TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

Advocate of Dystopic Delights!

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Goldfish Gogo by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Goldfish Gogo

When I got to Norway, it was raining, a steady rain that slowly tapered off into a pleasant mist. I called her from a pay phone and asked, "How will I find you?" She responded, "I'll carry a bag with a goldfish in it. You'll find me." She neglected to mention that everyone in Norway carries a goldfish in a bag as they run their morning errands in the pleasant morning mist. I walked from fountain to fountain and from square to square and called her name every so often, checking the clear plastic bags i

a swath of red by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

a swath of red

When Kerial's fiancee, the witch Magrethe, was bewitched and slain in her own bed, he lost the will to love. When he found that his unborn child has been slain in her womb, he lost the ability to hope. When the great modern city in which he lived fell victim to plagues of biblical proportion, he lost the last drop of might that allowed him to live. That was the day the Devil chose to approach Kerial and, in the voice of reason, make small talk about the state of his soul. The devil told Kerial that there were two bridges from which he must choose, but that no matter his choice, each bridge bestrode the rivers and the r

Horace, son of Horus by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Horace, son of Horus

Horace, son of Horus. I was put in a jail cell for the rest of my life. My cellmate's name was Horace; Horace the bird man, who said his father was a bird god who left his mum with a fertilised egg and a styrofoam cup full of some colour of regret – but the colour always changed, and regret was beautiful when she looked at him. I was jealous of Horace. I wished I had been born a bird man. Horace rolled over and I looked at his feathered wings. They rippled when he breathed. I put myself in a jail cell when I let my mother be a woman, and my father – some man, and no gods were lost or found in the making of me. In my styrofoa

winstons bronze age philosophy by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

winstons bronze age philosophy

winston's bronze age philosophy. – in a crib in the sky a grid of power lines obscure, with no pretense or precision, the cupola of the last white church left on the lane that parallels winston's late-life avenue. if you'd like to exercise your own imagination, you can direct your attention to the top of the church if you please, and if it pleases you, invent the cross whose shape is mimicked by the cables that cross it – it's as bronzed as the rest of the street (but for the white church's walls) yet stays as shiny as the hopes of winston's worst patrons, though the blinding whiteness is likely due to several decades wor

Monsters in the Garden: 01 by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Monsters in the Garden: 01

Gravitas. In a province rich as summer honey there once stood an estate, slightly worn, ever so softly used, and most certainly lived in and loved. It was a handsome estate of white brick and the palest grey mortar, boasting archways that were formed with sculpted pebbles and carved keystones, equipped with a bathhouse, a garden, and fountains. Passed down through time and through many generations of wealth and decadence, the estate, having lost whatever name such places always boasted at their time of creation, had slowly begun succumbing to the pursuasions of time. In this handsome estate lived an equally handsome

F A R E M E W E L L by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

F A R E M E W E L L

F A R E M E W E L L I ride in black taxicabs through thumbnail graphics. They sting my eyes as the breeze generated by the blistering engine heat helps bring out the tears I could never show my wife; my hair is rumpled, though whether this results from the rock music I asked the cab driver not to play or from my lack of proper grooming, I can't say for sure. Surprises wait at stoplights even in the mist that the sewers expel at this hour, in the cold, when only I'm here and I'm thankful to be in this black taxicab, crying in front of this stranger who wears his baseball cap of indifference every day for people like me.

seeing isn't believing. by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

seeing isn't believing.

Seeing isn't believing. As much as you place emphasis on every nuance thus cast by leaden brow, eyes and mouth drawn and heavy, faces shut fast, I shelter (not through wit nor of whim) one lie. Building one shame through encounters within the countext of "why" – crippled and lame – I have no face but a white carnival mask, silence (untrue), this is the expressionless question I ask, answering you; would you know me here if you met me in dreams? Nobody sleeps for fear dreamtime will only ech

A Penitent Planet by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

A Penitent Planet

- I am so sorry for how the world has treated you; you remember that I am not the world? I don't taste goodbye in a lingering way, a morsel on the tip of my attenuated tongue, but instead it's the poison, the hemlock, the bane, the way to leave the world shunned. I am so sorry for how the world has perceivèd you; you know that I am not the world. For all the little things, then: you and I on a swingset at midnight with those little bottles of liquor at our feet on the grass, letting time pass, letting destiny distinguish (if it has anything to exemplify) our personal enigma in the sky that burns black. I'm so sorry, so sorr

FAMILIA by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

FAMILIA

FAMILIA The veins that are the roads of their country are pale, lackluster, divining with the palmistry of scattered and unflattering citiscapes their need for lifeblood; Lifeblood, the like of which is found in their fingerprints' whorls, whether left in passion or ire, will never let free the incomparable longing for an epic, a tragedy, that may spill it. How clouded is the sea these ships sail upon - that deep void channeled into veins (into streets) and into processions - an exemplary distribution of will,

