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"Too Bright in the Mist" by M.A.A.
I. Calamity Away, away, they took up running, one remained gang nailed the doors like it was the year-before after and all, insulted and seduced into conscription, a continental fizzle please understand this riddle when a door is closed the others are welded like the youth kicks out the slow to fake a distress, avoid being levered hate to admit, but it's all for the show like emotions, images of the subject tend to follow fraudulent crusaders so often diaphanous in their adventures mass burning orchards like they were insects but let us stop the frame, stop the scene why are you here? leave the flames give us a pause, look at the screen ignore what the crickets have seen they told you and you didn't listen some prophets are here to shiver we just want to get rid of our livers II. Clarity war is fun when it’s done in peace the leftover now looks under the lid stability embodies lack of vibrations fine to get dragged in muddy aspirations hesitantly through weird ranks furiously along the brown banks plant the grains of affectionate warmth and chirp in the language of moths whoever hears this may stick to this gift even if Mother Nature isn't for her sons even if your presence isn't the one to sit by the fields of her benevolent guns you will still find it all too bright too bright in the mist III. Chaos finally, there comes a feeling of numbness the clouds dance and bath in their highness over the mountains at the gorge on Yangtze and I have seen them, and - what now? what is there left to see, who is there left to meet? and where was I before it all went to – kiroukseksi, kirouksesta
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"a distant guardian angel" by Linda M. Crate
he has carved such chaos into my heart with his absence they say good things come to those who wait, but i've waited all my life; i've wished on shooting stars prayed and prayed and prayed some more— i only see my father's face in dreams, but he always evades me; as soon as i see him he is gone like a vampire burned by the sun there is nothing left not even ashes— but he always watches me in my dreams like a distant guardian angel who made some vow of distance; perhaps he's otherworldly and promised he'd never tell what i truly am— but i already know i am not of this world, and i wish he would free my wings because i wish to fly like him; i wonder why this fae father won't let me use my magic.
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"Times of Chaos" by S.J. Saighead
Once upon a time, a long time ago... There was tangible unites of time on which one could cling, falling one by one like a drop from a leaky tap. You could set your watch to the days passing, one by one in uniform lines like armies, passing on by on their way to unknown wars. I sit day after day in this flat which I don't own, At my little wooden desk which I do own, and I go back to the ever depleting well to try to force what scraps I can onto the page, barely having the energy to lift my pen. Each day, each week, each month, each second, each minute, each hour, blurring into one, ghastly unit of unknowing timelessness. They say six weeks and we know that's a lie. They say a year or two but who can care anymore? It just goes on and on, on and on, on and on, And I'm just trying to have the time of my life.
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Next exhibition theme: Saints and Sinners
Deadline: Midnight, November 8th
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