There's a storm outside.
And I just can't help but shake at the flames,
For biting and licking the chimney walls,
It's less like a dance, and more like a fit:
Fevered convulsions;
Froth at the mouth;
Rising again in billowing forms;
Wafting it's way,
Through the narrow cave,
Cast in blood, yet white and grey,
Turning and turning:
Whipping with fury;
Coughing again it's own red light,
I think we're all, when it comes to the end,
Caught in the act of caring,
Temperamental like the wind;
Flaunting our way through narrow revelations;
Caught in a madman's fantasy,
There's something so fickle about that air;
The way it bothers and hurts the flam
You must think me very strange by brazunti, literature
Literature
You must think me very strange
You must think me very strange my love,
A funny man, tall as trees,
A smile for you to warm your heart,
Passing on like summer breeze,
Oh, you must think me very strange my love,
Am I different? I can't be sure,
Have you ever met another,
Who was quite like me before?
Or am I just like all the others,
To come a-knocking at your door,
With words of love, but deeds undone,
By words themselves, I'd though before—
Oh you must think me very strange my love,
Or mayhap you know not what to think—
Oh,
I see,
These heavy thoughts too dark for dawn,
So whisper them to me at night,
We'll sit awake beneath the sheets,
And mutter in the can
Come to the door,
You hear me knocking,
Frantic in the winter sky,
And all a-dressed,
In robe and stocking,
As drips and dregs of snow float by,
And rainy days,
Turned ice a-rocking,
Cheeks a-blushing,
Demeanour mocking,
Tongues a-wagging as I cry:
"The midnight hour has passed us by",
And may perhaps,
You heard my voice,
Though you hung me up,
Ere I had the choice,
And so my good,
And kindly sir,
I would I could,
Say one time more:
I might a minute,
Or so be late,
In fashion or,
Some delicate,
Affair of time,
To get me there,
Or one some other,
Un-time'd affair;
An hour or two,
May come to pass,
In which our welcome,
May surpass,
The gentl
One hundred men on the railway tracks,
They sweat, and groan, and break their backs,
To build the line to break the west,
With an iron vain laid 'cross the chest,
And 'cross the plains where the stallions run,
Harsh cut in two 'neath mid-day sun,
Stand other men with eyes of awe,
With darkened skin and cries of war,
They fell upon those men in toil,
All grim and grey and drenched in oil,
Of sweaty limbs and broken backs,
That toil upon the railway tracks,
And blackened sand then cracks like fire,
And proud men fall 'neath Satan's ire,
And all the while, 'neath summer sun,
They toil and break 'till work is done,
And men of awe, with darken
I'm sitting in a plain white chair.
The chair sits in the middle of a plain white floor.
The plain white floor extends in all directions.
Everything in the room is lit with a cold light.
I look to my right, and there the floor comes to a wall, the same color and shade as the ground and the chair.
I look to my left, but there the floor extends into a grey nothingness.
I can't see beyond the wall, and maybe I never will.
Someone sitting next to me whispers in my ear that there is nothing there to see, but when I turn towards the empty voice, they are gone.
I once again look at the wall and marvel at it's perfection.
The transition is s
Over leafless trees,
In the meadow far beyond,
The old and lonely swallow,
Sings it's long heartbroken song,
Winter comes to veil the land,
With icy drifts of white and grey,
And winter's voice, of howling wind,
Doth take the swallow's song away,
And in the oak,
It's leaves all gone,
Save one branch weighed,
With frosted stars,
I see the swallow,
Take it's rest,
In deadened leaves,
And wait to pass,
And as the night bears on and on,
And winter's teeth sink deep inside,
The tiny chest heart beat goes on,
With deathly lulls from time to time,
And as I watch,
With hollow hope,
For storm to pass,
And sun to shine,
The swal
And with my hand I claim the land,
And by my eye, all under sky,
And as that land is caught in awe,
I cut that land to claim the shore,
And with my land, it's riches keep,
I take my wont to claim the deep,
And shore to shore I lay that claim,
To scotch the earth for my own gain,
And not enough? I claim the sky!
