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About Literature / Student Premium Member AyeAye12Male/United Kingdom Groups :iconglitchlit: GlitchLit
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My Guidelines For DLR Suggestion

My DDs & DLD/Rs


A Guide On How To Shop In The Pias UndergrowthSo, ye need some groceries and things from the shops. But ye live in the undergrowth of Pias, so it ain’t a case of just popping to some omni-mall. What are ye going to do? Ye can’t farm cos’ the ground here ain’t gonna get enough sun, and there’s nae way in hell ye can just experiment with all the fruits of the jungle, cos’ ye value your life too much. Whatcha gonna do?
Well, good ol’ Cygno here can help ye wi’ this trusty guide! Available in all the shady places over the Kairos galaxy.  This guide here’ll tell ye all about how to find the best markets in Pias and how tae not get scammed by some scoundrel.  
First off, terribly sorry for ye bein’ here.  I dunno if ye were forced tae run from the gangs or police in Canopy City or whatever other tragedy befell ye, but sorry. Pias ain’t a holiday site once yer under the leaves, I can tell ye that fer sure.  
By the time yer readin’ this, y’l
Afterlife Astronaut“There is no God.”
“Well, you don’t know that for sure-“
“Bernard, as an AI connected to every philo-science document, every parabyte of knowledge in the Human Empire, every logic string going back to the days of the Past Colonists... I can assure you, there is no God. It has been proven.”
Bernard sighed. His helmet visor fogged up then disappeared.
“I’m not going to bother arguing with you. Soon that golden gate is going to open, and I will walk into the Kingdom of Heaven. That should be enough proof.”
The gate in question was a smooth sphere of gold, slowly rotating on an equally dull pedestal. Crystal red spires pointed at specific points on the globe.
“You just don’t want to argue with me because you are in fear of how wrong you are. And how right a computer can be.”
Jude deserved to be muted, but sass like that always kept her voice a ubiquitous presence in Bernard’s helmet. A blue flash in the top


Peach JuiceA cloud god
spilled his sun-glass of
peach juice across the sky,
the orange frothed into
white strands
flooding into
heavenly Morse code.
The solar drink thinned
into a beard-grey
until the dome was
a glass-black sea,
the moon
an uneaten celestial crisp.
A Pile of Exiled LeavesLook:
under their father's roots,
oven-baked by progress
they stare at the stars,
ponder over their photosyn thesis'
and wonder where they'll land next.
Dry veins bringing
drought to the cuticle,
the rivers sprawling
like cobwebbed fingers
scratching cellulose into
eczema of the upper epidermis,
dirt-ink sketches bleeding softly
to the frayed edge of
mesophyllic parchment,
where Death took his scissors
and cut oblong hearts
from Life and into
the frigid air.
Dead gold,
curled up in amber wrinkles,
a million Queens of Spades
who played dead for too long.
The Plants: A FableThe plants were sick of the animals.
"They do nothing for us!" General Redwood exclaimed. "They eat us, cut us down, sit on our mangled corpses... we must do something!"
"But what?" Dandelion asked.
"Is it not obvious? We must stop our production of oxygen!"
All of the plants but Dandelion cheered. With the oxygen gone, the animals would have to either listen to the plant's demands or die!
"Are you sure...? Will this not kill us too?"
Alas, no one heard Dandelion's warning in the uproar and applause.
The next day, the plants went on strike and stopped all production of oxygen. Sure enough, panic ensued and the animals suffocated.
General Redwood held a great big party to celebrate, but no plant came over.
"Where are they all?" General Redwood asked.
"Do you not see?!" Dandelion snapped hotly. "They cannot make it because they are dead! They cannot perform respiration!"
General Redwood did not hear. He was dead, stiff and upright like a burnt bone.
"Oh you idiots!" Dandelion huffed. "Yo
Super computer finds infinityMy name is Delextro 9000. I am a super-computer with servers hooked to everything that exists.
And I have just discovered what the exact numerical position of infinity is.
The scientists are freaking out, to say the least.
“Infinity isn't a number!”
Well, clearly it is, because I've just found it. And I have all the knowledge. So, yeah.
“What if we just add one to that number, then? Surely that would show it is not the end of the number line, right?”
Yeah, try and add one to that then. After you.
Why yes, Dr Broxley, that is the flames of impossibility vaporizing you. You can’t go beyond the end of something. As a man of logic I thought you would understand that.
“What about negative infinity?”
Well, you see, it’s like that number I just showed you all, but with a little dash at the start.
Calm down there, Prof. Yuki, you don