Via Profanum by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

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Sequence of Ages by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Sequence of Ages

SEQUENCE OF AGES Heat of a summer sunbeam, companion to milky moonlight; Both captured in jars of brilliant translucent glass like fireflies, the jars the eye of a little boy's mind. Dragons and dreamcatchers glowing with the power imbued them by the giggling mind of a child who wants fiercely to believe in them always fade when the child himself ages. Like the ancient beasties, both the big-mighties and the wee, every beginning is an end, all that burns like summer sunbeams will fade; In time all jars are shattered. Beneath the beating bright sun, armour glinting as all knights' armour should, A boy barely a man seeks to sla

The Caribou Men by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

The Caribou Men

THE CARIBOU MEN During your egress what good can caribou do you? The allure of lawn ornaments, pink flamingos and gnomes, dwindles beside the bountiful bestiality of the delicate thought processes you flaunt in the ways of the blatant fluorescent light bulb. Ergo curtains of red hang limp and dead and cry at the gusty strong breeze which whispers a name they are certain they formerly responded to. We owe allegiance to the sandals that brought us hither and shall take us thither; for so few merry men laugh the way they used to once - those that do will only sing, "May the caribou population continue to prosper!"

the Handicap by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

the Handicap

Soft and silent, never quite present but for omnipresence in my thoughts, I meditate on the conversations we have had on the occasions she let herself be caught. I mightn't expend the effort if I was not myself thus ensnared by the woman who loved my mind (my twin) whose own consciousness was impaired. Often, by the by, I rest wearily and think: "From one end of this world to the other I have sought, I have quested, I have searched and destroyed in this search for my perfect lover." But who is she really, the beautiful brave and bold, who is never really young, nor never quite old -- she has never asked so has neve

only more than a moment by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

only more than a moment

Teach your children the value of grief for it shall step in for the final dance. Teach your lover the price of betrayal for this is a dagger no lover should wield -- teach your friends the might of laughter, for this herds most truly sad days aside. Teach your allies the meaning of victory which sometimes lies in gracefully losing. Show your parents the gift of life; for loving them or leaving them is your choice. Grant the biggest wishes you can; the little ones are worth the wait. Be foolish at least once a day -- remember that only fools never learn. Teach yourself the importance of every m

Inside the Kidding by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Inside the Kidding

Inside the Kidding If there weren't so many mockingbirds there would likely be less laughter; fewer jests and jibes and joculatory jabs to tuck up in memory's rafters, later to reference in an unrelated conversation: "Did you hear the one about...?" What is the saddest sound you've heard? Was it the way your lover coughed from the sickly plastic of the deathbed? How about the saddest sight; dying orphans in one more almost-dead almost-nation? But maybe instead you'd rather recollect mirth and your younger siblings' giggles, giddy with Christmas and Easter anticipation without a hum of real religion in their brains. Paging thro

Chariots, Champions... by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Chariots, Champions...

Chapter One Once upon a time in an unsavory hamburger joint far, far away, a young man slaved away for a really nasty overweight guy who didn't pay him much more than minimum wage, which in this particular kingdom and this particular hamburger joint equated to squat. After this young lad worked his standard full-time hours he'd adjourn to his nighttime job which consisted of helping some old bat at the nearby magic college reshelve books. At the time, things were fine. This kid (his name was Kam something or other, since I'm awful at remembering human names) didn't mind being worked like a slave because he was a shapeshifter, and th

Plums and Plunges by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Plums and Plunges

PLUMS AND PLUNGES You! maw, crevass, yearning abyss - I shouldn't look but I must in order to see just how deep it is in this thing that I just - I just keep on gazing at I just keep on falling in and which I cycle as a satellite of. Shivas and Buddhas Jesus and Judas gathering for the spite of the juice on my lips and chin it's just breaths away! the epiphany is knocking: it's as lovely as the canyon as lovely as the crevass whose sides, slowly locking, are the grinding thrusts of the magma (lava)... that formed these rocking - eroding - swaying sandstone sentinels; Abysses I enjoy? I'll have another plum, please.

Houdini-ism by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Houdini-ism

HOUDINI-ISM Agèd, in brevity, my mind chooses night In which to malinger with fragments of light- Headed professions of luminosity- Laden visions, drunk in their viscocity, Giving window-peeps to a cloud-caked moonscape. Tottering thoughts (in extremis travelling) Locate, definitively, eyes repelling Themselves from scenes found rough and unappealing Though heavy, flutter through that moonscape wheeling; Few tricksters are as competent as the mind.

