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Literature
Paris 2019
Paris 2019
I took a plane to Paris.
You'd simply love it, dear.
It's been so long we've spoken,
I almost wonder if you're here.
Of course, you'd have a husband.
A beautiful French man.
He'd be catching all your thoughts,
And holding both your hands.
He'd have money and confidence.
I'd still have my luck and my circumstance.
He'd get to see your big green eyes
Light up with pure delight.
But I'll be lost in a decade ago,
With you, on six-months' worth of nights.
All the beauty of your fabled city,
The tower and the Seine.
Crumble 'gainst memories of my fabled lover,
Her movements, her eyes and skin.
But you belong to time itself,
Not just another man.
And all our ages, years, and days,
Spin, crash, and fail to finally mend.
In a future I am dreaming of,
In Paris, remembering holding your hand.
If I ever get to France without you,
If I ever truly dance without you,
I promise you in secret,
I will still be thinking about you.
If I ever make it
To your land of dreams
I will try to bring yo
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Literature
Locked In A Room
I locked myself inside a room
With your vibrant ghost
While the rule-makers wrote down how things ought to be
And nailed a copy to every post
My religion then was love itself,
Or so I'd proudly boast
But I was the devil and you were god
My own private, holy host
That was how I learned what not to do
With the things you care for most
I allowed no freedom in my worship
So hope could not be lost
My morality was bankrupt
And I could not afford the cost
I tore apart the rulebook
And gave it back to them
There is no law that god has made
Which man has the rights to amend
So keep all of your judgments
Until you've gathered all your stones
I will take my blame and leave this place
Then let each rock be thrown
You may never tell me how to listen
To the ways true nature whispers
For all your guidelines on love you may never
Tell me how to hold or kiss her
So take the things that make you weep
And dwell on them for all your futures
I know the pain, I see it now
I speak with it as if we're lovers
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Literature
To The Things That Never Left
To The Things That Never Left
I feel as though you've left me
That our rocky course is run
If, that I have lost you
May it only be this once
I'll miss the future, mostly
The sweetest songs unsung
We endured all we could
We burned so close to love
Each memory is perfect
But still not good enough
If, that I have lost you
I'm relieved it's only once
Never thought I'd have you
More than that, I knew
Self-fulfilling prophecy
In all our lies, come true
From holding on too tightly
I've lost my grasp of you
If this is your leaving
May it be once that I live through
As awful as it seems to be
Teary eyes will smile when it mends
Someday, some time from now
When we recall the things that never left
Forever mine, in limited time
My dream, my lover, my friend
If it's true, I've lost you
I won't have to lose you again
All the good, and all the bad
Can never be undone
For better or for worse,
It will be exactly what it was
I'll take the blame, you take the credit
For our failed attempt at love
If it
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Literature
Between Nightmares
Between Nightmares
I'm alive in the
Nightmares between
The times you come true
Like a dream
Shave my face
Cut my hair up
Wash the car and
Show off the scars from my love
Sharp and ugly
Ever present
It's the dark cloud
It's the sunshine
Always above me
I'm buried
Beneath the weight
Of the wanting
Love and pain
I'm crushing
Under the wait
Of the desire
To grow wings
To kiss your face
Sonny Giordano, Valentine Media (c) 2010
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Literature
Bad Thief
Bad Thief
I stole someone's pen
To empty my head
Of its thoughts
I stole everything in the world
But, my girl, you're still
The only thing I really want
I stole a bad line or two
I swear I meant them
When I said them to you
I stole an angels wings
They molted at my touch
They didn't fly or do anything
I stole the launch codes for the bomb
But just like it always goes
Lost them after not very long
I stole the shine from the sun
In a brief moment when I forgot
That I like it all dim
I stole the purr from a cat
But there wasn't really much
I could do with that
I once stole the smile from your face
And I've been trying my damnedest
To put it back ever since
I stole the feather from a bird
Dipped it in ink and wrote
Over and over again just one word
Then I tried to take control
It can't be stolen
If it can't be owned
