Newest
Southern SonnetAutumn had set fire to the leaves, and I too was burning with the shadow-heat of forgotten summers and the prickly sleeves of desperate memory while sighing in the sweetSouthern Sonnet
ennui of a southern town. To a young man, this is an early death. Counting feathers on a wind-weary heron or draining a can of beer in solitude quickly weathers
wild passions. But, without the ivory stillness of resting under Magnolia trees, I would have never seen the hazy sunset shining on the river's boundaries,
the sky drifting on to dusty distance, the far starlight's silve
by ~DarlingDante
Song of a MoverIt's a wonder what can fit in a box: portraits, china, wall clocks,Song of a Mover
all sagging inside the wrapping
with the sound of tape's snapping.
Heavier are the things that can't:
the first freeze and the tomato plant
covered in knives of ice but tasting sweet when the blades dropped and you ate its meat;
the old house your mother left where the child-you, lost, bereft, wandered through an empty room full of dust and fresh perfume.
I can't carry those things for you. No matter the pay, and I need it too, I can't hoist the he
by ~DarlingDante
Mosquito TruckEntangled in each other, we heard the hissing trail like the sound of a thousand tiny wing beats and sprinted from the misty streets, twice as blood-starved as the frailMosquito Truck
constellations of puddle-born lovers. We stood gasping for fresh air with the sticky scent of poison in our hair, and left for the warmth of our covers.
In that moment of ecstatic pulse-thrumming, I thought of the carnal swarm, its thinning numbers, the descent of my fellow love-drunk fumblers and the shrieks of their last humming.
I felt the absence in that awful peace of the b
by ~DarlingDante
Song of the SabineThe water is still, fixed by the weight of the melted Moon. The Sabine sways with fish at rest--Song of the Sabine
with silt-tumbling stones cobbling the riverbed, with ghost-thin egrets propped upon their withered sinews.
Numberless nights lie drenched in it; the surface shimmers, a field of reflections blurred by memory and a shiver of ripples.
Not one silhouette-- of passing clouds, of aging cypress, of moonlit breath-- finds itself unanchored by a river-tinged shadow.
They are whispering in the mud-thick laps of shore, &nb
by ~DarlingDante
Random Favourites
Spiderling“Next!” Shuffle, up, shuffle. “Three teal, seven harlequin, ten spotted mauve… one spiderling.” “Gimme your ration card!” “I… I… I… I… here…” Mumble mutterings, “three teal, seven… spotted mauve. There ain’t no spiderlings on this here card!” Eyes ablaze and as meat. “Please, for my… back, the pain.” Slam down hard. “Everyone gets their fair share. Nothing more. Always less. Nothing more. Next!” Twenty coloured pills danced down his fingertips and I quickly picked them up as they bounced once, twice. Never let them more that thrice. Or pop! All over the counter. And no more. Always less. &Spiderling
by ~saturnineguise
Fave News
- 312 The "Banned Books" Contest: Fight Censorship! - Sep 4, 2008
- 2 TINY LIT FEATURE - Aug 10, 2008
- 81 The Villanelle Contest: Gathering ALL Writers! - Aug 4, 2008
- 18 Art Of Any Sort - Jul 27, 2008
- 48 Need an Alternative to MS Word and Notepad? - Jul 18, 2008
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Devious Info
- Interests: Reading, writing, music, whiskey and physics. Yup, that sums me up nicely.
- Favourite movie: The Fountain, Blade Runner, A Scanner Darkly, and I'm sure many more than this bar can hold.
- Favourite band or musician: The Birthday Massacre, Arcade Fire, Lacuna Coil, Say Anything, Opeth. There are really just too many
- Favourite poet or writer: Ray Bradbury
- Favourite cartoon character: Spike Spiegel (of Cowboy Bebop)
- Personal Quote: Whatever happens, happens.
- Email: darlingdante@gmail.com
- AIM: Otaku8604
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Whenever I need something brilliant, I will search and search for something with usually not much luck. Then I find myself returning to the stuff that inspired me in the first place and am usually amazed more than I was initially.
I always come back to Henry Miller and Vladimir Nabokov and Anais Nin and Milan Kundera and Ovid's erotic poems.
But this is all old news to you, I'm sure.
Oh god, I forgot, if you want to read something brilliant, pick up a copy of Frida Kahlo's diary. It breaks my heart. I keep it by my bed.
I might be writing again, and am reading at a pretty incredible pace (for me). Joyce's Ulysses needed a reread, and I've torn up all of Tobias Wolff's stuff. Now I'm back to Hecht and Faulkner.
I'll look into those among your list that I haven't yet read.
How are you? I miss my e-lover.
I'm going to give you what I deem a holy shit: "the conversations inside the car were like great wood eyes and, driving west over Iowa, the evening was always air vague with towns, blue fences, and crossroads vacant of cars."
That's loooong, but I liked it.
I'm going to keep going.
"The water ground rusting ships to powder and mixed the smell of iron and lost buoyancy up in the wind. That wet penny smell made its way through the slowly splintering baseboards and soaked into every fiber of the house."
I'm going to keep going.
I NO WONDERFUL. I A MONSTER. LOL !
HW R U?
--
~
--
it was full of stars
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