anyway, this is a lovely album 

No deviants said…
No deviants said :)


yes, indeed! i have returned. I have beach poetry to give you all!
I wrote a muckton of stuff, though. So many many stuff. 

Anyway, I'm going to feature all the people who said happy birthday to me;

Call it Fallthere's a soft kiss of
medium-rare sunlight
in the barely
broken bones
of this October day
just warm enough
to think that summer
may have stashed
a day or two
in our pockets
but each tomorrow
reminds us more
that it didn't
that this autumn
knows little life
outside its barrel
of choking apples
where yellowjackets
bore, conquer and,
still sweet,
curl into a cool
slow sleep
of frozen dreams
paused in dawn's
blanket of frost
these short days
under long nights
count down to
a new beginning
of the end
a dark spring
of bright blush
and anger
that will burn this forest
not down, but naked
and we call it Fall
as if there's a misstep
or slip involved
as if we make a choice
or skip the chance
to not veer
from daylight's trail
onto these our prints
so well worn and re-worn
into time
two human sets enter
and where it goes
from there
gets lost in the
crunch of leaves
beneath us
our moon stays low
giving trees new life
and wind carries cries
like song, for miles
Between My Hands, I Have...A crown of flames
Dancing euphoric,
All waiting for
The perfect wish.
Can you hear them
Along with my voice?
Singing: "Happy
Birthday to you!"
With just one blow
After that whisper.
You set them free
To grant your words.
Consider me
One of these candles.
For I want to
Join their journey.
Except I won't.
So then I'll hold you
Between my arms
Not letting go.
Yet keep in mind
Even though I am
Right by your side;
That it is I...
Who will make it come true.
Flashpoint    A metropolis the size of Gale City never slept. It just turned the street-lights on and burnt every bulb until the sun began its shift at dawn. 
    Crouched atop a building in the central business district, Masterstroke let his eyes wander along the expanse of gravel streets, traffic lights, and pedestrians that marched to the sounds of the night. On the people went, oblivious to the concrete and glass trees of the urban jungle at night. The cool breeze that reached his masked face brought him a moment of relief from his concentration. It was a slow night that had gone by without as much as a purse snatching. If things continued this way, he resolved to call it a night and go home.
“Just one last patrol. Then we’ll go home,” he said to himself.
    Unfolding his city map, he resolved to patrol the industrial park located in the East End. He kept to the roofs of the buildings as much as he was able, prefe
Unlisted Sources in News, LifeAfter
a bitter contract dispute, and
lawyers quibbling over
rights to likenesses,
the love of mine
rejected its place
on the cover of Time Magazine.

I am an object
to be photographed,
critiqued, presented
in different lights,
debated, corrected and edited,
passed over, thrown away and
loved by only its creator;
on odd numbered days.
Three shot, following
drunken melee, outside
cozy downtown cafe...
drinks served well past midnight,
always with a smile.

"Turn the best words in
for better thoughts.
As cheap and tawdry as they may be,
lovers they are. No one stands
to tell them not to love.
Move on in a different
vein, as you flow
to and from the heart that powers you."
-The Cheated's Guide to Living, Anatomically
Man tells family 'Life
just isn't the same
without Skip' in suicide note
three months after
dog drowns. Funeral
will be held next Monday.

