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About Deviant Artist Master Of Vague IdeasMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
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Literature
If you believe in it...
He holds a lampshade above his head, cries, puts it down again, then dies.
He wears a hat to cover his face, but doesn’t consider the mask. Instead he hides in shadow.
Cufflinks don’t match his tie, but he wears them anyway.
When his number is called, he is marched to a room and sat on a chair.
‘Everyone dies in the end’; a voice tells him through the loudspeaker perched in the corner of the room.
But it doesn’t make him feel any better.
They let him watch his funeral on a TV screen mounted on the wall; the reception isn’t too great.
And he notices his girlfriend isn’t present.
And, he notices, neither is his best friend.
And he notices that nobody sheds a tear.
But the reception isn’t too great, and maybe he’s mistaken.
Then the TV is turned off, and they ask him to pick a song and have a little dance.
But he doesn’t want to.
Then they give him a room key and the voice comes through the loudspeaker, ‘We hope you enjoy your stay
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Not a poem, nor prose
They call him an abstract farce, and he paces about the room to great effect, does he play up to them or do they respond to him playing up? In essence, that would be a good question – except it makes literally no sense in all the World because I just typed it all out to the rhythm of a tune playing in the background.
I can’t claim to have as many experiences as those I make up in my mind, though they can claim to have none for I choose only a certain few and over-indulge them in those thoughts. Shallow, that’s one way to describe them, but I suggest you look for a moment and realise they are MADE UP!
Ah, there it is, the drum, a snare, hi-hat, that’s the stuff. Pick up the pace. Pace and rhythm do not a prolific typist make. Or is it the other way round?
One day, one day, one day…
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Birthday message
Jonny threw me to the floor hard as he could.
‘What’d I do, Jonny?’ I yelled up at him; he answered with a kick to the face.
‘I don’t know what I did, Jonny, tell me what I did!’ I pleaded with him. But he just stared back at me. An answer came seconds later, a well placed punch to the ribs.
A smile cracked his cheeks and split the mood in half. I lay on the floor, bloodied mouth and bruised ribs.
‘Happy Birthday, Elsa!’ he yelled, his arms outstretched.
‘The sick bastard,’ I thought, ‘he remembered my birthday’
THE END
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Letter to Strawberry
With no distractions and no temporary insanity invasions I sat down and began to write a letter, a simple love letter to the woman I wanted as my own – a letter of no small consequence in my life, a deal-sealing letter if you will. It used long words I found in a thesaurus and had to look up in a dictionary, poetic sentences and flowery, powdery, soft and rhyming elegant descriptions of my thoughts and feelings. I built her into a princess amongst beauties, a goddess amongst mortals. I used the same old clichés we’ve all used and spare not the heavily romantic overtones in my doing so. I composed a letter so full of poetry and beauty that I could barely bring myself to part with it. But part with it I did.
I am still awaiting a reply.
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 2
Hernickle Humpster by DavidSL Hernickle Humpster :icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0 What flies out my Remington by DavidSL What flies out my Remington :icondavidsl:DavidSL 2 1 My Remington speaks... by DavidSL My Remington speaks... :icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 2
Literature
Sudden Inspiration
With a sudden burst of inspiration like somebody had just injected something into my arm I don’t know what I feel but I write it anyway. It’s something, like something but I’m not sure what it is. And it is an open minded view on an abstract concept that makes me feel that if I don’t stop typing the whole World is going to burst into flame before settling down again. Of course, that is an egocentric viewpoint, but it is my own.
Non-editing, non-specific, and without pause (for thought of others or myself). That is not what I was brought up to believe. Sometimes it just happens. And is.
Green birth.
Burial grounds and tea with Winston.
Non-sensical ramblings of a half-mad beast of typeface.
Flippant and over-enduring, over-endulging, ever effulgent?
Drink silently, for I am asleep.
Paranoid and pretentious, my dreams are more realistic.
Thankyou.
Thanks.
And all that.
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 1 1
Me Painted by DavidSL Me Painted :icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Ompitanta
Omipantalon, I've forgotten your name, elephant black and rose-hipped beauty, surrealist manner and face I'd rather not know,
The shadow in your glory and pants in your store, none of which fit your body the way they should, hug you at night and tell you it's all going to be okay, which you know it's not, but hey,
HEY HEY HEY!
The carriage of doom awaits those who missed the bus, the carrier a man whose presence might not be fitting, don't be late, he awaits, carry me home, sweet man of doom,
And gloom, pretence, sentience, life after death and vision beyond the clouds that block your view, missing the movie you've been waiting to see your whole life and cow fretting away in the corner - nothing makes sense like a dud thud on the head,
THE END
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Jazz Poetry
The whistle blows, the music flows, so does the wine, in time, beating, jumping, skipping over piano keys like a beautiful summers day in the middle of winter. ‘I love you’ she cries, her tears a clever little disguise. Eat me, beat me, just treat me with respect, tear it up, tear it down, much less harmful than doing it in the street. We meet, we greet, we dine in fine restaurants and make love in fine hotel rooms, we take our place in the headiest heights of civilisation but remain humble. We tumble, we mumble and we grumble, but we remain humble.
We lilo in the silo, faint in the paint, lay in the hay, make sense of the nonsense and mess up the rest. We cheer with a tear and cry in good humour. Our wit takes over our common decency and all anger is lost amongst the fighting. It’s a heady mix of cocktails and dogfights, heading out through the clouds before making another pass.
We dance, romance and die to the tune of our favourite song. We cry, we lie, we break up and
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 1
Literature
Untitled
It’s like the purveyors of technology are watching me and I don’t really understand why that isn’t cool. I open my mind and the words flow in like I’m contacting you through some kind of empty, effortless void of streaming reality.
The keyboard is my weapon and my friend, it’s warm against my soul, soul-less effecting deletion against my friends.
Open-ended cynicism wittily flows from my palms into your misery.
Drags, screams and kicks, falls and exchanges vows until the end of its days. Used parking lot, darkened and silent, cynical and vulgar, sugary sweet.
Side-tracked and irresponsible, keyboard tapping drearily against the beating rain and tracking beyond repair. Though that might have been inspired by a song.
THE END.
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Farrow Matthews
It was the unnatural high, maybe, or something… I don’t know… but it was something keeping those junkies on the street, keeping the scum robbing us blind in dark alleys so they could afford their next fix, slipping mickeys into our drinks and coming into our homes, something keeping the faith amongst their kind that if they could just get through the necessary bad deeds they’d feel the effects once more. It was something keeping them on the streets and now it was gone. Shot out of them by the bullets of the guns we carried.
My name is Farrow Matthews. I used to be a cop. Now I just kill junkies.
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
Spur of the moment
It was five minutes into the next showing and I was still basking in the glow of the screen from ten minutes ago. I couldn't keep up with the show, something about a cop and a dead girl but they all spoke too fast. I lit up a cigarette and took off my jacket, emptied the contents of my wallet onto the floor and forgot who I was.
THE END
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0
Literature
HAPEEYE
HAPEEYE
HAPREYE was a monkey. Well, not really. HAPARYE was a man, but he acted like a monkey. He would climb trees and eat bananas and run around the park in his lunch break. HAPPEYR was so crazy that one day, when he saw a lorry pass by with a big picture of a banana on the side of it he chased after it until it went out of view and he could see it no more. Then he gave up and went back to work.
HAPREEY liked reggae and jazz and pop and dance music and all sorts of other music. He would dance like a monkey whenever he heard any music he could dance to. He even tried dancing to other music but it didn't always take. Classical he found particularly difficult to dance like a monkey to.
HAOPORE was not your average man. He was a smart man who liked eating bananas with a cup of tea because it made him feel special, like his own little part of the World, a banana and a cup of tea. He slurped his tea like a monkey but ate his banana with surprising etiquette.
HAPERER didn't much like violen
:iconDavidSL:DavidSL
:icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 1
Unnamed Love by DavidSL Unnamed Love :icondavidsl:DavidSL 0 0

