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About Deviant Artist ...Infects, corrupts and severs.Male/Canada Recent Activity
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Literature
Ashes for the Far-Forgotten
Singing to the slaves of
inhumanity, digressing from those that seek
proportionality. It cannot
occur.
A frontal assault would only cause graying of palace walls, the lions would feast nicely for hours.
Shifting focus, lifting limbs in halved commonplace, contemplating the co-equals and co-ordinance of ordained orphans ordered to carry the einhejars from epiphany, eminence. Materialization is but dependent on a soul-spirit connection to the mortal world.
Walking with a forked path and tongue, tending the tendril, teething at the toothless. Loki and lament, lacerations lending their kisses to a coil of skin, suffer the separated – sublime and sacred.
The navigator and the guide, to unspoken lands based in myth. Constant reflection on a life once lived. A greater Odyssey awaits those that die for their belief. The world is not left, but engulfed. Sweden weeps for the bloodline, brotherhood befallen by botched battles, bleeding beauty and boisterous bellows, Baal begets the world.
Af
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CorpseGrinder :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 1 2
Literature
03-04-2009
Dated in infinity, a time when I took thy life. I could not help but, a lifeless body held by the motionless ears. Wind racing past. It was not my first, but you were. I’ve never taken someone before, although many I have taken. Colossus and creator, I regret my actions which inflicted the hard upon your helpless body. I know not your name, your life, your eye color: I did not….could not look. Few words I had spoken to you, may your next life be better than this; four motions grace my agnostic chest in similar ways to a Catholic notion. A life takes another; unspoken evils. Your insides spilled across the road, stained a dark monochrome upon dark grey asphalt. Cold unforgiving earth, sleeping in serenity with Gigas.
You reminded me of what I had lost merely a month earlier; what I stole.
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Literature
Defiance
These words are indeed aware of their very existence,
Existential as it may be, this deconstructed abstract of polar ends.
It is for those that, shop at consumer giants which attain their minerals from the evolutionary visions of Whitman’s reincarnation.
It is through these eyes that, accelerated peons of infatuated ego and worth go and disrupt the electro-magnetic  inspiration for happiness in one’s life through the imposition of cruel words unto the clerks that those very peons require for sustenance. Absenteeism of little known respect for those which dispute name.
It is through these hands that Apathy became the evil that the iron claw of oligarchy guises its own hideous being of hierarchy.
It is through these lips that the devil in the world spurt his decadent and decaying seeds of worldly pleasures into our minds and let our bodies redeem and understand the consequences as we can no longer continue in this world.
It is through this understanding that this poem
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Literature
Sense of Purpose.
Discipline, a beautiful yet unwavering melody of space and continuum.
This beautiful and adoring woman speaks alone, whispers her hearts' content, but not singularly.
Upon high grassy cliffs of injustice, a spear of wood and determination, her attention is startled.
Arbitrarily filled with an elsewhere source of humanity, she makes a new wish.
Gazed upon a blood-drenched sky, watching down at waters degrade the substance hardest known to her.
She mourns, pulls herself up from the trenches based upon whom comes close. Without drawing her tears aside.
Wounded, beaten and ripped from the main appendage she cherished.
Her lip is cut.
Stains devoid of colour splash around her, drying the green, blue, red and clear.
Monochrome.
A whimper is released, unwillingly, but is gone unnoticed.
Breath and breathless, lock[jaw], stock[emotions] and barrel[led thoughts], puncture the pores.
Sweetest essence of intuition, cognitive capabilities are lost. She is but a reject from one that ran.
Echoes wit
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Literature
Self-Disaggregation.
Our serenade, our song
As symbols regain new meanings, lost within the ignorance of the new world.
The other half still lingers in the distance, the better half, the whole half.
I still dance, I still sing, my heart still longs for the one who doesn't sting.
May this broken soul be filled by those that bring, but the hearts' bucket always runs dry.
Not enough will, but more than a quart extra stamina. Such drawn-out circumstances. Medley of menacing memories.
There's no idealism left with individuality, raising youth to require others, ...I sever all.
I'm heir to nothing, my father's disease. The repeated problematic hopeful of descending good will and ill-fate.
Adoring the atonement culpably given with age, scentless decay.
As night befalls, the beggar dost look to the sky for guidance. Led astray by a wayward star. Sickness.
Prosthetic prosecution of instinct. Feathers still fall upon the halls of innocence, for it is all but damned.
Liable and label, forge and forgotten, beauty and
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Mature content
Isolation. :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 0 0
Literature
Open Wound - None are Saved
Contemplating the consequence of time, I; a symbiotic extension of a persona long discarded, thrown out towards an oceanic ripple.
Plagued by humanities indecency to humanity, as fugitive after fugitive runs loose in the mind. Madman, or whence they have said and therefore have been slain, for all is chaotic at home, when war rages and burns like embers upon cheeks of fallen warriors.
Specific malformation of a mosaic in order to cover a deeper meaning, my words are much the riddle of which, no explanation or clues are given.
Specialize in degradation, separate words from society, and government from life, there is but no alternative to mortality, fate is but only a word that mocks in the presence of a cliff of opportunity passed.
Speech, and so impediments that follow the annoyance that is a heartbeat, mock and marauder, ‘tis but only lies that keep breath in lung. Eye in hand, and socket cover – the lych-gate and Reich, transform and endeavour to the darkest isle.
Bring
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Mature content
Twitch and Flight. :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 0 0
Literature
Sew It Shut.
Cover thyne eyes,
Believe thy spoken lies,
Revert and realize;
All truth is materialized.
The end is but nothing,
But, it's only an assumption,
Killing to feed, [feeding the consumption],
Feeding unto breeding, as breed to dysfunction.
Convert and canvass, pry it open,
Keep it upheld, and always coven.
Ganging and gagging, spurting for air,
Transfixed gaze; stare.
So sew it shut, lock out it all,
for once; thyne scream is not thy call.
Let it happen, feel the wall,
hide behind the ethreal shawl.
The creature still beats, within,
thy knowledge is much too akin,
the heart races, as the stone is set,
this forged iron blade, violence beget.
Raid of fire; flash the light,
kill all women and children, everything in sight,
these monstrosities are notorious plights,
slash the throats of all who fight.
Repeal the deed, as that it were undone,
make haste, before the rise of sun,
deep in thought, within the bed,
another will join thee, but only the head.
Atop the mountain, the burns are heard
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Mature content
Amputated Abomination. :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 0 9
Mature content
Misanthropia :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 2 17
Literature
A Conception of Life.
Conception, an underlying concept totality in undertow.
Grasping with the gape of anemia still present in the heart’s bosom.
Creationism, the evolution, ascension, divine, vivification, and indifferent suffering of another.
Grape flavoring spills from the blackened wounds, speaking no difference.
Catastrophe, slighting in amusement, disengaged dialects spoken by men whom, driven mad, lecture and lament.
Gawking at false idols, ruined and indignant, all hallowed out by starvation and suffrage of suggestion.
Copious idealisms deny the very acquiescence given by acknowledgement, understood and underwent the mind’s eye treatment of medusa.
Gallant opportunities arise from the spoiled ashes of warriors, burned for treason against themselves; self-purification.
Callous expressions, the cleansation through the fire’s flaming hate, the passion disregards act, but burns brighter, still.
Grotesque wasting, upon the baying wolves, beneath the funeral spike; pyre for hire.
Centra
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Ascension... :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 2 2 Bahomet Vishnu - Vain. :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 0 0 Angel :iconcystic-cynic:Cystic-Cynic 0 0