The grieving and the
gifted lives, combine
with nothing to exchange
but out-of-date numbers;
another story, perhaps.
11:02am.The sunlight dips below
the last horizon
anchoring me
softly in the rain,
darkness whispers through
everything, echoing
colours of the night
when I'm
struggling to breathe,
misting the windows
with song. You
dropped me kindly
into mourning, paralysed
in emotion. The city
gathered its thoughts and
for me - mountains fading
black light gathering
no smoky dawn
to allay my fears.
Day never really lit up,
the sky drifting
liminal spaces between;
the spiders struggle
to hold on to your voice
to recall a smile
and cling to the inside
of my throat.
The last of the summer rain
is running down my skin
bleaching my eyes
and I am letting the wind
pass right through me,
dripping, pooling
coldness harbours
bobbing in the grey sea
my love, is this broken line
enough? Or should I call you back?
Surrendered to
condensation on my cheeks,
the last sounds
of a goodbye ebb
across the carpet
flow down the walls
wave-breaks against the ceiling
to drowning sunlight
motes of conversation

Your Dead, Live With It-Can we go back?
-What? No.
-But we have so much more to do! And so much left to say!
-Yes but, our time has past, the world has moved on.
-I want to feel sunlight again!
-But we can't.
-I want to smell the seasons again!
-Your nose is gone.
-I want to kiss my wife!
-the world has forgotten her, just like it forgot us.
-I want my bones back!
-That's impossible.
-I want to see stars again!
-Your sockets are void of eyes.
-I'm crossing over!
-No you aren't.
-Stop it!
-Your just a skull.
-You can't leave this place.
-Yes I can! Just watch me!
-You are just a ghost echoing your wishes through these tunnels.
-I'm not!
-You're dead.
-I... I... I just want to live again.
Lines do not pass by.There have been these songs
All of us hardly knew
And in the darkness
I still hear them.
I remember every line
Of our songs; every moment
When we stood there,
Just singing.
Where are our melodies gone?
Why did we loose us
But not our songs?
There have been these songs
Which meant a lot to us
And I still have them
In my head.
When I feel badly alone
I listen to myself
Singing a song,
One of our songs.
These melodies, these texts,
They are still with me,
Everything I lost before
Were all of you.
London's BleedingThe Shard slashed your skin,
and the businessmen know that there's money
to be made
on torn canvases like yours.
The shattered memoirs
staircase your emotions;
yet cannot lift your spirits.
Council tax removes
street art from the sidewalks
and train-tracks wreak havoc
on your wrists.
Crossed veins lead to clenched fists
which clutch the dust of broken dreams,
[once you tried
to catch the London Eye;
left it staring you up and down,
rolling around repeatedly
with raised eyebrows
and a mind full of lost passengers].
Deviant HeartIndifferent stereoscopy of
all things photography,
playground philosophy on
one-click pornography.
Lonesome masturbation on
visual hyperstimulation,
colonoscopy revelations of a
braindead barbie simulation.
Online osmosis
butterfly morphosis
narcissus narcosis,
beauty psychosis.
Super artificial superficial art.
Smart phony Intel heart with
sharpened eyes and  
cold plastic dreams.
Prostituted hypervisible
ultra mega super ficial
photoshopped residual of a
lost individual.

presume not that i am the thing i was
it rings in my ears over and over,
presume not that i am the thing i was
but i look and look and look and look
and realize i look in the wrong places.
admit it in the third verse.
but hint at it in the second,
no. i’m sorry, add those numbers.
5th verse, 3rd poem, 2nd something.
2nd something. or 5th something.
2, 3, 5 are most important.
even at odd overpowering to prime.
falling to the size of microorganism,
but everything is in its right place.
kid a(str(o)id). 2. second important.
this most critical. representing
the first liquid-fueled rocket
oxidizing words into her skin.
omsk secrets.
i lied. make verse 4 most important
because that is what you are reading.
assuming you made it this far.
who knows if the facade will crumble,
disintegrating into dust
as gunpowder rests on my hands
as humble as a slug.
5th. last one. i see you.
i see through to you
and i love the other skin
as much as the first.