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Activity


deviantID

DavidSL
Master Of Vague Ideas
Artist
United Kingdom
Current Residence: Southend, UK
Favourite genre of music: Something within everything is wonderful
MP3 player of choice: iPod Shuffle
Skin of choice: Someone else's
Favourite cartoon character: Tintin
Personal Quote: 'If I pretend hard enough, it might catch on, and people might pretend with me.'
Interests
Lack of reverence lead me to believe that I was somehow a figurehead of the revolution I had invented in my bedroom beneath a canvass of film posters and bad taste slogans written across the walls. Scrawled in red and black pen across once nice, decorative wallpaper. But whilst I felt I lacked something unimportant in a reverence that could surely only hold me back, I felt bogged down by an unerring sense of pretension that seemed to dissipate from everything I held dear at the time or in times before that. Where was the originality anymore?

There was none, I decided, and went on about my business.
  • Listening to: deadmau5
  • Reading: Scott Pilgrim
  • Watching: Family Guy
  • Playing: Uncharted
  • Eating: live stock
  • Drinking: Red Bull

Comments


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:iconthule-ri:
thule-ri Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2007   Photographer
thanks for :+fav:, feel free to explore and the rest of my gallery :)
:ahoy:
Reply
:iconantiromantic:
AntiRomantic Featured By Owner May 28, 2007
thx for the fav. :)
Reply
:iconrinziiart:
rinziiart Featured By Owner May 7, 2007
Heya fellow DW-er!
Nice to see you all on Deviantart too!
Reply
:icongeekiest:
geekiest Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2007
Thanks for the :+fav:
:hug:
Reply
:iconstarmak:
starmak Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2007  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the :+fav:
Reply
:iconbeinginthemood:
beinginthemood Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2007
Thanks for the fav!:w00t!:
Reply
:iconjade-meril:
jade-meril Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2006
Thanks for the kudos my way. "Very Burton-esque" is a compliment indeed!
Reply
:icondavidsl:
DavidSL Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2006
You're very welcome, part of the reason I love this site so much is that I discover so many varied pieces of art.

Thanks for being out there! :popcorn:
Reply
:iconxabie:
xabie Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2006
Thank you for the watch!
Reply
:icondavidsl:
DavidSL Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2006
No probs, thanks for the add! :)

David :spyed:
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