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About Me Member Wannabe Novelist anothermanhattanMale/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 4 Years
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Statistics 7 Deviations
26 Comments
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the day

Tue Jan 31, 2006, 1:14 PM
'i've been driving round talking to myself again/


not making no sense.'

how how how howz howl howlser dougie houwser how do you do it.

i'm begining to think question marks are a little uncouth. but what if i try to offer you an oreo online. oreo. necessary evil i suppose. hmm, i shouldn't talk about food...broke, fainting, nervous. about half an hour ago i watched a dragon steal oranges from a toddler, masticate, and then fling the remains towards the heavens...i had the high ground, so i had hope, but alas my altar remained empty. The dragon then stole a cabbage from an elderly woman...she didn't fight him and he wretched some remains to the ground in front of her. yesterday i had a thumbwar with a boy and he never even noticed. yesterday i watched a girls eyes and she shimmered her eyedentities...not a lie not the truth. yesterday i watched a woman spasm over her keyboard, i wanted to give her my tomatoes but her shawl scared me off. yesterday i laughed at a man who raged against a car he not yet met. the day before that i met a man who looked as though he took great pains in not giving up on me. i confessed to a girl that looked like maggie gyllenhal...she said 'there's a terror. a night terror. and if we don't hug every crest, thank every blade, then we would give our kingdoms for the sleep of good men.' i giggled and complimented her boyfriends gray hairs. if i could be honest with you don't you think that's what i'd be doing? (vulgar) well, time for linguistics.

timer for linguistics

tim to go

timid foal language

"am i hit and run"

conor

  • Mood: homicidal
  • Listening to: walk on me-kweller
  • Reading: AP style book
  • Watching: I Want My MTV

deviantID

No deviantID yet.

Devious Info

  • Current Residence: in a sweater, or something that feels like a sweater cause you always felt like a sweater:chicago
  • Interests: philosophy, not being remembered, the french, eccentric stories
  • Favourite movie: right now-city of god
  • Favourite band or musician: right now-damien rice or the frames
  • Favourite genre of music: um, compositional
  • Favourite artist: i feel dirty when i say it, but monet
  • Favourite poet or writer: nobody can hurt me like fitzgerald can
  • Favourite photographer: i think 'boy and his guitar' was damn good
  • Favourite style of art: style? i like faces. i like being shown what i can't see.
  • Operating System: none-nomadic
  • MP3 player of choice: none
  • Shell of choice: tomorrow. manana. na mara. also nutella.
  • Wallpaper of choice: padded? cliche. photographs from deviant-writings from my illadvised past
  • Skin of choice: waterproof
  • Favourite game: provocation-it's the only one i know
  • Favourite gaming platform: bed-you can fall, but not too far
  • Favourite cartoon character: Sadaam Hussein
  • Personal Quote: 'a belt is something i hold dear, it keeps my pants upon my rear.'
  • Tools of the Trade: blank stares, guinness, stolen pens, lighters, and cigarettes. napkins. socks-key to any invasion.

deviantART Community Board

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Comments


:iconslowmotionsao:
You need to go to my cite and look at my favorites. There's a link (the title is in french, I believe...) the photos are by weem. Look at it please, its great!!!

--
~*Beautiful Lunatic*~
:iconanothermanhattan:
ON LOVE,

'i'd rather be working for a paycheck than trying to win the lottery/besides this time i think it's different, i really think you like me.'

i didn't really want to talk about love-i promise, do you believe? i meant to tell a joke, or fix an error. but when i walked in the room and we sat on the couch; round, ragged, and giving...i want to be round raw and giving...well we didn't plant our feet. We were transplanted, you see, hugging our thighs like beloveds we keep at a distance...an appreciative view. i introduced myself with pictures-here stands a tanned man and his long coat rolls like parchment-here is a girl-here is a girl-here is a girl who remembers every day the virtues of warm water and cold-behind that forearm is line- behind that line i keep my name-everywhere i go i see that line, i hear those words, and i remember my name. if you say those words the line, it itches, and i try not to flinch. BAM! we played thumb wars, and i never let you win...you break the biggest grins when i'm on top...and then fall off. we see-sawed on the cushions, holding eachothers wrists. i wondered if economy was anything like this. i'm glad you pulled up your carpet. When the music pours out onto thin wooden boards, i see it marching like mose's last plague. When the music marches, the sun shines a little whiter. When the music marches it's an army made of cats. Wadd'ya think of that? Well the swing felt like trees/ so i got up on my knees/ swayed like i had a disease/ rhymes make me dizzy. And half-standing there, i thought it might be nice...it might be nice...might be nice...be nice...well? Nice of you to break that line, we broke the wine glass, and i poured the red. My name spilled out like meloncholly Pollock, catching in my jeans. My pulse. I played it over the music marching on the floor...you could be my Krasner; i'll look back-i promise, can you believe? 'It works.' and you don't stammer...i throw my name against itself like a hammer. conai. arfor. aitco. the hammering of Achilleus' armour. "what immortal hand or eye/ dare frame thy fearful symmetry" The stars throw down. I woke up on your couch tied down by Delilah. I woke up on your couch, and i wondered who might be waiting for me.