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Literature
razor room
every step you take
the floor s c r e a m s all your anxieties at you
just before you forget them.
the only path with level enough ground
to crawl on without slipping into yourself
leads to the tiny room
where you have to face YOURSELF:
you're not nice
you're not pretty
you're not weightless
you're not perfect
but the fact that you can drown
makes this room okay.
the little spare razors in the drawer
make this room heaven.
while letting your life go is so hard
when you're in a crowded hallway, alone,
in here you effortlessly rid yourself
of the excess life just waiting to burst free
in crimson ribbons
that wrap around your neck,
and they demand you to let more and more.
go on, make your silver friends happy,
you look good in red.
if only you could chip away at your body
til it's small enough go unnoticed in here,
but you're too soft.
you wish you could punish yourself until
you change for the better
but this punishment is all you've ever known
and it feels so right.
you want to take it
:iconnothingForsaken:nothingForsaken
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Imaginary :iconfallinginplace:FallingInPlace 1 1
Literature
Memorial Hospital
My feelings are hidden
uncertain and nonexistant.
Not everyone feels anything all of the time.
My times have been hard
it feels rough, rigid.
but it's not your problem. It's always only mine.
Try as you may
beg, plead.
I've remembered to forget what I should have saved.
I never feel pain
mentally.. or physically.
Hard to believe that sanity was what I craved.
Wrapped up in plastic
then placed in foam.
I can relate to last minute presents shipped long after.
You arrive to faces.
Confused, disgusted.
Do they accept it? this is a pending factor.
I used to want love.
A life, some friends.
but everything has changed, I have come to find.
You don't understand.
My thoughs, my feelings.
but not everyone fels abything all of the time.
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Activity


