~ValentineSmith
Campy Lobacter
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Indulge a Proletariathope without restraint perhaps in a radical socialist understudy in tragic cold sweater distributing clean-cut weeping leaflets to soft toothed cogs or lake-eyed wool wrapper theologist mollycoddling lifeless symbols to increase the trade-in price at night he goes ten-pin bowlingIndulge a Proletariat
together with his share of breath and yields fierce suns from ectogoo
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Be he gone now? There he’s walking And barely stirring the dust As a tree that has forgotten His truthful leafyness and Can only witness the &n
by ~Rosa-Nezvanova
A ParasiteWhen Jerome Molker tapped his way up the sidewalk to the restaurant where he was to be eatting dinner that night, he was all in knots with a bad toothache and in general not at in the mood for Jacob. Not that he was a bad person; he held great culinary talent and owned the establishment Jerome was now stepping into. But Jacob often talked much while saying little and always refused paid his share when dining with friends. "Any food he did not prepare could never please his meticulously trained palate," Jerome bit his lip before stuffing the thought away. "I mustn't be so bitter. He means no harm; has never hurt anyone." He was the first patroA Parasite
by ~Rosa-Nezvanova
PersonencharakterisierungenG.O. Spelvin sat in a nameless cafe, smoked constantly through a long filter and waited on Tesley B. Jones. This name to him was nothing more than what it was; a name, written on a pawn ticket, in an unsure hand. "A nigger's name," he thought to himself, too old to think otherwise for now. Every ring of the bell brought his heavy, withered eyes to the door. A fat woman with a ridiculous collar, holding a small dog; the butcher's lad, making deliveries; an artist, holding a flat box and wearing a panama hat. Where was this name of his? The answer lie three blocks down, leaning against a used book store. Smelling all thPersonencharakterisierungen
by ~Rosa-Nezvanova
Tom CollinsThe door to apartment 4C swung itself shut as a man walked briskly across the dinged wooden floor. “I’m home,” he announced flatly, throwing the wrinkled bundle of his overcoat on the kitchen table, dropping his hat squarely on top of it. He forced a dramatic sigh as he yanked his jacket off. His eyes settled upon the huddled mass in his bed, a slapdash mop of blond curls laid out over the pillow. “Asleep again, eh?” he smirked, hurling the jacket at her with a rowdy overhand throw. He stuck his fingers into the knot of his tie and wiggled them as he began walking to the washroom. “No work today. Thought I’d take a day off.” He plugged the siTom Collins
by ~Rosa-Nezvanova
Hurtling Back To All Of His Teenager Thoughts AnddeviantID
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Bottom Of The Woodstock
- Favourite movie: Beauty and The Beast
- Favourite band or musician: The Beatles; The Smiths
- Favourite genre of music: anything but metal, rap or most jazz
- Favourite cartoon character: Rosemary,the telephone operator
- Email: geoff_emerick89@hotmail.com
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I would prefer not to.
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Evidence: [link]
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oh, i get it. anarchy means that you litter.
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Remember me as Chaos
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Life goes on until you're dead.
Groups I'm in: Only two, ArtMonkeysAnonymous [link] and fiona-apple [link]
Jack's Prints! [link]
You didn't answer my question...and sorry for being so brusque to your comments on Valentine Smith Graffiti.
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Life goes on until you're dead.
Groups I'm in: Only two, ArtMonkeysAnonymous [link] and fiona-apple [link]
Jack's Prints! [link]
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