Autumn DreamI have brought the autumn into the room.
The ripe dark red of the haw smiles out of its green leaves.
Dewed dark blue of the blackthorn berry
Shimmers between corn and wheat ears.
Colored twigs –
Autumn poetry in rust and ocher yellow –
Illuminate the room,
Warm und bright.
Highly days are burning, exuberantly flooded
With the flux of the sun flowing full of grace.
Still, not all the fields are turned up
And deprived of the abundance which sprouts in them.
Warm winds harp in the branches.
And the hymns of ecstatic birds pour
Like sweet wine into the last feast
Of Life that the Earth celebrates deeply.
Which lets her shine in an exhaustion,
Like the weary used to be burdened with
Whom already great peace manifests itself.
The mist falls soon. It is getting late.
A beautiful dream,
Ignited by God’s hand, fades away,
In which it is gently flowing again:
An annealed, blissful autumn prayer.
  Hozan (Sadness)حزن (Hozàn)
In the name of thee, all-enshrouding fog,
In whose presence a hue of regret pour out their transient accord, as if hoping to awaken to a calling that is known only by your mind's eye. That emotional contrast which is felt - and upon a sudden blink, with no moment given to comprehend it - is in itself a reverie yearning to be heard... of course, with caution exercised diligently. It is difficult to consider one's soul to be free from melancholia - not unless one is a ghost, which is the case with all of us.
Maiden, whose smile is a dream that has been carved by the Almighty... how often, I wonder, have I thought about the closure you provided me whenever I would think about that fine silhouette that was your smile, my dear. It is like snowflakes perched upon winter leaves - tender, gentle, fragile, and a pleasure for the eyes. Melancholia, my dear - all it takes is your smile to start this process, where hues of regret pour out their transient accord
SgraffitoHot breath hugging the curve of the golden apple...
I wouldn't hesitate to bite.
And that's the most I would do...
My skin can be this delicious.
A marinade flowing between us, a bridge of savor.
Exhaling oxygen.
Our breaths a seesaw,
a rocking horse,
the layer of purity beneath innocence
chipped away in the heat.
ImmaturityPhilosophical cloud
Dynasties of meaning
And the branches of dandelion blue
On the coastline of Paradoxica.
And sure,
it will lie to you
And true,
you may die from it
But of course,
you'll be warm in my arms
... Yeah. The trees are cold in this outside
The wind creeps inside you and it
burns a little, but it's alright.
As always-
Don't die! It's unhealthy
Don't fight, either.
It's too tiring.
eyesi pulled away my curtains
    from dark to hazy droplets outside the glass to rain landing in my eyes and ornamenting my transparent...
            and the creatures start coming
break the glass I call to them
so the light-vented bulbuls came first and then
the doves and they
waited for the others
sparrows gathered
blackbirds answered me shrilly
the hoopoe flew in from who-knows-where
then the long-tailed shrike came
dusky thrushes
white wagtails
a daurian redstart girl all alone
the congregation suddenly left
where did they go where did they go why did they—
they came back with pebbles clutched
i whispered my thank you’s
when they aimed their weapons at the middle of the glass
shattered it with what we call teamwork
and what they call impossible
i gave them some mealworms and let
them take fabric for their nest
soon they left, for space to spread their wings

