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Literature
Eyelid Dreams
In the world of half-closed eyelids,
the childmind stretches and yawns
in tune at being wakened. It blinks
and projects purple chiffonsmoke in
strange intricate fold-unfolds;
amorphous, fragile and neverlasting.
The purple turns to blue turns to
green as unfettered neurons make up
their own story with the soft
insistent force of child-dreams.
The folds and un-folds shape themselves
into fantastical isles and lagoons,
each ruled by its own amorphous
queen who changes her veil by the
second. They wave; they dance; they
bid you goodbye as the childmind
retreats and sleep closes in.
:iconCharlemaine:Charlemaine
:iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 1 1
dead arms by Charlemaine
Mature content
dead arms :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 1 2
Calling Heavy Metal by Charlemaine Calling Heavy Metal :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 4 6 Calling Heavy Metal - WIP - by Charlemaine Calling Heavy Metal - WIP - :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 2 2 wood and flower by Charlemaine wood and flower :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 0 4 In Memory of Pain by Charlemaine
Mature content
In Memory of Pain :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 4 7
In Memory of Pain -WIP- by Charlemaine
Mature content
In Memory of Pain -WIP- :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 1 0
Mature content
Zombie For You :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 2 2
Literature
The Price Of Dreams :2:
"Useless." I throw down the pen.
Surreal scribbles and long drawling phrases litter the sheets of paper before us, none of which will ever survive the walls of this room. He looks listlessly at me and fiddles with his wristband, his marker pen, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. "We have till tomorrow morning." It is 9.30pm.
I don't want to count the exact number of hours till our gallows beckon. It's just a goddamn 30-second commercial; think. Think. It's what you were born to do.
A covert glance at him reveals a picture of despondency. God, he was annoying sometimes. The sensitive artist. What bull. We are not in the business of art.
We are in the business of business.
I rise stiffly, feeling like an overnight bruise. "Gonna get a drink. I'll be in the pantry." Most likely mild tea; I need to stay alert, but don't fancy spending the few hours I'd have in bed tonight tossing in a coffee-induced frenzy.
As I let the tea bag linger in the steaming water, my mind toys with the
:iconCharlemaine:Charlemaine
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Literature
The Price Of Dreams :1:
There will be times when you pay dearly for what you love.
We had been warned, and remained stubborn. So convinced the script would shine and the storyboard would leap right off its mounting. To us, the opening scenes with the musical box and the magical house had held a world of significance. To them it had been 8 seconds of artistic wankery.
Hopes dampened but not dead, he walked the grey concrete length from our client's office to his car, cradling the golden vision of carved gilt edges and tinkling music close to his heart. There was to be a way somehow. His sensitive, stubborn nature would see to it that the tiny silver bells we heard on one inspired afternoon would be heard by a million others.
I could see it in the determined hunch of his shoulders and the deliberate pace of my steps. The silver ballerina must dance, and keep dancing.
The dream of the music box must not die.
I wished with all my might to hold his anxious arm for the length of that brief endless walk. Instead I s
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Literature
Where The Hounds Are : 3
Night was here. The grim line formed by her link lips loosened into a teasing soft thing I wanted to kiss. But I knew the steel was within her still. So I merely ran my fingers through her hair and whispered, "Time to get off the road."
She nodded. My Persie, sweet and cool as the night. Except in summer, when she was warm and gleaming like a fish in tropical waters.