I take land's wealth and fix my eye,
Beyond the land, on ever more,
I claim my place beyond star's door,
And children weep, and power grows,
And all our greed from heaven's woes,
'Till cast we down, in endless war,
We throw ourselves toward death's door,
And as that greed fills ev'ry heart,
The land itself is torn apar
There's a storm outside.
And I just can't help but shake at the flames,
For biting and licking the chimney walls,
It's less like a dance, and more like a fit:
Fevered convulsions;
Froth at the mouth;
Rising again in billowing forms;
Wafting it's way,
Through the narrow cave,
Cast in blood, yet white and grey,
Turning and turning:
Whipping with fury;
Coughing again it's own red light,
I think we're all, when it comes to the end,
Caught in the act of caring,
Temperamental like the wind;
Flaunting our way through narrow revelations;
Caught in a madman's fantasy,
There's something so fickle about that air;
The way it bothers and hurts the flam
You must think me very strange by brazunti, literature
Literature
You must think me very strange
You must think me very strange my love,
A funny man, tall as trees,
A smile for you to warm your heart,
Passing on like summer breeze,
Oh, you must think me very strange my love,
Am I different? I can't be sure,
Have you ever met another,
Who was quite like me before?
Or am I just like all the others,
To come a-knocking at your door,
With words of love, but deeds undone,
By words themselves, I'd though before—
Oh you must think me very strange my love,
Or mayhap you know not what to think—
Oh,
I see,
These heavy thoughts too dark for dawn,
So whisper them to me at night,
We'll sit awake beneath the sheets,
And mutter in the can
Come to the door,
You hear me knocking,
Frantic in the winter sky,
And all a-dressed,
In robe and stocking,
As drips and dregs of snow float by,
And rainy days,
Turned ice a-rocking,
Cheeks a-blushing,
Demeanour mocking,
Tongues a-wagging as I cry:
"The midnight hour has passed us by",
And may perhaps,
You heard my voice,
Though you hung me up,
Ere I had the choice,
And so my good,
And kindly sir,
I would I could,
Say one time more:
I might a minute,
Or so be late,
In fashion or,
Some delicate,
Affair of time,
To get me there,
Or one some other,
Un-time'd affair;
An hour or two,
May come to pass,
In which our welcome,
May surpass,
The gentl
One hundred men on the railway tracks,
They sweat, and groan, and break their backs,
To build the line to break the west,
With an iron vain laid 'cross the chest,
And 'cross the plains where the stallions run,
Harsh cut in two 'neath mid-day sun,
Stand other men with eyes of awe,
With darkened skin and cries of war,
They fell upon those men in toil,
All grim and grey and drenched in oil,
Of sweaty limbs and broken backs,
That toil upon the railway tracks,
And blackened sand then cracks like fire,
And proud men fall 'neath Satan's ire,
And all the while, 'neath summer sun,
They toil and break 'till work is done,
And men of awe, with darken
I'm sitting in a plain white chair.
The chair sits in the middle of a plain white floor.
The plain white floor extends in all directions.
Everything in the room is lit with a cold light.
I look to my right, and there the floor comes to a wall, the same color and shade as the ground and the chair.
I look to my left, but there the floor extends into a grey nothingness.
I can't see beyond the wall, and maybe I never will.
Someone sitting next to me whispers in my ear that there is nothing there to see, but when I turn towards the empty voice, they are gone.
I once again look at the wall and marvel at it's perfection.
