oedipa

Looking forth by light

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#140 by oedipa, literature

Literature

#140

Here I am going crazy again, tweeting at 3 a.m. One hundred and forty characters, such a bitch. It’s just not possible to condense such rampant panic down to that insignificant little number. “Freaking out, m8s!!!!” just lacks that certain something… Gravity. Honesty. Beauty. @PoeticHyperbole – My anxious mind is a treadmill, my thoughts an army of middle-aged, overweight hypochondriacs forever walking to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’. 147. Almost. @PoeticHyperbole – I am an almost middle-aged, overweight hypochondriac forever marching to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’

Mourning by oedipa, literature

Blood-red and Bold by oedipa, literature

Literature

Blood-red and Bold

I remember him in black and white, except for the coat tied firmly at his waist. It was red, voluminous and snapped like a firecracker on the gray breeze. I had bought it for his birthday. He said he didn't like it, but I think he lied. He often told me lies. Like when he said, "I love you", and, "I'll be back soon". White words darkening like storm clouds as he slid around the corner, that damn coat streaming out behind him, blood-red and bold.

Untitled by oedipa, literature

Erosion by oedipa, literature

Death Becomes Her by oedipa, literature

The End of the Dream by oedipa, literature

The Dead Man's Wife by oedipa, literature

Literature

The Dead Man's Wife

Tell me the tale of the dead man's wife, she who, buried by tears, each dawn would awake in a bed too big for her alone. Tell me the tale of the dead man's wife, she who, surrounded by grief, each noon would depart to a cemetery by the sea. Tell me the tale of the dead man's wife, she who, shrouded in fear, each night would descend onto cold sheets still damp from last night's distress. Tell me the tale of the dead man's wife, she who, burdened by time, lives each day like the last. More dead than her love.

Warrior Grass by oedipa, literature

Literature

Warrior Grass

She lay before him in the tall grass, waiting. Not romantic grass, lush and glistening with morning dew, but warrior grass, tough and spindly, blades thrust boldly into the sky. He stood above her in the tall grass, laughing. He said she looked like a corpse, with her arms and legs akimbo, head at an angle unnatural, dress the colour of day-old blood. She rose up from the tall grass, raging. The grass fell before her, slain soldiers one and all. She stormed the bleeding sunset, the man left behind her, crumpled and lost.

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#140 by oedipa, literature

Literature

#140

Mourning by oedipa, literature

Blood-red and Bold by oedipa, literature

Literature

Blood-red and Bold

Untitled by oedipa, literature

Erosion by oedipa, literature

This Is My Nothingness by oedipa, literature

Literature

This Is My Nothingness

The brilliant hues of the setting sun bring warmth to the dying Canberra sky. It shines like a lightbulb wrapped in orange cellophane, the colour of ripe tangellos, reflected in the passing clouds as shades of pink and lilac. It is an insult to my eyes. The dusk deepens enough to finally,finally cast a pall on the garden. No more brazen, violent colours that burn and blind me; just grey and lifeless forms, drooping in the heat. Behind me, they talk,arguing as only people at funerals can: in hushed, harsh tones, whispers like a swarm of bees invading a field of wildflowers. "Go on...ask her," says one, my brother Frank, I think,

IntheBeginningThereWasDarkness by oedipa, literature

Literature

IntheBeginningThereWasDarkness

I am Aeneas, King of Latium, and a thousand tales could be told from the tapestry of memories that hangs in my mind. Much have I seen and done in my long life; but as cold hearted Thanatos, pitiless Death, draws nearer, I find myself haunted by thoughts of my glory days and by the ghosts of my youth. I did not even know of Latium then, or of the future that awaited me there. You see, Latium is not my place of birth, nor was I born on any Italian soil. I am a son of Troy, that once great city doomed by its founders to suffer the wrath of the gods and destruction at the hands of the Greeks. Anchises, a noble king was my father; the im

