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The carcass of a cactus
Has a certain beauty.
It's bare, porous frame,
Deserves many an observer,
Despite its desert abode.
Dead material still won't corrode.
The water is the source, for all of earthly life;
Several still do dwell in the endless seas.
Others in less encompassing bodies,
Where empty seashells do not rest,
Upon sun-bleached beaches,
E.g. in a pond's liquid caress.
The pond's fond of creatures,
Aqua-breathers and else.
Bouncing below, glancing shoreward,
A frog takes flight, through the surface,
Snaps a bug or some odd worm,
And flops back in the flow,
Waiting and hiding once more.
Sees some smelt, and semi-hops,
Toward the raw sewage.
For that it was, Styrofoam, no doubt,
For the frog did croak, and sunk as gunk.
Once lower, another saw,
Prey to catch, for egg was hatched,
From monitor belly. They both became
Clods as decomposition closed,
Thus their souls— err… stench,
Escaped beyond the pond,
Fouling many a frond.
Why Mass Should Be Optional2/11/2006
Why Mass Should Be Optional
Every week we do it: interrupt important class time to wait around silently doing a slow workout of sitting and standing. As the agonizing monotony goes on, every expression of free will is immediately stifled by ever-vigilant teachers. Many people dislike Mass; even several Catholics attest to this. I like to complete at least one task within an hour's time; don't you? Becoming bored does not satisfy that urge for me. The Latin phrase "Carpe diem" means more than, "Seize the day"; it means, "Seize the hour."
Do we all need to go to Mass? Could that time not be better spent finishing overdue assignments, establishing lasting friendships, exercising teenage muscles, filling empty stomachs, or getting some shuteye? When you consider the enormous lack of productivity involved, the rational choice is clear. Making non-Catholics spend an entire hour accomplishing nothing, being pushed to the edge of insanity,
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More