns and pines. The Troodos mountain range, once green abode of gods and goddesses, is now green with Vernarth Hetairoi.

Alikanto circles the foundations, dancing on them and their groves of sacred trees, procreating archaic altars in votive flagstones with their hooves, digging up terracotta and ceramic figurines with their hooves, riding below on a long street that goes from south to north leading to the Temple of Apollo Hylates, which was built in the Late Classic or Early Hellenistic period on the ruins of the Archaic temple, close to an arena where Alikanto cut off small roots of jubilant hemlock, trying to join the lacerated dance. Vernarth was still surrounding himself with his steed, in him he was overwhelmed by periphrasis by a sacred garden pilgrimage in alchemy of Hylates, that the priests who would carry from the treasure to the bottom of the sea, down the Eurydice with new codes of life.

While he could Vernarth brooded with the Mandragoras that were bellowing, dislocated by the black poplars and the willows that were linked to the winter solstice, and therefore with Pluto and Persephone who made solicitous incantations. But the nearby wells were burped, smearing the wooden and stone columns, causing structural damage, not being harmful determinants, only generating romantic and incorruptible their Christian apology.

Some decay falls in the temples, the reborn species collapse enslaved by the wealthy, unbalancing the mystique of Judah. Macedonian figuratives interviewed the epic narrative of past customs, based on familiarity and didactic Ionic customs. Vernarth illusively begins to decode the architectural relevance, to concentrate it on Patmos, fostering Ionic art, an ineffable inheritance after the arrangement of Etrestlés in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, to the effect of the capitals that were preening again, since he generated it in the background sailor to approach the theologian. Vernarth as a builder and bricklayer retouches with his golden hands the public agoras, the pritaneion for the Hexagonal Progeny, in accordance with theaters of epic and religious scenic art, to render them to the funerary emissary. All this typology will be specified in all the circular planes, some called tholos, to be rectangular in Patmos with the prototype of the temple of Asclepios - epidaurus; God of Medicine, who will help him for his subsistence and final recovery of his epic chest. Here is the prosaic typewritten sphinx, which tends to bind him defenseless from his scattered objective time to the joys of building, badly shaping the inadequacies of fallen works, a product of his worn out neurotransmitters, a remnant of the most utilitarian and unencoded for greater time and investment of utility of limited period and space. They are felt in some surrounding areas, drums and major percussions, noticing how the changing of the guard of the Eurydice gold medallion took place.

They fall from the vital instruments of Asclepios, secreting certain neurotransmitter synthesis substances, giving Vernarth the peace of mind to stand inspired, as parallel to the exogenous architectural, to vindicate the architecture of his body shaped by lymphomas, receiving circular and rectangular axo shapes, traveling through the torrent of their innovation that wounds the iron of the fractality of their hoplite neuro architecture, having to redesign themselves before they travel to Rhodes, using the target stock target that stimulates their immune system. Upon being freed by this immediate precept, he communicates with the theologian Saint John to take note of the lines of architecture that will have definition once they are presented to Procoro on Patmos.

Says the Theologian: “the diffuse window that we have opened here in the forests of Hylates, characterize neuro-architectural communication, the destination of clairvoyance on other distant unofficial Eucharists. What ceiling supports the ubiquity of its origin, if the temples do not communicate with each other? Outside the dogmas and the interstitial space of the cells with agility they make the concessions demanded earlier, they are cells that carry missives between torrents of senses of nervous love, that neuro-build the bodies according to nature and the body that identifies the substance. We have already synthesized the phylogeny and that of its pre-classified chronogram in Gethsemane, now we will be teleported theologically through the ramifications of the Olive Tree Bern, towards the vesicles, which hope to be precursors of the body and soul of our progeny”

Etréstles joins the Ionian synapse channel, a precursor of sensuality and sensory politics that will end the ideological stores, releasing the parasitic cells that would drive the thick limestone and terracotta embankment that Alikanto had unearthed, of all the calcified particles that spread over the membranes of the Bern Olives, phosphorizing in the ranks of Christian gladiators, who emerged from the sea after the change of the medallion guard and their filamentous seats, unleashing the overrelief of the vices that fell from their moistened bodies, depolarizing and reacting with openings inhibitory to those who tried to observe them, as if hiding them from their past of slavery.

Leaving the Forest of Hylates, in the chronological sense of the classical orders of the Aegean, the sea currents moved like rafts towards the Cyclades, leaving the gale torrent of the Animoi and the Meltelmi, leaving the memories of the primogeniture graceful slender, like a great Canonical example burning in its stay like an acropolis, carrying the distant peculiarities of all molding, to touch a new one when passing through the winds massing on the boceles and enthais, anointing itself with occasional prismatic pieces, which made it seem the outstanding union of Trees with columns with stone roots base. The Ionic gaze of the forest of Hylates was modulated by channeling in the psalms of Saint John Theologian, like a filet of poetic urges increasing the size of their oval prayers, which intervened in the coral lights, engaging the sixth order of primogeniture, before of going for the medallion, causing the superimposed escape meditations of the Ghosts of Shiraz, who were still entrenched in their purposes, and of the rivalry with the Saltimbanqui, staggering through the submerged architrave, bathed by faint waves, transparent in the near the middle of some temples that could be seen submerged, a few meters submerged in the Kourion bay.

Heartless and devoid of new stereotypes, they passed by crossing the garlands of the Eurydice, which was already getting ready to install itself in the mask, Raeder and Petrobus perfectly recorded the images of the ship that floated on the string that held its bow together, pointing to the neat symmetry that met the expectations of being reunited with the precious gold medal, showered with new feats to those who redeemed it. Raeder was flying on Petrobus, but this time they plummeted to the bottom, where the massive gem slumbered, giving them praise for all who lined up like a great Miracle anchored in Limassol. They leave the Forest of Hylates, drenched in the golden sun, staining the sheds of the upper hatch that the Eurydice exhibited for them, with iridescent colors to take their captain.
HYLATES  FORESTS

— The End —