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About Deviant Artist auxaboisFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
The Deer Hunter
Pray about this she said. Quietly she began to leave the room. Every small every big, every thing in general was leaving quietly, had been for years and now there was nothing left but the sound of her dress brushing against her hips and the tick tick tock of the clock.
Time, Him and I had been playing this one for keeps, all or nothing, Deniro faces Walken, mad eyes, everything/nothing to lose. Him and I, we were freinds, and had been passing this gun for as long as I could remember, anticipation rubbing every nerve, until there was nothing left but the three of us, no other dimention, no room, no thought, no reason, just Time and I and my support and savior from all: Monique, caught in the headlights of my head on collision with life.
I am sure your prayers mean more than mine dearest.
She did not smile.
Even her eyes, even they did not smile, that is how I knew: she was gone. Large Brown Wet with no discernable end or beguinning or purpose. No purpose other than love, charity, and te
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Literature
Here's To All Too Familiar
Life is a lot less about change and much more about staying the same. Life is a lot less about moving on and much more about letting what ever it was fade away.
That is the way.
Somewhere along the line I've forgotten exactly where I was heading: all I know is the treetreetree lined up against a purple night-bruised mountain slicing through the fog and sometimes the rain. Miles and miles and days.
Each morning's present, the not so unique feeling of waking up in a box: stale air, no leg space, windows and doors, closeing in on me. The farther I got the less I remembered until finally it seemed this was the only feeling in the universe, the only scene, the only dirt, sky, stars. Somehow they looped and looped through and through across state lines and mountain passes, always new, always the same.
As I slept through the latenoon hours I seemed to recall something else, someone else, something. It played like merry-go-round music leering loud and monotonous, I sing it now but I am not sur
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Literature
Together Again
"What things we shall see my sweet in dives like these, when fires ignite grey window panes"
The locket seemed to melt through my fingers and before i knew it it had landed on the floor with the sound of metal pericing emoition. The yellow paper cut out so haphazardly and placed there on the right side, opposite us in a tragic irony: it receded into shadow as the locket snapped into two peices and we came tumbling down over poetry and plagerism, I am not sure if I ever told you that I didn't write that, but I didn't mean for you to beleive it was me.
It was broken alright and upon further inspection I decided that it could never be put back together again. Not broken, dead, we are, most of all you, but in my way, so am I.
November in Prescott: Motel, as simple as that, and at Two in the morning we found that ugly room there among all the pines and the ramshakele houses. Four am I fell asleep and at six am it was still dark but I woke up and couldn't get close enough, it was cold, delic
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Literature
The trip from one town
I love the silent trip from one town to the next. Its the only way to appreciate Arizona's beauty, all that noise just wears down the rocks, it sucks all the color out of the sky. At night, the place dims into a ghost world.
All the sun bleached bushes and sun bleached people seep into the darkness and disappear. They just don't exist anymore, not on the horizon, the sand blends into the sky, they become one, a single picture frame of deepest blue background, cricket symphony.
The 86 Nova breaks through to 80 on the strip, humming, shattering the night into a thousand pieces, traveling from pavement to back roads, short cuts only we would know. Our own personal light parade.
Through the passenger window all the industry along the train tracks light up with bulbs too bright for household comparison, they twinkle close and far, like stars, only brighter. And when we hits the rocks and flow down into the dips it seems like they are flying, and this car we're one of them. Alcyone, Asterope
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Literature
The feature of my life
sheepish and small, the fold out memories of mini graphic movies. Features of my own. Steeped in meaning, practically drowing in it.
Well those colors are so vivid, as you peer from those brown (trailor park carpet kind) eyes, down to your palm, to watch the summed up montogue of my life, about the size of a ladies pill box(and just as naughty)you realize, if stretched, blown up to life size proportions, they do little for the senses and even less for the imagination.
so. that is me.
bottled and packaged for your entertainment. Cheap wine, no doubtable intoxicating, with an after taste you will soon beg to forget. Taking the grapes out of delicacy and giving them back, kindly, to the super market shelves (every girl, every boy right there along the lines with me)
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:iconauxabois:auxabois 0 2
Literature
I really dont know yet
Light bends accordingly. The sharp distance spins out of focus: as the Ones march in, as the love flows in. As memories fade.
What was once a sheet lies in tatters behind a desk in a room that used to be mine. Twelve boxes of belongings stacked in the closet. Every Three months there I apply another one, another lost age, how do I own so much "stuff".
Well that sheet (butterflies faintly) is all I have left of my childhood. And like those who have gone before it, under it, twisted and contorted. Like them I forget now where I have left it, and why, why it was so important.
Just a pang to the heart, telling me Yes. I do love. telling me that something special passed between us, and if I tried I could break my heart with visions of your face, voice, words typed through thirty miles from there to there, two places so foreign from here. If only I could remember and get back to laughing in the warm evenings of August, blue flashing screen: on fire with the fact, yes, the fact, that he will
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One Fifth by auxabois One Fifth :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0 Blood Money by auxabois Blood Money :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0 Crowded faces by auxabois Crowded faces :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 2 M.A.S.H by auxabois M.A.S.H :iconauxabois:auxabois 1 7 11918 by auxabois 11918 :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0 Pipes and windows by auxabois Pipes and windows :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0 Arlo by auxabois Arlo :iconauxabois:auxabois 1 3 The continental by auxabois The continental :iconauxabois:auxabois 1 0 Love bites by auxabois Love bites :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0 Elbows by auxabois Elbows :iconauxabois:auxabois 0 0