deviantID

Cystic-Cynic
...Infects, corrupts and severs.
Artist
Canada
Current Residence: In your neck, secreting horemones into your bloodstream.
Favourite genre of music: Death Metal, Emocore, Screamo.
Favourite photographer: TerminalFrost, BlueBlack, Doroloth, SubterfugeMalaises, Kittynn.
Favourite style of art: Ech0s, Xureal, Zyphre, DylanJones, AwfulSpeck, Yaroslav, Amelee, Kalimero2, Nebu.
Operating System: XP; eXceptionally Pitiful.
MP3 player of choice: Stationary: Winamp, Portable: Sony Minidisk...
Shell of choice: Eth.
Wallpaper of choice: Diagnosis: Neurosis Necrosis.
Skin of choice: Female skin; so much softer.
Favourite cartoon character: Stewie or Brian.
Personal Quote: Infect, Corrupt and Sever.
Interests
  • Listening to: Woods of Ypres
  • Reading: ø
  • Watching: ø
  • Playing: ø
  • Eating: ø
  • Drinking: Green Tea
Why is it that art is now an excuse for showing off one's body? However the exception comes with the specific differences between the human bodies?

-- What I mean by this is the constant exposure of ONLY   breasts, vaginal orifices and phallus'.

It is art to remove clothing to apply a more primitive feel to art, but a specific shot of breasts and nipples are meaningless and is more along the lines of adult photo's than art. I admit, I have been in a feud for a while with DA for the lack of art. Honestly, art is different from showing a picture of your cock to complete strangers and claiming it as 'art'. This is not the facebook group of tits, ass, vag or cock, and should NOT be treated as if it is.

tl;dr, create art, showcase your genitalia on MSN or something else to meet people. AND the people that search out women or men just to look at their body is sad. Art is probably not meant to be masturbated to. If you want to look for porn, there's tons of sites where you can watch it or find people to fuck, but this is an art site.

lets see art without someone saying "great tits" or the innocuous "great shot/photo"

Comments


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:iconcherylwho:
CherylWho Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2008
Happy Birthday!

:)
Reply
:iconcystic-cynic:
Cystic-Cynic Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2009
thank you, although I am getting back to you so late!
Reply
:icondying-immortal:
dying-immortal Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2008
Happy Birthday from Guelph!
Reply
:iconcystic-cynic:
Cystic-Cynic Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2009
Thank you from Abbotsford! :)
Reply
:iconshirryukun:
Shirryukun Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUDDY!!

*puts in a monocle, grows a huge mustache, and puts on a top hat*

Bully!
Reply
:iconcystic-cynic:
Cystic-Cynic Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2009
Thank you thank you!

hmm, I think it would be much more manly if you grew a mullet and donned a ten-gallon hat:)
Reply
:iconshirryukun:
Shirryukun Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2009
Thats only manly if you live in texas!

Besides, I'm going for the gentlemens approach. I only fight in fisticuffs!
Reply
:iconswitchbladeserenade:
switchbladeserenade Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
Happy Birthday :hug: We haven't spoken in ages, but I still think of you. Hope you have a good one.
Reply
:iconcystic-cynic:
Cystic-Cynic Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2009
Thanks Kat!

Sorry I haven't been around to thank you sooner.
Reply
:iconswitchbladeserenade:
switchbladeserenade Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
No worries :)
Reply
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