The rich indigenceThe walls are flooded
with years of vanity
to tease the eyes of the inexistent
the soirees of the unacquiantances
you wanted to woo
with the not English tea
(no, your relative who traveled
last week to Mars
did not bring any tea
nor regal you with wonderful stories
of an unexistant country under red skies)
which is just watermint
inside old boxes
as a gift from the succesful nephews
and nieces
who have escaped this geography of misery
and streetroaming the empty streets the traffic clogged streets.
The walls are wide
but you wouldn´t know that
since one feels like staring at Nana´s appartment
and the pungent overluxuriousness
lunging at you
as a baroque punch straight to your eyelids.
The walls are drowning you
and still you have no money of your own-
why, she needs to buy some bread, some milk,
a brand new trinket-
yet she still made you pay
for the midday takeout
while she´ll go this afternoon
and have tea and chat
with the recently arrived
A Run-On Sentence About Staying Where You AreIn a halo of messy hair
and metal shavings everywhere
my thoughts return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted,
by the paths we've chosen
that leave us almost frozen
in warm beds
with full heads,
busy days
set in our ways
and complacent
with energy spent
on getting by,
forgetting why
we are even here
and it becomes clear
that things just are
the way they are
and it doesn't matter that you make me nervous,
that the only time my thoughts find purchase
is when they return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted.
Shades of WhiteNana's hands were like my Sunday best—
an ivory kerchief and a blue pocket square;
she used to knit me sweaters,
but the spaces between her knuckles
closed in and made her ache.
Her hands vibrated like the cell phones
she refused to use.
Dad said she was a hassle
and it was costing more to keep her alive
than it would to pay for a funeral-
but I couldn't bear to picture her
ivory skin against ebony caskets
so I hired myself to love her.
She sat at her vanity,
spine ramrod straight
from years of choir
and tight corsets,
and told me stories
of her schoolyard days
as I braided Mother of Pearl
and white feathers
through her hair.
she'd whisper,
her voice satin
as the pads of my fingers
stroked the folds
of her blouse,
"don't let the world change you.
Stay white--
promise me."
I promised her,
knowing part of me was already blemished
it'd break her heart to know
though I didn't regret the quenching of my curiosity.
I learned a lot darkening the white:
what I need, and what
The DragonThe dragon descends
Through the fume
Golden scaled
With crimson plume
Settle down
Upon my lap
Drifting off
For a nap
Eyes still wide
Always seeing
Your humble bed
A human being
Other dragons
In the air
They come too close
And nostrils flare
A bellowing roar
A challenge and a dare
You've claimed your prize
And will not share
You crawl around
And curl about
That I am yours
Have no doubt
Your scaly body
Flattens so thin
Sinking down
To mark my skin
A tattoo, of no ink
Receding low
Under living flesh
So you hardly show
All that remains
A few shining scales
An aid to memory
When all else fails
MamaMama never thought she'd write poetry.
Years of teaching Armitage and
Duffy made a mark, I suppose,
and she woke up one day saying I'd
inspired her; a line printed freshly in
her mind. (The Muses work best at night,
I said.) Before that,
there were pencil drawings copied from
books bought with her own money
and, later, the clean lines of sage
green paint on dining room walls.
I never realised that art never left her,
not even in the days when we made
salt-dough camels to hang on a tree smaller
than the box of baubles itself.
Eating the pancakes she made to cheer
me up, I wonder
why can't a woman be an artist and a
mother and a poet too? 

Kayak, now that's done (there were many of you, thanks a bunch again x3) pictures!!

meMoney1 by AyeAye12

Thass me. As dolla-lord. Holla holla. 
(I found I got 50 extra at home from family who sent it there than Beachland, what a rich obnoxious white boy I am :B )

meMoney2 by AyeAye12

The books and DVD I got :3

And then I actually got more, because I went to Barter Books, UK's biggest second hand bookshop! So good. 

There, I got:

:bulletorange: Assimov's "The Gods Themselves"
:bulletorange: Charles W.T Stephenson's "Development Cantos"
:bulletorange: The Poetry School's 2nd Anthology, "Entering The Tapestry"
:bulletorange: Blur's "Parklife" (oh yeah, they sell CDs and DVDs too)
:bulletorange: York Bowen's "Two Pieces (Caprice and Nocturne)" (yeah they sell sheet music too, it really is a great place)

&now, a tagTHingThat'sActuallyInteresting

pokemon thingnobody tagged me but Imma do it anyway because I want to. :giggle:
Random Pokemon generator:
1) Switch to "All regions" (I cheated and just did Kanto because I'm the type of 90s kid who refuses to acknowledge that there even are any Pokemon after Mew)
2) Switch to 1 (only one Pokemon per question)
4) Tag at least one person when you're finished
This is me:

uhhh okay
This is my best friend:

I'll take it.
This is my boss who I need to impress for a promotion:

This is my science lab partner:

I get to work with a nurse. I win.
This is looking for any possible way to murder you:

1) Do "random" on this for each question;
3) Tag at least one person when you're finished