I stole a kiss, but it was from her
Got caught, sent to prison for life
But it was worth it
Sonny Giordano, Valentine Media (c) 2010
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Literature
MY Container
My Container
(Spring Cleaning)
I reached inside myself.
And without much care or effort,
I removed my brain.
I could see the broken parts.
And all the knowledge it held.
The thing had served me well, as often as it led me astray.
My lies were written on it.
Not on my heart, as I thought.
My ego appeared to be a rotten mold, piercing through my brain, as if it were rot on spoiled fruit.
The gray machine was not very well attached to my mind, so I removed it.
And set it on a bookshelf, where I felt it belonged.
I reached back inside.
Being unable to grasp my mind,
As if it were a lingering mist,
I let it stain my fingers.
But left it mostly alone.
I dipped my hand into the coffer again.
It became tangled in the wires of my voice-box.
I tore the useless instrument out.
For it had rarely played the right notes.
I went out and bought thick paper note books,
And pens, and buckets of India ink to replace it.
Returning again to my chore,
I came upon a giant, bloody organ.
It was twitching and
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Literature
Cherries
Marriage In Tho' Cherries
I gave my love a cherry tree
We both choked on the pit
Spit out the seed
Of our deep, red love
And then chased after it
It rolled down the hill, the slimy stone
Cracked open with each bounce
And the innards of our love were shown
When we met the source of life
At the bottom of the incline
Something new had grown
A different tree, with thorns and fruit
Stood where our seed was sewn
We saw that plant that had been
Watered by our spit
Young as it was
It was favourable enough
So we both climbed into it
(c)Valentine Media, Sonny Giordano, 2010
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Mature content
A Bird In A Tree Shit On Me :iconwordsandsmoke:WordsAndSmoke 1 5
Literature
The Best Kind Of Rehab
The Best Kind Of Rehabilitation
I'll tell you of one of the best, and shortest, relationships I've had. It was platonic, it had to be. Friendship born of mutual terror. It was desperate, but unselfish. I won't say the name, it will be 'She' or ' Her'. It was moments of being at my best in the midst of the worse it's ever been. Maybe it all shone a little brighter in contrast. But if the lustre was exaggerated by the awful circumstances, it just stands out all the more for that.
Hospitals are not romantic. People ought not to feel such forms of affection or human love in mental wards. What I experienced was not romance. It was human beings in flashing moments of joy, where joy was not thought to exist. The events of life happen many ways, the perfect storms are not always destructive ones. Though they are often born of such catastrophes.
Paisley green is not a particularly beautiful color. But it can be calming when you're locked in the drug-addict ward of a mental institution. I was af
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Literature
In Service
In Service
(In My Own Majesty's Secret Service)
I came to report for duty
But my Country would not have me
So I found several strong desires
That I could serve instead
First it was to Ink and Page
Whom, to this very day, I remain a slave
Then I gave my love to Amber Fluids
Which my liver quickly sent away
To the Cinema, I surrendered my entire heart
It only loves me back between the film's end and it's start
I offered the whole of my mind to Literature
With it's sweet, empty promise to take me from here
I sacrificed my blessed soul to Song
Who lied, and said they'd been singing about me all along
I left all my Pain with my family
They put their pain in a duffel bag and shouldered it on me
I pledged to spend every single night with Fear
But it seeped out into my days, now it's always near
By a Woman I became employed to work at my loyalty
Before my work is done, I am dismissed, then hired by another agency
In secret service to these masters
Has always served me well
I asked what I could
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Literature
Wolf, He Cried
Wolf, He Cried
I am a liar
Because I've never spoken the Truth before
I didn't know what it was then
I talked of beauty
Until I saw you
And realized I'd never seen beauty before
I spoke of wanting a woman
But I didn't know what a woman was
Until I wanted you
So, I have been a liar
But I did not know, then, that you existed
That was before you, and before you was a mirage
I imagined what my life could be like
The fantasy was never quite right
Because I never could have imagined anything like you