Ten minutes later we were safe on the grass in a patch of nowhere. Nestled in the comforting dusk, the darkening sky and the earthy scent of the dark green blades, she let herself sink into my body.
"Why don't you play?" she asked.
I obliged by sliding out the aged instrument from my back pocket. A harmonica, handed to me by my late grampa. It was a fine little antique: the shade of old silver, kept in a velvet case until the case had mouldered, and almost certain to outlive another one. It was in need of a good polish – but aside from that, I couldn't have asked for a finer tunemaker. I pressed my lips to Ol' Harmon.
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Literature
Where The Hounds Are : 2
I'd first met Persie Fenny Chou at a friend's backyard barbeque, about a week after driving my Mazda into a tree. He'd warned me about her too: "I know you got an eye on the Chinese chick there, but be careful. She's a dangerous one."
"Dangerous? How?"
"Well, no one really knows much about her. Not even her friends, not even Derek." Derek was the one who'd invited her along. They were good beer buddies it seemed, hitting the student pubs that they'd first started patronizing when they were freshmen, good old spots they couldn't bring themselves to give up. When I heard that I felt almost jealous. Like he'd beat me to her, in a way. An undefeatable headstart. It's funny to think about it – I guess by the vibes she was giving off (a trace of brimstone?), I felt immediately drawn to her. And attached to her too, like I'd had her for years.
Well. I ended up not wasting much time. Even after the night had spiralled into a threadbare half-dawn and almost everyone had left, we wer
:iconCharlemaine:Charlemaine
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Literature
Where The Hounds Are : 1
200km/h. The wind hit my teeth like a wall as she squeezed through two huge logger trucks.
"Jesus, Persie!" I pried my white fingers from the door sides. "Those weren't a coupla Beetles there. We coulda died."
Persie Fenny, faux-blonde and 24, snuck a glance over her shoulder. Checked the rear view mirror, side mirrors, over-shoulder again. Then her grip relaxed. So did the petite foot on the gas pedal. Gradually the needle dropped back to 120, 100, 80. I slumped in defeated relief.
Figured, huh? The first time in ten years since I'd had a proper girlfriend, and it had to be a cute little Anglo-Chinese speed demon. She had a face like a teenage Lucy Liu and a strangely recalcitrant vivacity. One that showed itself in flashes and only served to pull me in more.
It's not like she was Miss Danger-Is-My-Middle-Name. She had just moved out of her folks' place and now occupied a rented semi-D with three other girls, two students and two yuppies. Hell, she drove a modest white Jap car as peti
:iconCharlemaine:Charlemaine
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Literature
Notes From A Hotel Room -edit-
The below handwritten account was found in a drawer in Continental Hotel, Penang Island
2nd May 2008
Friday
4.00pm
Texture. The first word that seeps into my mind upon setting foot on this island city. Balmy, bustling, contradictory. This morning as I wiped my blade clean, I thought of the fishy fragrance of assam laksa. That has never happened before. The barely-there, ramshackle laksa stall dishing out steaming sweet-sour bowls of gravy. Just one gem in a semi-urban hive full of crumbling buildings. I am quite fond of those buildings. From the blackened peeling paint to the stained glass windows with their heavy wooden frames, all in a mouldering state beyond repair. I like to see the lettering of a shophouse sign askew. I love the red rust crawling on the majesty of a bygone age. These perfect little nuggets of imperfection – I would like to keep them in a box like precious mother-of-pearl buttons.
Yes; buttons. I collect buttons obsessively. My impending doom is built o
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:iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 1 5
Joy.Love.Life by Charlemaine Joy.Love.Life :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 1 1 A sweet ending by Charlemaine A sweet ending :iconcharlemaine:Charlemaine 2 3

