Namasté all deviants!
Check out my stuff please^^
ATM I'm 'living' in Switzerland, traveling and stuff. Improving my artwork, so.. yes
Inspiration for me is deff. music, a lot of reggae, jazz, funk, stoner, psycedelic, blues.. jooo, lots of old music
Especially Jeff Buckley (check him out if you are clueless!)
I have always felt like I don't belong anywhere... I don't know why exactly, I just don't fit in anywhere in this generation.
In my head I kinda live in the 69 with Jimi playing his sick guitar at Woodstock and in the 90's with Eddie Vedder climbing rafters above the stages...xD Wish I was there.... damn!
"Me only have one ambition, y'know. I only have one thing I really like to see happen. I like to see mankind live together- black, white, chinese, everyone- that's all". -Bob Marley
“I asked her if she believed in love, and she smiled and said it was her most elaborate method of self-harm.” - Benedict Smith
“Let’s raise children who wont have to recover from their childhoods.” —Pam Leo
"All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they really happened, and after you are finished reading one, you will feel that all that happened to you, and afterwards it all belongs to you; the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse, and sorrow, the people and the places, and how the weather was" - Ernest Hemingway
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Thoughts are something we have rather than something we are.
Your pain does not define you.
sapphic and starwoven girlsmy love, there will be moments
when the world holds its breath.
i'm reaching for you, but
we're too far. i don't want another
telescopic neighbour, i mean
we share a planet
but that's only a prelude,
a hinted promise of home-
of us waking up together
of you stealing my sweaters
us working the typewriter at 2AM
us making cassettes, your eyes
linger on mine
"what's your favourite genre, divya?"
i smile. "you are."
and somehow, it makes sense.
we make sense.
this world that is ours
beliefwe are what we are and no less.
we are what we are and no more.
removed from what we may have had
and what we might've had before.
we are play-things of a dead god.
we nailed his son up to a tree.
a nail in each hand and one in both feet.
a crown of thorns from you and me.
living is the proof of nothing.
dying; just a change of state.
the span of time that we exist here
is nothing more than fickle fate.
there is no sin and no salvation,
only what we make of each.
the guise of what is good and evil
lies in what we choose to teach.
we are satan's fly-blown supper.
a carnal, cabalistic stew.
laying blame on fallen angels
with a crown of horns from me and you.
morality, a shifting banner;
mortality a fatal ruse.
with each new life: a new creation
the destiny of which we choose.
are pictures in our memories.
the mythologies we've woven 'round them
nothing more than fallacies.
i believe in love, compassion,
caring, sharing, tenderness.
i need no god to gu
mangoi was the mango
who left his
and even in my
i still remain
to the very
Il Me Hante and It HurtsHaunted, my nights are
By these bittersweet dreams
Memories of moments past
Embêtent la plupart de mes nuits
Images of a pale face
Forever branded in this stormy head
Time may heal all wounds
But these stubborn scars forever remain
Trapped in my thoughts, I can't escape
From this prison my heart creates
Flashes of red and pale blue
And my throat often tightens
From the pressure of silent tears
That I cannot cry
A delayed reaction, a daze
Caught up in a turbulent dark blue haze
I've tried to fight it, to bury it
But I'm overpowered and it smothers me
I run, run, run, run
But I can't outrun myself
Frantic, I scramble and try to hide
But I have nowhere to go but in...
Into myself where those dark demons reside
Of bitter memories and bitter malice
J'ai envie de pleuer,
J'ai envie de crier
But those tears won't come
Won't flow and wash me away
It was you who once gave me wings
Wings to fly amongst the clouds
And bath in the light of happiness
And the warmth of bliss
But one day I flew
GraceThe hands that cast the mould that made the plough
that dug the dirt for crops to make the dough
that makes our bread - they let us grow.
The souls who drive the trucks each waking hour
from farm to store to shop give us our power -
it makes them dead - and we devour.
Each morsel grows from dirt to plant to food
we tear a piece and sell so it's construed
we do our bit - we don't - we just collude.
And while each toiler keeps us from our graves
so we keep them trapped in their enclaves,
to tell ourselves each night - we don't own slaves.
Drag alongDrag along
Through the pain
Feel the burn
Fail in life
Fail in the crucials
None has ever done before
Don't you listen to the world
You're not a lazy one
You're not that dumb
You're not just
Or a lunatic
How could you be lazy
When you wanna run away
And how can you be stupid
When you think your days away
In fear and pain
Into uncharted territory
Into the abyss
The void is always different colours and shapes
But no one knows
All they ever do is shake
Tremble at the cold
That they never dared to feel
That's a hypocrite's
That one will tell all that's wrong
Cause' they failed themselves
Wise in years
Of disappointment and grief
And confusion, they pass on
To shield you from all
That you could ever know
About the void in you
That it might as well could turn into
No one knows
How the fuck could they?
They only see you breathe, you know