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The_Rimbaud_Fx

About Me


"Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams." ~Charles Baudelaire
People never read this so i'm not gonna worry if i offend anyone; That's right, slide your mouse to the top left of my profile, and look at my photos to superficially decide if you want to add me =).
Hello, my name is Jeff; I am the creator and destroyer of my own destiny... I am open-minded, sincere, opinionated (but not stubborn, there IS a difference;)), patient, spontaneous, used to be affectionate lol, sarcastic as hell, spiritual, open-minded, philosophical, an overanalyzer, expressive, blunt, and extremely dreamy.
Now, to the things that aggravate me: old friends who question who I am, unaware I may have changed, or just automatically assume the ridiculous; true friendship is about trust, honesty, and patience, if you don't realize this then don't talk to me! Individuals who are Republican or Democrat because if you were a true human being, you would have multiple opinions about various things, not the vote-wanting dribble that mainstream politicians force-feed us. Also, people who patronize others about music; music is about expression and every person is different, so just because something isn't your preference, don't say it sucks. People who are closed-minded, premeditated, judgmental, generic, and prude. People who come to me for help with relationships or other bullshit...i'm not an emotional person and don't want to hear it; i have enough problems to deal with so don't sattle me with your shit. I don't like people who shave in the sink and don't clean it out; the same goes for ladies in the shower =P. People who don't put the cap back on the toothpaste. Those who praise god when things go right, and blame satan when things go wrong...if i remember correctly satan has no control over human behavior, only temptation...so if things go bad then make better fucking decisions! And lastly, i would like to state that i am not actively looking for anything serious on this thing, or at all really. If i like you I WILL TELL YOU, so if i haven't and we have spoken for more than a month...then please assume i'm not interested; it will save you the embarrassment. But don't be afraid; i can be sweet to those close to me =).
"Die Fly Die"
A crow's feather flutters from a dim grey sky, spinning, spiraling, petting the cool air while it declines, osculating toward a dead woman, anticipating the feather, which now slides beneath her nose, tickling, dancing, forcing her to sneeze, propelling her soul into the dim grey sky and onto a crow's wing, allowing the soul to cheat its way into afterlife, that is, unless god can distinguish the sinners from the feathers.
"Between Love and Duty"
He heard her breathing like waves. His eyes watered, yearned (to be her moon), to control her heaving breasts: so smooth, so free as they caressed the shores of her ribs.
Approaching her bed on two toes, he jumped onto the canopy top. And with a claw from his frayed wing, he cut a slit into the cloth and peered; his chapped, scaly fingers shook; his tongue panted.
With a mind trick, he whooshed the sheets from her pale, naked skin, and swooped between her thighs. It was warm, warm as lust.
She woke.
She stared into his yellow eyes; his red pupils, the veins coursing rapid through them, just as the blood beneath her flesh. Her body shook; she opened her mouth.
Anticipating a scream, he slid from her. His toenails scrapping the floorboard as he scampered to a dark corner. He then wrapped his body in his frayed wings, and lowered his head.
Grinding his horns onto the wall, he stared at her sweat-beaded face: retrieving his wing, turning over.
An acid tear meandered his scarred cheek, as he gazed, like an orphan peering into a toy store. He listened to the tumbling waves of breaths, and curled into a fetal position.
He had failed his master...an incubus he was not: his identity now, drowned.
.. ..I edited my profile at Doobix.com
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Your result for The Your Type of Girl Test...

The Suicide Girl

Cute, Dark, and Artsy, it's the Suicide Girl. A cousin of the Goth Girl, she's a little more on the cute side than the sexy side. Her interesting hair and impish smile make a certain kind of person wonder how her unique outfits would look lying crumpled beside the bed.

If you liked my test, Please rate it highly! Thanks!

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My Interests

I'd like to meet:


Who Should Paint You: M.C. Escher
Open and raw, you would let your true self show for your portrait.
And even if your painting turned out a bit dark, it would be honest.

"Dreams"

Dreams linger, rummage through your brain like detectives, disassembling themselves to prove your innocent guilt. They metamorphose each lying alibi and set out a crow, an apprentice of death, to collect your scheme's pieces, put together the puzzle to convict you of murder, then shake to wake you screaming.

"In the Fall"

On grey autumn days, lying on grass, I watch rigid leaves fall, slit my cheeks like witch's brooms, sweeping away my loosened flesh.

And as the sun slowly descends, I stay. For once in the fall, one cannot stand. Only wait. In grass, whether green or brown, for the witch to turn over the snow globe, releasing one from an autumn dream, into winter.

My Blog

these are but an introduction to many more to come in editing

Pruned SoldiersSome days, she would stand in rain-stare, as it streamed channels, waterfallsfrom cheek to puddle; her coat fluttering like desperate, bloody hands.Airplanes swooped,&nbs...
Posted by on Mon, 29 Dec 2008 06:17:00 GMT

another story

Waiting for a SonriseFrom a window, she watched a red-leaved maple tree swing. As it rained, the wind whistled through branches and ruffled leaves. She then turned to a dark-haired man, sitting on the...
Posted by on Tue, 02 Jan 2007 22:27:00 GMT

none

Life/DeathDancing home on sullen heartbeats, each stepsyncopated by each beat. Drumming my handsin fancy, in joy. Hitting the airto each dropped foot.The beat began to slow, my hands began to tire, si...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Jan 2007 22:21:00 GMT

a story

SON OF THE SERPENTA short, bruised seven-year old boy stumbled onto a box, took a sip from the fountain, and watched while the water dribbled from his lips and slithered down the drain. After he turne...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Jan 2007 03:06:00 GMT

haven't posted poems in a while so i decided to

From Cradle, to Grave, and back againDaylight was fading, a little girl swung from two ropes wrapped about a massive oak. The only sound was creaking.On a porch swing, a man drank moonshine. His white...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Jan 2007 02:51:00 GMT

ANother poem, an oldie, but still good imo

Symphony No. HarkAt midnight, she would sing. Head to wall, listening to her moan, my hands would conduct.At noon, she would escape to her Pinto. Her bony hips swaying, like harp strings my fingertips...
Posted by on Tue, 07 Nov 2006 04:12:00 GMT