neonxaos

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Kushinada

That neon shine, corner of my eye, breathless, fly, future, nigh, that sharpest line, that blinding light, flash swallow, mine. Moon City, rise from that moment, drink deep from what was and will be, run the network dreams out of the dark.

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547 deviations

Literature

Kushinada

Featured

546 deviations

Literature

Strange times

There are these times when everything you want to say comes out as something else. These are the strange times. This is now. I was discussing with reality the other day, the other month or maybe even the other year, and we obviously did not agree. So I took the long way round and found myself beside the outside, walking away from time and reason. These are the strange times. The world is at such an odd angle. I find myself walking the dreamline. Nothing progresses, and yet the summer draws so perilously near with all its adventurous, frivolous days, in which I will be suspended, floating in a sea of sunlight and August rain. Everyt

My poetry

91 deviations

Featured photos

17 deviations

Literature

Rats

"Rats"! "What's that, dear? Flight computer cramping your style again?" "No, rats, you idiot! Real ones. You know, as in brownish-black stinking one-pounder rodent sons of bitches?!" "What, here?" "No, outside in the vacuum of space, Einstein! Of course they're in here!! To my knowledge, we've found no indigenous space- rats as of yet." "Oh…" "Well, kill the damn critters, willya?" "Eh…" "I give up! Were you born this stupid, or did you take lessons?" "Well, I did go to grammar school in…" "Shut up! I can't take it anymore!" And this was where Elisa decided to dump her boyfriend. That night, the rats took a serious beating. They s

Short stories

7 deviations

Literature

Creation

The primordial ooze is sparked into life by an idea of an existence encased in bone. Them bones animated by the desire of flesh rise, slowly, and walk in search of it. This meat, suddenly inspired with awareness, speaks its first word, and it is "I". I find myself freezing bitterly in the cold, far from my cradle to the south. I wrap myself in human skin. I light a fire and call myself civilized. I cave myself into mountains, I have epiphanies and others gather round. Together we dream up cities, roads, cars, and then we look to the stars.

Universe explosion cycle

7 deviations

Literature

In her madness written

In the mountains the words came down like glaciers broken, hard and ruinous. In her solitude she was a goddess commanding messengers of her design. In this state every word was power darkening the black, outrunning the light. In her descent, she lost the gift of unthought. In the sanity of the valley revisits to what was written revealed no subtext, no method but the open deep. On these pages she found a stranger’s words startled like a bird flock never to be caught again.

Daily Lit Deviations

7 deviations

Literature

Pressure

Something broke. A hard CRACK while sitting in a soft chair. No pain registered. The absence of it is like watching explosions in space. You follow the curve of your skull. You remember how skulls are formed like tectonic plates. Your head wants to be a planet, volcanic, living, in change. You continue to your left shoulder, the one with all the problems. But today, it has nothing to say. Your rib cage moves like oceanic waves, expecting a storm that hasn't come. You stand up, homo erectus, you consider your legs, homo sapiens, nothing feels wrong, homo stabilis. But you can break more than your body.

Daily Deviations

3 deviations

Portraits

3 deviations

Scraps

10 deviations

In her madness written by neonxaos, literature

Literature

In her madness written

Inhabitant 4 by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Inhabitant 4

They saw her many faces from afar, how lines were drawn across her lips, how mountains rose and kept her mouth ajar. Blackened skin, valleys far, from nose to neck from chin to jaw she lacked the personal sphere, at most a wisp of listless air remaing there, incapable of moving her detaching hair, floating solar on the wind. She is waterless. She is red skull. Her days burn her nights, and her sonic waves ran out of ocean long ago.

Unbutton by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Unbutton

I declared love dead. There was a ceremony, and I did the obituary. "Dear love. I told you so." Then the burial of an empty gesture, broken promises integrating with the earth. I visited the grave, let my fingers run along the unmarked stone. I would sit at the TV at night, awash in a sea of detergent and other peoples' wives, forgetting everything about this. One day I just woke up cold. And it was fine. I wrote my acceptance on the inside of my door. Life is full as it is. Full of spoons and dirt and ways to slowly dig. Full of reflections on what passes and what does not. Curled up in itself, a wad of dirty bills. Life is blu

Mouse by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Mouse

Mouse is in the wall. He listens for your breathing. Mouse is in the wall. Whiskers on the outside of your inside, he feels for signs of loss. Homes in empty spaces, halls between our thoughts. Mouse is in the wall. He listens for the cracks, the notches and the secrets. A tiny nose vibrates, an eager tail explores. Mouse is in the wall. He writes his unseen stories, surrounding you like dust. The money breaks. The high-rise falls. The ground thunders. The skies fault. Mouse does not flinch. This is meaningless to him. Mouse is in the wall. If you listen, you can see, if you focus, you can hear. The blank spaces crawl

Resolve by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Resolve

Walk in the sand, drown your dry cracked feet in the ground. Step on ideas of glass empires, visions of what the dust has been. Beyond the curving dunes you feel the antispace, the vacuum of possibility. Step forward, human child, relentlessly drawn into the coming dayfall. Light shower your nakedness in the potential final dawn. Leaving red steps in your wake will show your juggernaut resolve, and you must point your heels in all directions. Let nobody think that you were ever sure of where to go. Mark the journey, because it outlives the destination that will devour your body. Nothing runs like the horizon, until you lift your eyes

Being-in-the-word by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Being-in-the-word

Standing on the rooftop reaching for that elusive silver lining. If I grab and peel, I expect a silver skyslide, imparting a new way with words and finally some heart&brain connection. All that happens is that my hands grow oddly long and older. They make eccentric air-figures that only I can see. They make noises like paper crumbling, then burning. But where is the smell? I stand there, contemplating for hours of annoying seconds, each one pecking my skull, reminding me of things I wasted them not doing. I need to separate what makes me an individual from what makes me a repeated meltdown. I inhale - and suddenly c

Combustion by neonxaos, literature

Literature

Combustion

There is no going down untrodden roads; if a path exists it has been travelled. The pioneers burn ahead, glowing spearheads piercing unexpected passages in the dead of dark. You and I also smoulder in secret places. Every human body uniquely flames if sparked. If we fear to flare we lay ourselves to rest in the downtrodden earth of generations; nameless sooty embers, skeletons and dust. Home is where the hearth is, and our cinder beds hinder every clammy finger of winter cold from clawing at our throats. Our threats imprisoned in envelopes, in phone calls, feeble in the collective unconscious. We leashed the wild but