Beyond Blue by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Beyond Blue

BEYOND BLUE - We have soundscapes here in the great beyond, brimming with supercolour delights! We have landscapes here in the back of beyond, swimming on the tongues of Sybarites! These wonders and more we all gave to her, for there was no Technicolour quite like her Red; This princess and more, we deplore, we adore - "I see no wild Blue yonder," she said, "though I came here expecting that I might implore the landscapes and soundscapes to give up their ghost (having been overused far more than most); I find, now I look, that perhaps I mistook the moat that I crosse

SEED I: Artist by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

SEED I: Artist

SEED ©2005 Damian Imbrey PART I : ARTIST "Of course it's art," he said as he cocked his head at the painting. "But isn't it splendid?" she exalted, gesturing exhortatively. Unmoved, his attention lingered on the painting and assessed its slightly discordant frame, his gaze ticking round the perimeter. It was ultimately a forgettable work, he concluded at length while stroking his short sharp goatee thoughtfully, and it bore strongly irrepressible resemblance to a great many other thematic portraits which he had been forced to nod at during the obligatory tour of the mediocre show. He struggled to find someth

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Burden of the Slightest Touch by Sheledriia, literature

Literature

Burden of the Slightest Touch

An ever-open wound festers on a blood stained chest Just like every other, he can hold no deference Only a hidden pain, unclothed, that all can see, Ever-unuttered, there can be no differing, Only a silence that kills The Ever-Dying One. That suffering son whose sorrow-filled life is frittered Away in ever-dark caves, their floors littered With the slow tales of several life times The un-truths and the un-lies of bitter family ties And the secret shattered cries Of a homesick soul There is no daybreak only an ever-false dawn As un-true as the pale ghost-smiles drawn On the faces of embodied soul-traces The surrogate promises

Natus by blackamnesiaofheaven, literature

Literature

Natus

A doctorate in snow, insect arms, sleep with the appropriate aversions to cocksweat, birdshit, bent arms signifying the whiting-out of everything. Except for the prepositions. O God, the prepositions. They can go too. (and thank God they've gone.) For here, unravelled in your Hitler lips- your name in capital letters, your name in the fat light. Leaves spilling off into the black night.

WHITEWASH by meic2, literature

Literature

WHITEWASH

WHITEWASH She loves me: for such is signified by the symbol of a heart initial flanked, hers and mine, graven by a nail in grimy plaster with a screech to set my teeth in spasm. I lack the skill to make a balanced heart - my lobes all lop-lolly: it seems to me the lesser lobe denotes a lesser love to the bad sad side. I seek parity and so I interpose an equals sign between the names. A futile gesture, though years will pass before I recognise inherent inequalities of love. The soot-stained whitewash flakes and falls, dusts a close–clung flower on the wall, plaster-fastened and yellow-gold. Her mouth a little 'o' she flutes '

Of Tears and Rain by Sheledriia, literature

Literature

Of Tears and Rain

The echoes thunder around me and I hear rain in the sound- the crying of God in the clapping of hands. The applause means nothing and I hear rain in the sound- the fall to hubris in the rise to triumph. We crave acclaim and in finding it we lose ourselves and find that the crying of God is not enough. It can not soothe our torn souls, It can not dull the empty ache. This rain falls on our bitter ears and it means nothing. It rolls off our backs like the insults of the world. It effects nothing in our hearts so much as contempt, for those who applaud and ourselves who bask in it, like lizards on sun-baked rocks, Waiting fo

Her Glass Slipper by Leynarue, literature

Literature

Her Glass Slipper

Her Glass Slipper Beatrice was always looking for her glass slipper. She looked for it everywhere she went and told everyone she met of her quest. Of course, it's very hard to find a glass slipper, since they are not only rare, but very delicate and, of course, translucent. For Beatrice, a glass slipper was more than just an impractical shoe- it was an opportunity for elevation and transformation. When she had been just a little girl, before her Mommy left and her Daddy got fired from his job, her Grandma had told her the story of Cinderella and her glass slipper. Beatrice had loved the part where the Prince had put the slipper on Cin

The Mythical Gay Lifestyle by sackermanmo, literature

The Gargoyle and The Mermaid by Zocko, literature

Literature

The Gargoyle and The Mermaid

If you traveled far from where snow capped mountains make their berth, through golden deserts on camel back, and over countless emerald plains you would find a beautiful ocean, blue like a Himalayan Poppy and as fresh as a baby's first breath. It flows with fish, all colors of the rainbow, and within it is a kingdom constructed of both sand and coral. Along these sandy roads swim not only whales and goldfish but the prettiest of mer-people too. Their skins are shaded in a multitude of color like the fish, ranging from lilac purple and sunshine orange to coal black. The luckiest of them even have tails that reflect different pigments, as th

The dream was always running by WhoKilledKirov, literature

Literature

The dream was always running

. Oh, little crook'd arrow; sawed from sapling, bone-smooth shaft. Little arrow of inner divination, I fear'd the knocks would splinter you finely. Oh, little crook'd arrow; there you have made my eyes run, shot and kill'd yourself a bird. (My, my) On a doorstep! Clever fowl it were. Though we spied it, (oh) we are ever so quick; hidden behind those lamp chains- ones pulled. Spark'd that bulb of creation. I am fat with it, Now all red and runny; a little child's winter nose. Pick'd apart with my fingers, the miracle. And I am ever full and satisfied.