I talked often, on many things
Until you came, as living proof
That I had no idea what I was talking about
So the boy who cried "wolf"
Each time he encountered a large dog
Sees a real wolf, and recognizes his error
I grieved over my misfortunes
Until I learned I would never have you
And for the first time, I knew what it was to be unfortunate
Though I could be wrong about all of this
I will not know until I go
Toe to toe with your righteousness
And so, I was a liar
I hardly meant to be uncouth
I
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Literature
Ancient Collection 3
Sunday, November 25, 2007  
It all may or may not be total bullshit anyway . . .
Current mood:   drunk
Category: Writing and Poetry
Well third times a charm. So, here goes nothing again.
KILLER DISAFFECTED
This is bad, all bad. All the good guys will be dead. I swear on my life, before this is over, We'll watch every last one of them die. The only comfort ever, Is that it wasn't our trigger. These bullets came to pierce hearts, From something much bigger. It wasn't me, my apathy. Maybe it was him, his nihilism. Passed from father to son, killer disaffection.
THE LAST GUNFIGHTER WAS STABBED TO DEATH
The last gunfighter was stabbed to death. In a fit of irony and rage. He was the world's greatest poet, And he died before, he ever put words on a page. If we'd only look, We would see, We already have, Everything we need. Be willing to die for, Every reason that you breathe. But it makes no sense, To just sit there and bleed. So draw your pistol, And dig in your fee
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Literature
Ancient Collection 2
Tuesday, October 16, 2007  
Verbal Violence From The Word Warriors' Pen
Current mood:   drunk
Here goes some more poetry for the three people that read this horseshit last time. I think I'm the best poet of all time, but I may be the only one. . .I am also a person who thinks I suck. A category where I am one of millions . . .
MY VICE IS SO SYMBOLIC
Maybe a cigarette knows truth. It never said it wouldn't kill me, or make me weary in my youth. We both know how they hooked me. We both know it's what I choose. But cigarettes are loneliness, I think. They always miss their only friend. A good, stiff drink.
THE MIGHT OF MAYBES
Maybe, just maybe, I can relate. Relate to your love. Relate to your hate. Maybe I feel like I know you so well. That there is nothing to say and nothing to tell. But if we never connect, at least this went well. For I've no heart to show you. And no love of which to tell. There is of no love to tell.
SECOND CLASS KIND OF GUY
Second hand, And
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Literature
Ancient Collection 1
Saturday, September 29, 2007  
Knifing Around With Language & Words Written Down
Current mood:   nauseated
Category: Writing and Poetry
So today I was horsing around with the writing of words.  I thought I would post some stuff and see if anyone I know actually reads these damned things or if anyone period is paying attention to nonsense. . .
Smile
To see another   Person smile   Is beautiful    For quite awhile    To see someone smile   From the inside out    Then you  start to think    What the Hell are they smiling about?    To see another   Human smile  Gives you hope    For just awhile  See fleeting happiness    In a smile like a Cheshire Cat     Then you slowly question   What the
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Mature content
My Boy :iconwordsandsmoke:WordsAndSmoke 2 7
Literature
The Hangers-On
The Hangers-On (To Her Glory)
I have seen The Icon
I was not asked for my devotion,
But I gave it freely
I knelt before The Epic
When asked why I worshipped,
No words did my reasons justice
I saw the beauty of living Art
But all art has beauty
For beauty alone I would not go half as far
A pilgrimage to Mecca
To look inside The Heart
With The Icon's gaze averted, I can safely start
I pray at Your Temple
At two every morning
And find there a thousand other hangers-on to Your Glory
I basked too long in reverence
At The Icon of my age
And took all my devotion up, confined it to the page
I will speak freely of Her Majesty
From my tiny, private stage
Even though I whisper, my tongue is un-afraid
I must have been a fool to think
I was the only blind man who could see
The light that shines from angel's eyes does not shine only for me
Though I am blessed still, in Her company
The Redemption Song that She will sing
Will not be sung for me
I am not made whole in idle worship
This is no great trag
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These are words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am trying to say . . .