Random Favourites

pool of tears - color by bluefooted pool of tears - color :iconbluefooted:bluefooted 1,716 104 the offering by iamkatia the offering :iconiamkatia:iamkatia 38 136
Literature
honesty is so underrated.
Sunsets on fields
car rides "home"
12 or 169
12 to 169
11.
Shafts of light and shadows
half complete paint-by-numbers kits.
hills and fields.
farms and tress.
silhouttes.
the odd on-coming car
parallel red as quickly as parallel white.
slow moving vehicle.
wind.*
life.
There's so much beauty
if you see it that way.
I used to hate this drive.
*The kind of things you see in movies accompanied by some dramatic (not meldramatic, but dramatic enough) music to set the mood, so you take them for granted when you actually see them because it's not just a glimpse and some music, it can soak into everything you feel, but instead you get bored and go back to driving.  right now i prefer to live.
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Literature
In Traps Laughing
We rose
And another night
And it means nothing --
I just laughed.
The explanation was so dull.
The smile just lingered
Astounded the girl and herself.
Speaking of becoming plain...
the anathema requires a cure
and her poetry is just a borrowed song
in the wrong language
with full emotion and spirit
but desperate steers paint
And they paint nothing.
Oh, we like other's philosophies
It's so silly to reach into someone else's dream
and stay there.
Oh, we boast in traps laughing
Egotistical whims describing our insecurity.
It's ineffectually and indescribably dead.
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Literature
Liquor Promenade.
unscathed, a preposterous liquor promenade
no Louisiana hooker
could have tackled.
the barren lands were covered in bodies
holding bottles
holding onto whatever sober memories
they might keep hidden-- under a thick-skinned
lack of providence.
(cops hats and birthday bashings)
I could have felicitously drained you
when I saw you bite
that lip at me.
I could have drove deep into your mine shaft
of a heart
made base camp there
--when you kissed me, held my chin.
I cracked your face and evening skylined
your sight;
and you still fell in love with my
bitter tasting recklessness.
and I fall into
this dangerous exposed heart
of display case dresses,
and obtuse shattered
                           tawdriness.
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Literature
Love Poem
..
last night I made a man
out of pillows and forgotten
fragments of clothes
we'd pushed into my drawers.
I held my pillow-man's hand
and made sure he wasn't too warm
because it is summer;
I'm on the second floor;
and that was always your
biggest complaint.
this morning I tried to shower
but would turn off the water and run
like a soapy dog, complete with
loyal tail wagging, to the door
thinking you'd come knocking.
You hadn't.
tomorrow will taste like
the food of a week ago
and I'll wear sunglasses,
which, if you know me,
(and you do)
will seem out of context
and like a little girl
playing dress up.
I know there are supposed to be
thunderstorms, perfect
radio love songs, movies with Meg
Ryan and wondering when we'll meet
again,
but God
doesn't budge on the details.
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Literature
July
In the fourteen hour days,
written in cryptic blues came
the last plans of architects.
Heavy automata.
Vapor mist settled stormy grays
freezing on the forest floor.
The winter festivities closed
a trample of footprints being
the science-book skeleton to
an unrealistic standard of beauty.
Arms ache and lonely.
The darkness, the red devil,
the eyes the tawny of the skin,
my thief of reason, my
smart-ass ruin;
insipid beauty denies coherence.
The heat obnoxiously coaxes
the night into madness - to
trivialize everything; our
delicate, decided secret code.
Feet tired and lonely churn.
The sounds of animals coughing
sequesters to sleeping naked
on floors; breath disappears angry
I paint my face again.
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Literature
I don't care what you call it,
There's a hastily erected weight restriction sign
on the side of the road.
And every time I'm on my way home
It looks as though someone is waiting
at the end of Patricia Parkway.
And while it waits,
it seems to enunciate
The wet of these soaked streets.
Pronounciation stumbles on syllabels,
as the streets absorb and horde
all the light offered from scattered and sparse streelights:
monuments and statues,
devoid of symetry. (Regardless of what they tell you)
And chorus and verse,
ambience in the night,
provided by chripping frogs
and distant cars;
Just another soundtrack.
I walked the whole way
on centrelines.
White,
and yellow centrelines.
I walked the whole way.
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auxabois

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United States

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:iconseraph777:
Seraph777 Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2014   Digital Artist
Thanks for the Watch :)
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:iconmarcelperez:
MarcelPerez Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2009
Thanks for the Watch!!
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:iconernestsparrows:
ernestsparrows Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2007
and thank you for bringing a poem to my liking.
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:iconcitrouillet:
Citrouillet Featured By Owner Mar 14, 2007   Photographer
:aww: :)
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:iconcitrouillet:
Citrouillet Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2005   Photographer
Thank you Sarah :rose: for the :+devwatch:

:D
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:iconcitrouillet:
Citrouillet Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2005   Photographer
Thank you Sarah :rose: for the :+devwatch:

:D
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:iconiamkatia:
iamkatia Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2005
thanks for the fave on 'the offering' sarah! :blowkiss:
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:iconmakeshiftsoul:
MakeShiftSoul Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2005
You're my first random deviant of the day.

Hullo! :wave:

---Support the Community :jark:---

:mangapunksai:
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:iconcitrouillet:
Citrouillet Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2005   Photographer
:#1: Thank you very much Sarah :rose: for the :+fav:

:)
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:iconkanzo:
Kanzo Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2005
thank you for the fave!
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