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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
March 9, 2015
Life isn't perfect, but that's what makes it beautiful and Photoshopped Life by EmmieBeeCreations captures that.
Featured by inknalcohol
Literature Text
You can't saturate the wheel
In the colors of real life;
You can't always up the contrast
In your mother's loving eyes.
You can't play with the exposure
Of a blinding summer day;
You can't include the clover
Or the smell of drying hay.
You can't take the sound of falling snow
And post for all to see,
Or capture every icy rainbow
Shining from the trees.
You can't enhance the laughter
Of the two friends by your side;
You cannot crop the flying hairs
So that they lay just right.
So let the hues be slightly dull
Who cares if skin is clear?
Just take the days, appreciate
The lovely and sincere.
In the colors of real life;
You can't always up the contrast
In your mother's loving eyes.
You can't play with the exposure
Of a blinding summer day;
You can't include the clover
Or the smell of drying hay.
You can't take the sound of falling snow
And post for all to see,
Or capture every icy rainbow
Shining from the trees.
You can't enhance the laughter
Of the two friends by your side;
You cannot crop the flying hairs
So that they lay just right.
So let the hues be slightly dull
Who cares if skin is clear?
Just take the days, appreciate
The lovely and sincere.
Literature
An Editor's Note
I lose half dream on Thursday
and there are no heartstrings to vibrate and echo in its absence
no word that’s decent enough
to take its place
there is not the tentative pause of a movie -
the moment before lips touch
on Thursday I lose half a dream and say
‘oh’
I am told that I will meet people with the universe rubbed into their skin
those who carry themselves like an unused jacket
half off the hanger
I will meet people with sick souls or bird throats
people with a laugh like flat stones skidding across a glass lake
those who talk about their dogs too much or drink straight from the milk carton
people who are thawing in
Literature
on loving a girl who doesn't love herself
You used to tell her that you’d accept the reminders, the dark shades running down and over the hill of her waist, the shadow of her wrist. Far from unlovable, you said. So far.
Grudgingly, you realized that you could not fix her. She was not a dismantled puzzle just waiting for you; she was her own brand of porcelain, one you didn’t know how to mold back together. She wasn’t breathing for you.
The moments of silence between you led to a longer period, those weeks when you went days without talking – and you didn’t know if you were supposed to be proud of her or cry.
Stargazed at each other’s words until
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"Seduction does not belong to the order of nature but to that of artifice; above all it supposes the beauty of an artifact. The object is always the feitiço, the sham, the lure. If you've ever lost your direction at the dash of a word or a look then you know what this loss means, how you are delivered over to the total illusion of the signs, to the immediate influence of appearances, to go beyond falsehood, into the absolute abyss of artificiality." - Jean Baudrillard