Random Favourites

Literature
Noontime Bloody Nose
    Tilt your head back and
                                   SUCK
until you feel the hot rush of blood
                        down your throat
salt and iron, and iron is wine
  if you're like me,
then phantasmagoric lilts
  patter your minds ear
and you are resigned to be
                         happy bleeding.
              Gray noon is like a sentence
the           day has peaked behind clouds
and  
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Literature
Symptoms of Me
I dream awake
and live in my sleep.
Backwards life can be boring
but only when you put it in reverse
and spit it out like any other day.
I know that work is necessary
to break the sunshine into
bite-sized chunks
like little Snickers bars which were always my favorite
But my teeth are rotting away,
my lungs have poured out,
my eyes have drifted,
my heart has left.
And there's a pinching sharp pain in my chest,
like I've been wishing for death and
it's likely obliging 'cause
I've always asked
very nicely.
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:iconwretchedteddy:wretchedteddy 1 3
Phil Spector by richunkleskeletun Phil Spector :iconrichunkleskeletun:richunkleskeletun 4 1 God Warrior by richunkleskeletun God Warrior :iconrichunkleskeletun:richunkleskeletun 29 11 Girl with Braces by richunkleskeletun Girl with Braces :iconrichunkleskeletun:richunkleskeletun 4 0
Mature content
Don't Muddle me with your... :iconwretchedteddy:wretchedteddy 1 13
Literature
The Flight
When will my heart return?
When I am old and uncaring
sitting and staring on the
blank walls of my retirement?
When I am tired and busy
wrangling my dizzy
children through Disney
park coasters?
When I am standing on
the altar of white roses?
Marrying goes with love,
but when will my heart return?
My apartment is empty,
hopelessly venting it's
doing me nothing,
When will my heart return?
When I have a job
and making real money
Just milk, bread & honey
is that when I'll finally bleed?
And when I burn
has my fortune turned
and returned my lifeblood
to me?
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Literature
Stop going places
Bless my burning blue eyes Ultima,
the Star is rise and gave heed to
where you want to go and how
you'd care to bleed.
Jehove, she works in many modes,
and I gave him that nickname
to make this all more personal.
And worse than all,
my burning blue eyes
could never have enough.
So if I huff and I stuff
myself into my suitcase,
we're going far away.
Back in Seattle, I left a bear skin rug,
for a tug of whiskey and a cigarette
pull.
Down in Portland I had to make my way home
when the rain and the mushrooms
forced us into our cars and the road.
After Eureka,
we drove to Arcata,
and smoked into Humboldt
where we took acid and
thumbed old copies
of Playboys.
My favorites were always the 70's.
San Diego was boring.
Anaheim and L.A., we took a pass
took up a glass and got ourselves past
a couple of guards who took us
in carts to see Him
in the Gugen-what museum.
We were unimpressed.
The slow road to London,
it was crossing the ocean
when you finally
stopped to see who I was.
I guess all the s
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Literature
The Ceramic Heart
I wonder what the head turners,
the stunning picture models
barbie-made in their pretty dresses
think of me as my head turns?
I wonder what it's like to be one of them.
Is it like
being a speed reader
surrounded by the illiterate?
Do they feel like the Babe
at a tee-ball practice game?
Or is it like being a chef,
with only dogs to feed for the time being?
Are our
starving eyes like beams
sending good feelings?
Or like vultures
winging our suck rays
aimed at the ceramic heart
I wonder if the beautiful
care that their shit stinks?
Would you if you never had to smell it?
I wonder if bruises hurt as much
or twice as bad
for fear their lottery ticket
blows away in the changing winds?
Should I thank my stars for
average looks,
average heart,
average life,
and average art?
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Platteland Man by richunkleskeletun Platteland Man :iconrichunkleskeletun:richunkleskeletun 3 0
These are things I find to be quite good.