Corone's Lament by oedipa, literature

Literature

Corone's Lament

Just because you no longer believe in us, it doesn't mean we have ceased to exist. We "old" gods still live on in this world: the world we created, and created for you. Mydar still watches over the passage of the sun, the seasons still flow one after the other, and when you die you will all pass into the realm of the Pale Lady. Why, then, have you turned your back on us? Once you were grateful for what we gave you and respected us. In response to your prayers we gave you food, shelter and guidance, and all the good things this world has to offer. We shared the world between us, and were happy. But I, better than anyone, kn

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Friday Night in Rural Cornwall by AbCat, literature

November by AbCat, literature

Literature

November

leaves which fall as butterflies are downtrodden moths by tea-time, their wings trudged deep into tarmac jolly gusts, cool on Tuesday, become cold whispers on Friday: that thrilling feel is nullified the wholesome swell of the bay now greys with age to heavy matte, reflecting bruised clouds and not sky trains that slipped on slickened rails now scrape and groan with frosted grief like disillusioned athletes this is when Arctic winters are leaked from Indian summers. the birds become childish letter 'M's

Deviation Spotlight

At Midnight. by oedipa, literature

Literature

At Midnight.

At midnight I read with eyes too familiar with the dark. I read what's on your mind and every word is a heartache. They engrave themselves upon the surface of my mind, overwriting my thoughts with those of your own. At midnight I write with hands that smell of garlic. I write what's in my heart and every word is an open wound. They bleed onto the paper, staining the page with all the things I feel but no longer say. After midnight I try and rest a body that feels as if it's all been said and done before. I whisper possibilities to the night and every word is a comfort. They grow like roses in the garden of my soul an

At Midnight.

oedipa

Deviation Spotlight

my desktop by oedipa, visual art

my desktop

oedipa

Group Member 2

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About oedipa

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Aug 15
Australia
Deviant for 20 years
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: Tasmania, Australia
Shell of choice: those little chocolate seashells.....mmmm yummy
Skin of choice: mine....although yours looks pretty tasty!
Favourite cartoon character: Brak, Zorak, Amelia (from Slayers) and Bender
Personal Quote: 'the world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page' - Saint Augustine

Favourite Movies

LOTR Trilogy, The Fugitive, The Three Musketeers

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Catatonia, Missy Higgins

Favourite Writers

Jane Austen,Marquez J.K Rowling, Jeffrey Eugenides, Bill Bryson, Ovid, Catullus and Ann Rule.

Favourite Games

Grim Fandango/KotOR/Oblivion/Skyrim/Mass Effect Trilogy

Favourite Gaming Platform

PC/PS3

Tools of the Trade

Pen and paper. Coloured pencils, erasers and tortillons

Other Interests

reading, mythology(esp classical) ancient Greek and Roman society and culture, drawing, psychology

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oedipa

Feb 4, 2009

On Employment.

0 min read

Good news, everybody!  I have a new job!  A part-time receptionist job with the Housing Industry Association's head office.  Huzzah!  I am very happy indeed.

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oedipa

Nov 18, 2008

On Unemployment...again

0 min read

Ok, just a quick update to let you all know that I lost my job on Monday.  It was no surprise, really, the work I did had dried up as a result of the financial woes sweeping the planet.  I worked for a wholesaler who imports all his goods, so he kind of relies on the Aussie dollar not being so, well, crap.  And the Aussie dollar has taken quite a beating recently.  But I'm sure I'll find something new soon to at least keep me occupied until I find a better job.  It just sucks that I lost the job not because I was a bad worker, or through my boss' or government's financial mismanagement, but because a foreign government screwed up their econom

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oedipa

Oct 16, 2008

On Bad Sushi

0 min read

I had some bad sushi.  It made me very sick.  Projectile vomiting spaghetti bolognese at 2am is not pleasant.  My carpet still smells.  I'm going to have to steam clean it. My sentences are short and sweet. Here is something I filched from X-Eevee's journal: The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. 1) Look at the list and bold those you have read. 2) Underline those you intend to read. 3) Underline the books you love. 4) Strike out the books you have no intention of ever reading, or were forced to read at school and hated. 5) Reprint this list in your own blog so we can try and