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Husk :iconhusk-hunger:husk-hunger 0 0
Literature
Liminal Embrace
Let me drown you in my liminal embrace.
So like the sea upon the shore,
my lips might ever kiss your face.
And as nettled thickets grow as one beside the twisted brambles,
our bodies entwined left love lines in shambles
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Literature
Unsaid
The one with the thirst and the one with the hunger--
There’s no love, there’s no light when you’re under.
Fade to black and our souls rot to twine within,
tug the line through my teeth much to my chagrin.
Bereft of breath in the heat of the waning night
You hold my hand with a grin in the sterling fight,
I grasp at straws to speak the phlegm locked behind my truth
Still, you soothe as I lap up your tongues’ grace,
I bear your fangs and the lace of your chuff embrace.
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Literature
A Letter to Myself
Death is the refuge much like writing in the soft sketchy shadows on paper. The interplay of light and dark and gradient textures which we too move through and within and among each other shift like our murky pasts.
How could we have been anything other than the encircling and folding, our careful paper creases like an origami figure fitted and interlocking though we cannot see it.
Sensation. Thought tither while my hairs quiver on the back of my palms, a certain shaking, always flowing never mistaken—make no mistake the same moves within me as you. We’re like draft mates, wind saints, the breeze bridging us all. You just have to let your blood feel again. Not just tepid quips or jostled, shaking, scathed wrists, no no, but that lustrous movement, that flourish of spirit and pearly, toothy grins. I remember you, sir, you’re still here, still with me. I have never left, I am still the same man. Things have just changed now. I am not alone.
I am not alone…
Here in
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Literature
The Drones
Soft keys and nimble fingers. Ad hoc reports on wage cuts and cost savings. Drones come in black skirts, grey pants, and white shirts barely breathing today except for the hum and whir of screens and vents. Except at the end of the day we never leave this office, never make it to the bright red EXIT sign at the end of the hallway leading toward the elevators with Essence corps’ logo. Shuffling quickly at 4:29 I try to avoid the team from Quality Control. They make their rounds each day at 4:45 starting at Kathy’s desk the HR rep’s office adjacent from mine in the other hallway. Each day they say the same things. I don’t think any of my “co-workers” are awake like I am as they never shift from their routine.
I too am always in the same shirt, black tie, and pants, and the ‘report’ I’m working on is always back to the same page and details as the day before. I’ve searched for any clues in it, but it’s just numbers and figu
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Literature
Digital aberration
What are you doing, Skippy? With the kch-kch-kch s-s-(k)et(ch) and rhthym, you funk with my flow.
Drawing in the squeaky emanations along the edges of my aural assaults, are you reaching out? Why do you break like concussive borders of oceans booming along my static electricity? Whence do you come if not the groanings of the machine that never loved you, never took the time to know you as the most intimately bound soundscapes that grace our ears?
Weeping chimes of glass chandeliers never glistened like the tears that roll down your digital cheeks as I bide your wire-frame outbursts soaking in the salt and brine of your electric echoes.
It's OK: even robots need love.
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Literature
Reality Shifter
There is a comfort in the daily black and white script on the screen and the comforting, blinking, cursor that chatters hello and opens its door to infinite conversations with strangers in back alleys, driveways, freeways, causeways, and sideways. It breaks the rules between what is and isn’t possible; it is the door to escape, the EXIT sign, the chanteuse in a dimly lit bar; the waves collapsing on waves of hairs standing on edge until released in a final gasp as an airplane crashes into the Pacific Ocean. It is all these things and more for me. It is my dotted line between worlds—-my work life, and the next, where ever my senses take me. Like an extension of the best part of me, my conduit of faculties culminates in synaesthetic cascades of sensation.
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Literature
My Morning Snapshot
Digital embers cast an orange glow almost iridic in the shadowy gloom until sunlight breaks to metronomic tones. The final grey webs of my grid dream desires dissolve in quick jerks as my joints twitch to consciousness.
A slat of lumber presses my limbs nice and neat so I might rise to meet the day though sometimes I'd rather my meat rise to greet the kinks in my tail. But groggily the lumber becomes me as I lumber to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Crooked teeth grin back from a plaque stained mirror as if to mock any semblance of attraction with a waxy glaze and blinking gaze while I choke on my toothbrush. Every morning.
Still somehow eternity glistens wet on my shower curtain illuminating my dragonfly love with beating wings, pumping flesh, and pulsing leaves in a throbbing affirmation of life.
Cherubic Fox placidly smiles while seconds fumble into aeons of mechanical motions and ambling limbs as slow hands spread tallow and aloe in a confluence of particles and chemicals. An unhol
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Werewolf Time :iconhusk-hunger:husk-hunger 1 0
Literature
Dream 2
ksshaw-like squeaks with a bell-chime sweep of the door greet my nostrils to scents of sizzling grease, grits, and the clank of silverware at the Antique Boutique: Sundries, Souls, and Food--an odd fusion of antique store and diner.
Gingerly closing the door, the silver bell lingered above the chatter of everyday folk entranced in the latest apparel, family, or fortune, while a broad voice from behind the counter called out, "What will you be having, son?" The burly, tawny chef kept his eyes on some egg frittata.
No sooner shutting out the world with relaxed shoulders than the swoosh of a cleaver nicked my left ear notching heavily into the door frame with a dull 'kthuck' that deadened the room in uncomfortable silence.