Activity


deviantID

WordsAndSmoke
sonnygiordano.com
United States
I am a huckster. My art is a hoax. I write for money and fame and women. The written word does not lead to these things. Therefore, this is all a farce.

Current Residence: On top of the world, lookin' down on creation!
deviantWEAR sizing preference: elephant's junior miss
Print preference: High contrast B&W
Favourite genre of music: Dueling Synthesizers
Favourite photographer: The guy who takes pictures of naked celebrities . . .
Favourite style of art: Post Modern Abstract Gothic Pretentiousnist
Operating System: A 1985 Brain Machine (with minor alcohol damage)
MP3 player of choice: The trademarked one
Shell of choice: Hard Candy
Wallpaper of choice: Turquoise pin stripes
Skin of choice: Someone else's, Or Rhino hide
Favourite cartoon character: The Monarch
Personal Quote: Coffee, tea, or . . .murder?
Interests

Do not let it...

Journal Entry: Wed May 19, 2010, 11:49 PM
The dust may settle, eventually. Don't let it. Keep kicking up more dust. Or, maybe, it's not ever going to settle. Then what? Then you'll be glad you decided to keep kicking up dust before you realized that you will be surrounded by it all the while. Time you can spend wishing the dust would settle will be used to make more dust.
This is not to say, "Fuck it. It's all fucked anyways. Might as well fuck up as much shit as possible." Nope. You, my friend, don't understand what dust is...
         Resign yourself, now, to perpetual motion. "When the dust settles..." is an illusory idea. Yes, perhaps there is dust. Maybe even clouds of the stuff. But there is no 'settle'. There is calm, there is stability, there is peace. There is no settle. Not in the ways it's used, not the way it seems. Not here. Settling can be giving up, taking what's here now, or it can mean to grow up, settle down, become comfortable, etc,.
               These things aren't negative. Of course not. They just aren't an end point, or a goal. As trite and cliche as "it's not the destination, it's the journey" is, well...
       To accept the dust, to live in the cloud. To forgo the desire to have it settle. There is something to that.
        Or, more likely, I don't know the first fucken thing about anything.

  • Listening to: The National
  • Reading: The Human Stain
  • Watching: my vision blur
  • Playing: with my emotions
  • Eating: smoothies
  • Drinking: water at room temperature

Comments


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:iconwretchedteddy:
wretchedteddy Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2009
lookit this [link]
Reply
:iconwordsandsmoke:
WordsAndSmoke Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2009
Sweeeeet! I like that.
Reply
:iconwretchedteddy:
wretchedteddy Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2009
PORG is a really good photographer, there's another shot he did of that same place with those fucking maddening red flowers that is just as sweet.
Reply
:iconwordsandsmoke:
WordsAndSmoke Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2009
excellent
Reply
:iconwretchedteddy:
wretchedteddy Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2009
Thanks for reading and favoriteing so much of my stuff Mr. Bones, it really means a lot. I been of not the highest morale lately and it's good to see a friendly typeface.
Reply
:iconwordsandsmoke:
WordsAndSmoke Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2009
Friendly typface! You're a fucken genius man, that's awesome. I love you and the work you do, I favorited a lot of your shit because it's me favorite! Buck up fucker!
Reply
:iconwretchedteddy:
wretchedteddy Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2009
Oh, I'm bucked. I got bucked this morning when I got an interview at Home Depot without even fucking trying, they just called me and was like, "Here, have this interview without trying." And I was like, "Thanks n sht, bi!" And now I'm gonna get to fuck some mexican gerls on a stack of two by 4s, deep.
Reply
:iconwordsandsmoke:
WordsAndSmoke Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2009
AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! deeeeeep.
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconthespottedfur:
TheSpottedfur Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for the fave! It was very much appreciated. ^^
Reply
:iconwordsandsmoke:
WordsAndSmoke Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2009
No problem. That stamp was hilarious.
Reply
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