The transition is s
Over leafless trees,
In the meadow far beyond,
The old and lonely swallow,
Sings it's long heartbroken song,
Winter comes to veil the land,
With icy drifts of white and grey,
And winter's voice, of howling wind,
Doth take the swallow's song away,
And in the oak,
It's leaves all gone,
Save one branch weighed,
With frosted stars,
I see the swallow,
Take it's rest,
In deadened leaves,
And wait to pass,
And as the night bears on and on,
And winter's teeth sink deep inside,
The tiny chest heart beat goes on,
With deathly lulls from time to time,
And as I watch,
With hollow hope,
For storm to pass,
And sun to shine,
The swal
i want to watch a hundred thousand
varied frames like the sound of a second.
breathe this in, this life
like a bottle of flowers. everything will become
like a glowing glove, like a burning map.
there is too much to be in awe of. the
speckled light of microwave on my hands.
the sound when the days end
and the nights explode, this
explosion is a hundred thousand frames
per second desperate for the moment when
we fall apart my heart
is a water balloon. deep on the shores of the atlantic
hold me like a frozen tide.
we would never make the news
but we made a thousand stereoscope slides.
we wanted life to be in three dimensions.
i dreamed about
love, tell me -
tell me i see the future and you
will wind up well alone;
i don't want you with anyone,
especially me.
i pull your air into my lungs,
an influenza in every syllable of
breath. and i am a cluster of hills
across your face, the reason you
said you didn't believe in
wearing sandals in july.
i keep track of time
in terms of crossword puzzles,
sundays especially difficult
because i used to pray like god listened
to my repents and hopes then.
you would take my unfinished columns
and fill them in with a different pen colour
and that was how i knew things were
wrong.
and there was never any bitterness
to it either, the passing hand
Okay, first off, what I do art-wise: I draw (mostly sketch, mostly electronic) and I write poetry. I mostly upload poetry, and it's generally reflective stuff; observations and musings on people, the way our minds work, society, humanity, etc. Outside of dA I have a Tumblr account where I mostly re-blog Hetalia, Doctor Who and Avatar: The Last Airbender stuff: brazunti.tumblr.com I also have a Youtube account where I upload videos mostly of my main recreational passion (equal only to poetry): music. I write my own songs, and as of yet I have not uploaded a single cover, but I plan to do some soon.
Favourite Movies
Stuff that is awesome...(Star Wars, LOTR, iRobot, Inception, How to Train Your Dragon, The Four Feathers...) nuff said :D
Favourite TV Shows
AXIS POWERS HETALIA!!! (I know that doesnt really count...but still...) I generaly don't watch TV
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Owl City, U2, Evermore, James Blunt, The Verve, Approaching Nirvana,
Favourite Books
The Inheritance Cycle, Tunnel in the Sky,
Favourite Writers
Christopher Paolini
Favourite Games
Pokemon Red and Sapphire, COD (but that's only because i have to choose a #2) and either Spore, or Medieval Total War
Favourite Gaming Platform
Xbox
Tools of the Trade
Scetchbook Pro (iPad), Pencil, paper, scanner, Adobe Illustrator In that order... >.>
I get bored from time to time, and I like writing.
I am hoping to get back into the habit of doing so regularly, so if anyone wants me to write a short story/fanfic/poem/whatever else, just drop me a not, or comment below.
(I don't create art for anything other than my own generosity and/or enjoyment, so I will not accept any favours or points as payment for my work.)
So yeah, anything at all!
I'm willing to give it a go, even if I have no idea how.
-Side note on fanfiction: I mostly write plot-based things, or fluff.
If you want "mature" parings (or whatever you call that stuff) I'm willing to give it a go, but bear in mind that I try
Okay!
I just got back from watching what I believe is one of the greatest movies of all time.
Definitely one of the best movies that I have ever seen.
Everything about it was beautiful, and perfect, as if even every so-called flaw somehow only made the whole just that much more fascinating.
And everything about the movie was so deep, in ways that I don't think I'll fully appreciate for a while.
The symbolism and sheer grandure of the ocean, the power and ferocity of Tiger, the conflicts and love between the elements and Pi himself, and everything else were beautiful and meaningful, and the ending was so...
Perfect!
...for lack of a bet