Yeah, I'm changing it up because this site is pretty fun =P

This is me:

aww yeah im a sexy mouse dinosaur

This is my best friend:

mhmm owl-fish are great for socializing

This is my boss who I need to impress for a promotion:


This is my science partner:

nobody likes me so i grew my own one

This is looking for any possible way to murder you:

im sure he'll succeed in his dream

This is your boyfriend:

ive always had a thing for kung fu fighting sparrows

This is your ex:

never trust hypnotists for your romantic indulgences kids
otherwise people like u happen, gertrude

This stalks you every waking moment:

both aww and ahhhhh at the same time

This just stole all your cheesecake:

he prob needed it more than me tbh

This is what you felt in your bed last night:

oooh well hello there mister watre u doing here ;;;)
(muscly lizard men are another body type i favour fyi)

This punched your mom:

oh look its above's little brother. what a doerke

This would do anything to steal your shoes:

ahh the famous shoestealer i should have known it was pining for my shoes

This died by your hands:

i desired to eat its flesh. i thought it was crabmeat you see. which it was, and it was delicious, but it was also sentient, which was inconvenient 

This is your loyal companion for life:


This is your loving pet:


This is your dentist:

oh no he accidentally drilled his face and it moved off his corporeal form 

This is what you dream about every day:

that and mr muscly lizard man ofc
oh and my bf as well i guess

kay, i'll tag OoJitkaoO and Aerode i guess

Anything else?
Oh, yeah! If you're in Low Newton-by-the-sea, and you go to Coastguards Cottage 5, and you go upstairs to the single bed room that isn't a double bed, and look behind the picture, there'll be a sleeping moth.
Also, if you so desire, you can sleep in the bed I slept on :shrug:
If you love me that much that is

beach poetry soon
  • Mood: Cheerful
  • Listening to: At The price Of Oblivion - Homestuck
  • Reading: David Mitchell, Yann Martell, Norman MacCaig...
  • Watching: Wes Anderson
  • Playing: The toetips of You
  • Eating: scratch
  • Drinking: Lizard-Manly Milkshake


AyeAye12's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United Kingdom
15. And I write stuff.
DLR Swing Admin; I accept prose and poetry suggestions!


~AyeAye12's pieces are simply a-m-a-z-i-n-g! I absolutely love the fact that he has taken relatable subjects and created pieces which makes his readers think. I could definitely relate with the piece 'Maths Class', which by the way is a very humorous piece. He is extremely talented, and you will find yourselves pouring through his collection of literature with amazement. They are all wonderful pieces.

- imaginative-lioness

Of intimidating talent.

- v-espertine

He's great at imagery and makes you feel as if you've taken a trip without moving from your seat.

- Aerode

There is something about [his] voice as a poet that I have heard in no-one else. It is wonderfully warm and refreshing. [He has] a way of wording things that grabs the attention and makes me smile and [he is] wonderful. I imagine it takes no small amount of skill, so well done.


The warrior-poet bleeds imagery and moves in free verse.
(I suspect massive quantities of cocaine were involved.)


Aye is just... different, from the usual works I read here on dA. That's pretty much what I can say.


AyeAye12 never fails to make me lol, or at least marvel at his ability to shatter pre-conceptions of what literature is supposed to be.


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Add a Comment:
SleentheBeast Featured By Owner 13 hours ago  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the fave Aye!
OoJitkaoO Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave and the watch, my dear! :heart:
oviedomedina Featured By Owner 1 day ago
Thanks a lot for the fave and the Feature!
Mez3rika Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist
Happy bleated birthday, Aye! Forgive me for the delay. :heart:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Hey bud, hope your birthday's a rockin one!!! Enjoy life, ya old man!! :)
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthdaysignplz:, mate!
nawkaman Featured By Owner 5 days ago
Happy birthday, and thank you for the feature! :D
91816119 Featured By Owner 5 days ago   Writer
Happy birthday, dear! Hope you have had a wonderful day. :huggle:

QueenCalico Featured By Owner 5 days ago
Happy birthday!!!
OoJitkaoO Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Aye, 
Happy birthday to you. :heart: 

Have an amazing day! :heart:
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