--
"Whatever reality is it appears to have a vested interest in you"-^minorkey
:iconanothermanhattan:
somebody's been snooping around...sorry nothing new...prompt me...muse me...here's a scrap (well, this weeks napkin story): I waited for the man with the drugs. I had to leave as the book had finished. Reading pushes karmic energy into the air, which is pleasant, but finishing a book boils this energy into the air to near-saturation. It threatens to calcify. It is oppressive, inebriating, and brisk air or night drives are most rewarding. The move is by no means immediate. At home one can dawdle over dish washing, or standing at a mirror, and believe they see more in these actions; that they are more. They are not. The reason of this leisure is obvious- those places with more memories can hold proportionately more of the karmic energy. This is also why reading in new places is more tactile; lower levels of saturation. The literature seems more accesible; as if it has more. It does not. I did not know this place. So i left. I returned 10 minutes later. The saturation level had dropped but not too much as the guests were long-grieved guests who could be relied upon to stabilize the atmosphere. Atmosphere is related to memory in a student/mentor relationship for reasons which are obvious. I began to write. I waited for the man with the drugs. He came in a white 'Monte Carlo' bathrobe. I suspected he had only brought me jalepenos; which i detest.
end
thought about adding some line about the atmosphere making the jalapenos seem like more...but i think the point comes across...also the man needed to be amused (i read some of this to him but it creeped him out). now comment.

--
"Whatever reality is it appears to have a vested interest in you"-^minorkey
:icon67shadesofgrey:
thanks for the watch! i really appreciate it! :hug:

--
yes, i believe in love. yes, i'm a dreamer.
but i'm not alone, there are more of us than you suspect.
and we've got bombs.
truth and beauty bombs.
[link]
:iconslowmotionsao:
Heeeeey there Conor. Thanks for the comments, I really appreciate it. When you get the chance read Baptism by ~309. I have a monster headache right now, but I'll get back to you and ur crazy world of writing later. Love you like a fat kid loves cake. And I miss you like a hole in the head. Just kidding!!! Come visit me, ass.
All the love my little heart can muster,
~*sao*~

--
~*Beautiful Lunatic*~
:iconanothermanhattan:
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--
"Whatever reality is it appears to have a vested interest in you"-^minorkey
:iconanothermanhattan:
note to self-what was the deal with the two dimensional woman holding the wooden record player...who was spinning on it in the black dress (emily dickinson? MF?) and why'd she have to go and swallow her anyway?

:licking:

--
"Whatever reality is it appears to have a vested interest in you"-^minorkey
:iconminorkey:
hey. thanks for the +fav and the great comment on 'mind, I'm writing.'

and welcome to dA. Any questions about the prose galleries and the lit community here, drop by and ask.

You should come and play in coffeehouse and on the lit forum.

:)

--
Read the news!!
Writer? Introduce yourself, please...
:iconanothermanhattan:
story idea: old man, shut in, jewish-hates old jewish men...wary of shut ins. spies at the street..aggressive...fought against nazis...fostered bias against victims...lay on slowly and sparsely spin into daydream of autistic boy working hydraulic apple peeling machine...spat on by poorly balanced apples..it's sticky...it's justice...devolves into worship of the machine...worship of the machine...fought against the nazis..."Do not pity him, i don't. Except when i do, because he's my brother." the apartment is clean, bare, on the missing street of a three way intersection in chicago. "his window was poised above the road that would have been, had it not been chosen as a three way intersection-a t crossing, a capital T.

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