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Rainbow FactoryBeyond the perverted sickness of men is a place,
Within a city in the sky,
Beneath any hell,
Beyond any star,
Where beautiful colors are made.
Mechanical horrors manufacture life into death into the colors of the skies
Going unnoticed by those who marvel at its deceptively captivating work
Hidden from sight it is the perfect secret. An unseeable scar.
It is the rainbow factory. More real than any nightmare.
A thousand years of invisible fears hath dwelled upon here into the eternity of beauty
Here beyond the heavens,
Where you can see its majesty but cannot hear its scream.
The Secret IngredientDo you want to know the secret
The secret ingredient?
The secret to a taste that soars
A taste that never bores
A taste from the skies shore
A taste I'm sure you've known before
The secret of a baker most sweet
Whom is less meek than she seems
Do you want to know the secret
That devils wish to know
And angels weep for
The secret behind an innocent guise
The secret that tells beautiful lies
The secret that fell from the sky
The secret of the cupcakes...
Zebra SpeakThe Zebra speaks
She speaks like a neat freak
She speaks like a poet
With a freaky mystique
She speaks not often
But her words are far from weak
Some might shriek
When the Zebra speaks
To inform the meek
When things get bleak
But she knows their shrieks
Seldom reach their peak
Because when the Zebra speaks
Her wisdom louder shrieks
The Crystal EmpireI: The Search for Memory
A place forgotten by time
is found after a millennium.
It is known as the Crystal Empire.
In this place most real a bird of peace could sing and reach the farthest star;
and while a bright epoch is in it's future, it's history is unclear.
It's memory is all but lost.
it's security threatened by forces seldom remembered.
Only a remembering could bring it solace,
but where the memory lies no one knows.
To behold it's magisterial grace in it's day could teach the world,
but what once was grace is now uncertainty
as the citizens search for what they have lost.
II: The Shadow from the North
Darkness in it's purest form
as a monster with a heart of stone.
From the north it approaches,
precariously hanging off the blackened winds cast by his every step and breath.
He waits beyond the empires gates unable yet to enter,
so he only stands near and inflicts his menacing presence upon the land,
his standing alone fading its luster into dark shadows
Tinfoil Dunce CapI pledge my allegiance
To my fear
Of the United States of America
And to the deceivers
For which it stands
Of the government
With misery and falsehood for all
To Define InnocenceShe was like an untold mystery revealed at last,
a hiding bud of strange beauty now in bloom for all to see.
But she was seen by the blind eyes of some to be hideous;
and they banished her, deeming her an exile.
She was a misfit, a novelty unlike any of her kind,
now bearing a name forbidden.
A name spoken so many times in petitions for her freedom,
written by those who've seen her well and fear her not,
but whose words fall on deaf ears
leaving their writers but to cry for their beloved exile,
and sleeplessly await a miracle perchance inevitable for their tears yet unseen;
tears of acid rain for their former friends, whom are her masters.
MondaySwimming in tranquil waters unknown
On this day of Monday
A cold scarlet haze slowing time constricting space
On this holy day of Monday
A gilded labyrinth prison for the mind
This day of Monday
A staircase to eternity
The first step is Monday
The chaos storm of life
Eye of the storm Monday
Monday Island in the sky
Monday secret wings of the eye
Monday sacred key to time
The Poet of LogicOther poets write from their heart,
she rights from her logical mind.
She communicates her poetry with her actions, awkward and occasionally cryptic.
Those who can read it are rare and seldom found,
leaving her well-organized verses to be a perpetual charade;
a charade that teaches her what logic has yet known,
so that perchance she might see what her poetry could sow
if only it were read.
She Has the MagicShe is as hidden as a faerie
as delicate as an infant made of glass
Her beauty is as distant as a dream
ever closer in the glass eyes of an illusionist
For you see she has the magic
the desire of the people lies in it's conjuring
The illusionist's glass captures the magic
and to hold it to be given away
Her spirit screams in pain to deaf ears and the illusionist's eyes capture it all
harvesting all the magic it brings
Breaking her heart breaking her soul
capturing the magic...
Brenda Chapman, Brave and women in animationAn interesting LA Times article about Brenda Chapman being fired from directing her original story, BRAVE, for Pixar and the presence (or lack of) of female directors in animation.
I was personally very disappointed when I heard of Brenda's departure from Brave. She is being replaced by an extremely excellent artist, and no doubt the film will live up to Pixar's standards, but she truly was a first in this industry---- a woman directing an animated feature of her own, original concept. She's the most reputable female story person in this industry, and if she can't break that ceiling, I don't know who can. It leaves the rest of us feeling like we've got even longer to wait. I fear it won't happen for another generation or two.
Still, when Brenda Chapman was fired from Pixar's "Brave," it stung not just Chapman but also her female colleagues in the animation community.
"I think it's a really sad state. We're in the 21st century
Princess InsomniaShe dresses in blues deeper than the oceans of Neptune,
Dissonant is the face of fear projected on her face by her shadow,
When she speaks her words cry like the last breath of a god on his faded throne,
Her soul is a supermassive black hole and her brilliance cannot escape.
A being of ambient landscapes, she's not afraid of the dark.
Still every night is her nightmare, seen by the audience of a million sleepers
in her moonlight-gilded prison where she sleeps in the void without a head and encases her heart in a fragile urn.
By day, she wears a mask of light to protect her from her other self,
At dusk, she watches the black rose garden grow in her budding heart,
At twilight, she dances with mirrors under the rising blue moon of hope,
At night, she cries a million heavenly stars which cast moonlight upon all the land.
But one day, her freedom will howl the black winds of fate and shatter the Earth...
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More