Surprised by my own stoic calm and now slightly nipped ear beginning to bleed, I gawked at the menagerie of store shelf items.
But where worn lamps, dusty knick-knacks, and eroded vinyl record players witnessed the vagaries of time, instead my own indulgences of every e
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Literature
The Resonance
Chain links clinked like wind chimes in the breeze as I looked out the window in a heady day dream. Professor Nolan had just finished listening to a response on Writing the Language of Anglo-Saxon Violence: Stylus, Skin, and Manuscripts when she spied the last remaining wisps of my daylight reverie out of the corner of her eye.
“Mr. Landry, all semester you have either interrupted class discussion with deliberately puerile questions that are barely tangential to our themes or you have persisted in somehow finding Beowulf amidst the frosted window panes and oak trees in the courtyard.”
“Now unless you have some argument as to how your own respiration is an extended metaphor for an epic poem, I suggest you seriously consider how you spend our class time sessions as they will appear on your final exams …unlike your breath on the windows.”
Ever since the first class, Nolan and I clashed. Although my essays were replete with sources, and deftly synthesized mult
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Literature
In the shadows
I was just a boy in the shadows, but the shadows were in me long before I had met them on that fateful night. Squeaky floor boards in the bedraggled manor we’d holed up in with the cobwebs and dust that looked like some cheesy B-movie horror flick were child’s play though thinking back now they didn’t play so well upon my child-like consciousness and wonder.
All throughout our stay I’d fancied the house was simply haunted. In our game of hide-and-seek, I was the seeker after a count of 27 and though I’d tried so hard to hazard guesses as to which of the many manor rooms my companions could have stolen in within the span of seconds, I found myself at times frozen upon thresholds as I’d sought to shut one door or open another. Like an invisible hand, a gaping maw, or otherworldly current held me affixed in time or rooted between worlds, I’d feel a tugging sensation in the depths of my spine upon trying to close a door to enter a hallway. Or other
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Literature
Silver Scents
::feeling the breeze:: I hear these marks, these frantic scribbles on a page, ....
I catch them in the air, coquettish overtures in lieu of stones and grace....my air is not your air, my breath not your breath for I tread in quiet realms.
Blow me away...
...a flick of the hair, a sideways glance, eyebrows raised--but hushed in surprise. A lilt in the voice, all only seconds in time. Time...time...time...tick, tick, tick.
All that's left is the scent, and a smattering of memory.
Somewhere--beyond this world--there is something pulling us, something more than these transient songs we play and lay to snare the fairer sex, these...clouds of smoke. I am drawn by the breeze, an artist without a name.
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Literature
Holes in Myself
I’ve been watching you earnestly. Please be patient, please be fluid. And yet you choke it down with reckless abandon. Like the pale thigh meat, chicken you scarfed for dinner only to, half choking, hack it up later, foaming at the mouth in your booze soaked revelry. You lack restraint.
I’ve seen you in your boardroom meetings, when you’re choking on your profit wads to shoot them later in to tight skirt twats. Your jerky motions shift like your market powerpoint figures with angular flesh that shakes in fits and quivers.
And in the dimlit static of the tv glare, alone in your room when you’ve shed the final red wrappings of the cardboard, Big Mac container, or was it that account director, Sheila who sucked your cock in the elevator? It’s hard to tell sometimes in your consciousness when or where the plastic from your condoms begins, and the rest of the world ends, because they’re equally discarded in the end.
See when you’re passed out on you
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Literature
Scenes from a Dream
May I lay with you for a while? I nodded. Oh of course. In the soft blue moonlight peeking through the window, she lay beside me ensconced in her usual blue lace coat, and softly pressed me close. Against her warm embrace I felt each reassuring breath with a rhythmic ebb and flow of all the lives lived beneath her wrinkles and the worn love lines shed beneath sheet crinkles--but in our stillness nothing was unsaid or not unspoken. She was just happy to be here with me. Nothing lingered or was forced, and we dozed in and out of sleep like ghosts slipping through our seams as one.
Fuck the Alarm emblazoned its chorus with a fiery cacophony that blurred my blue and black strips in a migraine as I smashed my head against the looming lamp overhanging my desk and quickly rushed to save my latest comic sketches for Le Chat.
Soft breeze textures her tresses in tortuous tangles and deep brown forests against her light olive skin. Snuggling deeper into her midnight blue pea coat, hazel eyes refr
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husk-hunger
Husk
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I'm Husk. Themes I like involve werewolves, gradients of perception, consciousness, and qualia.
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:iconjaysmiles23:
JAYSMILES23 Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Hey buddy! thank you so much for the fav and watch :tighthug:
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:iconrandamu-chan:
Randamu-Chan Featured By Owner Sep 21, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
welcome to deviantart!
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:iconhusk-hunger:
husk-hunger Featured By Owner Sep 21, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you :)
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:iconrandamu-chan:
Randamu-Chan Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
You're Welcome ^^



God bless~<3
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:iconjoeyliverwurst:
JoeyLiverwurst Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hey, I recognize that mug!  Welcome back.
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:iconhusk-hunger:
husk-hunger Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Haha, heyy, yeah! Thank you!
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:iconjoe-roberts:
Joe-Roberts Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
  Thanks for faving and welcome to deviantArt :)
Werewolf by Joe-Roberts
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:iconhusk-hunger:
husk-hunger Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Oh of course, your snarly werewolf is awesome :)
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