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Literature
Flight
(A Collaboration)
her plumage shimmers,
snaring the lights; a feathery prism
on poised head with level jaw
knees lifting so high;
legs extended with each certain stride
arcing round the stage
floor boards resounding
from high-stepping boots
swiftly placed
he pivots,
always in sync with her arc—
the heat of his pride; a strength,
carried to her
through taut leather,
a steady hand on the reins
is a guide towards the perfect course,
as is the curve of her thigh

long hair of silk in the wind
of motion, flutters and streams
off of white shoulders--
astonished silence from the crowd's
single breath, their gaze follows
its transformation
the blurring of movement
alive with her passion
becomes the equine to its core
flashes of verve enhancing the frolic
from streamers aroused
where none may perceive
the flight of her feet off the floor
:iconJade-Pandora:Jade-Pandora
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 20 15
Literature
Rohypnol
I don't
Love anyone
(But I have something for these) pressed
Unseemly chrysalides
Fisted
Gagged
And stripped to the sycamore
Bowing
Over hidden creek beds
Like solemn proselytes
Of de Sade
Who lust quietly for the switch
And topple into blood ways
To drag the bottom
For The Body
Instead
I worship
Their departures
The willingness of space
To gather in a storm of heathens
And carry off
In a death plume
Of thirsty hornets
That some demon siphoned from the very colour in your eyes
To tear the idols from their sockets
To have their way
With you
In black and gray
While fallen gods
Lay beside your
Emptied lot
What you call affection:
Fondling your
Lidless
Corpus
Like a sex doll
When I already know the skin
Has wearied you
To a wraith
A surrogate
Slave (for no one's involved)
A drowse
Drugged out of fight or cause
That is why I don't ask
To hear your silent
Whispers
Shaken mumbles
Of the bliss
You were promised
But, I'll tell you, if you scream loud enough
I might believe
We've left our
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 14 24
Dragon Corset Alt view by Red-Dragon-Lord Dragon Corset Alt view :iconred-dragon-lord:Red-Dragon-Lord 11 23 hidden. by kentsoul
Mature content
hidden. :iconkentsoul:kentsoul 13 4
'WE BELONG ALIVE' by pop-monkey 'WE BELONG ALIVE' :iconpop-monkey:pop-monkey 1,046 72 LA_022008_684BW by DavidLawrence
Mature content
LA_022008_684BW :icondavidlawrence:DavidLawrence 298 56
Mature content
hardwood :icongelal:gelal 5 13
Literature
Seahorse
You push me sweetly all around
You pull me from grave-grounds
And spin me fine like gold
Reaching levels I've always dreamed
Yet thought lost to me, never to be found
Revived my faith
So long, Stagnate!
You wonder if you're girl or boy
Long for conception
Power to give birth, conceive
My Androgynous Angel
And I, your First (and Final) Mate
I'll cut them all down - if they hurt you -
down to the bloody ground
I'll taste your every orifice
Discover secrets even you know not you've hidden within
You are my Gypsy Prince
I'll give all I've got to give
I adore your words - your voice becomes lyric
from mouth and mind of youthful Saint.
If words are your weapons,
let me be the barrels
let me be thy knives
In your sometimes catatonic state.
I'll give all I have and more
I'll traverse the Universe for you
Evermore
:iconNorvaArchfiend:NorvaArchfiend
:iconnorvaarchfiend:NorvaArchfiend 2 8

Activity


deviantID

Charlemaine
laughs impolitely at funerals
Artist | Literature
Malaysia
Welcome to the Daily Chaos factory. Neurosis and/or broken stuff may occur at any time. Wear your safety gear... ;)

Current Residence: Selangor, Malaysia
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Probably S.
Favourite genre of music: Rock, with a fondness for old-school metal
Favourite style of art: Semi-finished, expressive, vivid, surreal. and anything with morbid coolness.
Operating System: Grew up with a PC but I'm a Mac convert
MP3 player of choice: iTunes, & occasionally my cellphone
Wallpaper of choice: ..changes every 3 weeks..
Personal Quote: live honestly and rock hard.
Interests
It's rather sad that I can't have a relationship with someone I love, and who loves me so much. When does love and protectiveness cross the line into borderline paranoia? When does quiet understanding morph into cold silence? When do things start to become...strange?

Where you going
I'm leaving you
No you ain't
Come back
We're running right back
Here we go again
It's so insane
Cause when it's going good
It's going great


To think that I looked up to him; adored as a hero as a little girl. Don't we all? Our mother is the first lady in our lives, our father the first man. How does anyone know what happens to that preciousness later, many years later? Is it inevitable that there will be ugliness you can't take back?