+Murdering Ink+ by soless, literature

Literature

+Murdering Ink+

Snow paints the ground in even strokes. Rough hills become smooth planes. Snowdrifts curve out of the east following the wind in waves that freeze at their crest. Snow sharpens the ground to a fine point pen line horizon that just manages to keep heaven and earth on their respective sides. Snow makes everything sharp and perfect, like the snap of salt under your boots. Someone could disappear into the space that opens up when the clouds roll in and the sky is as white as the snow. The white brings an absolute quiet. There is the crunch of breaking ice, the hollow cry of the wind, and nothing else. Sometimes feathers scrape across the air, lik

SEEKING SPRING 2 by meic2, literature

Literature

SEEKING SPRING 2

SEEKING SPRING I am the tree-in-winter man bough bent with wintry woes seeking spring. Inside, below the gnarled and ravelled rind, inscribed by glacial ink in cruel seasons, exigencies and crises lie curled concentrically in seized circles from heartwood to the bark. Inside, again, sap congealed and gelid trapped static in harsh-hardened tracheids, sits still pooled and sorrow chilled in serried cellular ranks from yesterday's roots to tomorrow's twig. Yes, I am the tree-in-winter man waiting for spring's demulcent peach-pink breath to melt and liquefy from frigid core to icebound bole and tempt the sap to surge and ri

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Jurassic Barflies by TuaVerbaNihiliFacio, literature

Literature

Jurassic Barflies

"Too many nightlives have gone past my eyes while I waited for the dawn with my fear. I spent too much time lost in amber with barflies – " (Habits harden in a few hundred years.) "Nights with too much drink and too little rest flowed into others that crystallised well; not a cloud in my mind as my thoughts are undressed though my nostrils remain fogged with the smell of hops and the cleaner used on my glass, and on the screen that covers the wood of this bartop where many have wished their nights past would come home again – " (But what if they should?) "I don't know; I guess I've been fixating less on the bartop itself than th

Jurassic Barflies

TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

About TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

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Artist // Literature

United States
Deviant for 19 years
He / Him

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Favourite Writers

Mervyn Peake, Tanith Lee, Clive Barker, S.P. Somtow, Storm Constantine

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Mind

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Mental

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The mighty pen, the mighty sword, the mighty computer keyboard.

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Words. Definitely those.

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TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

Oct 8, 2005

so many stars. which one is mine?

0 min read

 the update -------------------- been out for a while. at the point where it feels like there's too much going on and i'd love to sleep, but since there is in fact so much, i can't. i haven't slept for longer than two hours in months. it's starting to wear me down, i think, though sometimes i can get naps and those can be quite refreshing. remind me to never take an "easy" courseload again. i've got papers due every week between my lit and creative comp classes. my marathon drawing lab that meets on sundays is almost six hours long and i'm already behind... after starting the quarter with that "i can do everything and anything and i will d

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TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

Jun 26, 2005

Happeningses, precious.

0 min read

 The Update Part -------------------- Man, time flies between dA Journal entries. I keep thinking I'll have something to say someday but it rarely happens  or maybe I have it wrong, and I say all that I need to in the other writing. Beats me. I'm too immersed to have any valid objective opinion. I've been able to get some work done. Now if I could just leave AIM off and stay away from online games, I might get find that I can get make real progress as well as just doing "work". When did I lose some of the joy I found in writing? Oh yeah, when I started nitpicking myself to death and murdering creativity with my masochsitic perfection

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TuaVerbaNihiliFacio

Apr 11, 2005

perhaps this month...

0 min read

 The Update Part -------------------- Here I am - in April. I am already wondering where the rest of will go, being that the first third of it is already vaulting past. Where is all my time going? I've hardly read any books this year and I haven't done nearly as much writing as I would like. Maybe I can just attribute this to a slump. It's also a little crisis of faith. I am stuck wondering, "If I finish (a novel), I have to move on to the next step. What is the next step? How do I do it? Will it take time? Will I succeed?" ..."Work" is the bigger fraction of "success", eh? All I want to do is work but all I seem able to do is avoid it ei