But when it's bad
It's awful
I feel so ashamed
I snap
Who's that dude
I don't even know your name
I laid hands on you
I'll never stoop so low again
I guess I don't know my own strength


I can't say that it's entirely hus fault. Or entirely mine. I've been unreasonable too, and emotional, and irrational. So has he. We are both stubborn as fuck. We have such pride. And it's so difficult to...well, to communicate. (Cliched? Lack of communication is how relationships die, and not just the romantic kinds.) The fact that there is still love, the love borne of bond and blood instinct, can't save this from going down in flames.


You ever love somebody so much
You can barely breathe
When you're with them
You meet
And neither one of you
Even know what hit 'em
Now you're getting fucking sick
Of looking at 'em
You swore you've never hurt 'em,
Never do nothing to hurt 'em
Now you're in each other's face
Spewing venom



Now he's acting like a complete stranger and saying things I can't believe he's saying. I don't know what I did to piss him off so and why he won't be upfront with me. (Don't use my mom as a channel you bastard) And the fact is, I could just emotionally cut uyou ioff right now, and walk out in my mind, but why? You've raised me right -- or did up till a certain point -- and you've done so much for me. Been a good provider and a good guardian. Never deprived us or treated us cruelly. Although what you're doing now is cruel, in its own insidious way.


So lost in the moments
When you're in 'em
It's the rage that took over
It controls you both
So they say it's best
To go your separate ways
Guess that they don't know ya
Cause today
That was yesterday
Yesterday is over
It's a different day
Sound like broken records playing over
But you promised me,
Next time you'll show restraint;
You don't get another chance.



I have had time, plenty of time, to regret. In my outraged reaction I said hurtful things that were meant to be hurtful. But beneath that outrage was an upset child wondering where it all went to shit. Wondering when she ceased being good enough. When her existence ceased to be the pride and joy of someone's eye and became a bane instead.


Don't you hear sincerity
In my voice when I talk?
Told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball
Next time I'm pissed
I'll aim my fist
At the dry wall
Next time
There will be no next time
I apologize
Even though I know it's lies



I shouldn't be this way. I am an adult and in many ways I've stopped needing your approval. In fact, I can live without one person's approval. Surely.

So stupid. I"m a stupid small confused person.

And I don't know what to think.

I'm tired of the games
I just want you back.



** ** ** **

Lyrics courtesy of Marshall Mathers aka Eminem
~~~Never really appreciated this song enough, till today happened.
  • Listening to: Love The Way You Lie
  • Reading: Household Gods - Judith Tarr & Harry Turtledov
  • Drinking: water & tea

Comments


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:iconphotopathica:
Photopathica Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2012   General Artist
miss you :(
Reply
:iconlegash:
Legash Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
=]
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:iconphotopathica:
Photopathica Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2011   General Artist
:heart:
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:iconjadeddragonri:
JadedDragonRI Featured By Owner May 23, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
TY for the fav! =o)
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:iconmiskis:
miskis Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2011
thank you :heart:
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:iconcharlemaine:
Charlemaine Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2011   Writer
:tighthug: welcommme
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:iconslprice:
SLPrice Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2011
Thank you so much for favoring "Asymmetry."
Reply
:iconcharlemaine:
Charlemaine Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2011   Writer
It was a brilliant poem that compelled me to add it. startling, vivid & visionary (now i sound like an art critic but it's true).
Reply
:iconnorvaarchfiend:
NorvaArchfiend Featured By Owner Nov 13, 2010
p.s. although, now that you mention it, my sex and sexuality IS/ARE undergoing change at the moment. permutations in the forms of both leaning further toward my adoration of females at the moment, and also of "mental sex," rather than the "real thing" (which often isn't really REAL and moreso just a THING).
Reply
:iconcharlemaine:
Charlemaine Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2010   Writer
smtimes mental sex is actually better than erm, physical sex... lol.

probably the best lover is the one who knows exactly what goes on in your mind. ;)
Reply
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