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About Literature / Professional Core Member Ron Ray60/Male/United States Groups :iconvicious-verse: vicious-verse
we must integrate the shadow
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Deviant for 13 Years
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Literature
Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes)
I don't remember if it was a wedding or a funeral, only the flowers...
seemed like millions of them
Soft, sorrowful, white flowers... roses or orchids?
I don't remember now, maybe magnolias...
You smiled a thin smile, your face pale, washed out.
If it was a wedding, I wasn't the groom.
A funeral, I wasn't the guest of honor.
I never could get things straight, somehow.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 53 44
Literature
Morphine Days
Sepia world, barnstorming, brainstorming, building up, looking out
Of dusty cracked windows to see it all happen, now, again, bold
Into the empty yellowed skulls piled up around the old church
Only on morphine days, though, when we fall out of grace
God, look at the crows, how many pilot their way across the sky
Obscene noises through the dust, shitting on old rusted machinery
Abandoned throughout dried-up, smashed-down stalks of corn
Here, to the left, the foundation of a house that no longer exists
There were good days here, once, weren’t there? Maybe not…
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 45 37
Literature
99 Drums
There were ninety-nine drums in the line, speaking loudly
about thin white blankets, bedsores, red Jell-O, disease
About the sky cracking and falling to earth in sharp pieces
About the old nodding out more frequently now, their
bodies shutting down for the last time, faint groans and sighs
The buttons have been pushed in sequence, no return now
Crossword puzzle books and Uno cards abandoned, TV
unwatched, drums drop out one by one until at last only
silence
Not even shouting down the halls, but whispers
I remember the trees were just beginning to turn when you left
And how a hard driving rain swept across the grounds
The sky cried all night; I took your dreamcatcher home
in the morning; there were no dreams left
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 39 36
Literature
Installation Piece
Iron thorns push through skin, I’m part of an installation piece
Flesh and bone, metal and stone, electronics
Wheeled in on a cot, phones for eyes
That never ring
But I see how they look at me; (they’re thinking)
How lonely it must be to slowly die alone
They smile anyway, good at faking it
After all, it’s their job
One day the artist will be able to push a button, and I’ll spin
My speaker-mouth will sing about snow
Only one more push allowed
And I’ll spin into space
My last human thought will not be of you, but of us, together
Sitting in the cold morning, coffee and cigarettes
Back before they began assembling us
One at a time
for departure
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 36 46
Literature
Dancing in the Streets
My brain needs food, maybe peanut butter flavored
Something to jolt it into gear, into inspiration
An old 45 on the Invictus label, or lemonade stand sun
Maybe the Necronomicon, maybe crow-dancing
Something to awaken me and start a fire downtown
Could be you, your hand grazing my cheek gently
But more likely something old and iron found in dreams
Something besides the wavering headlights in the fog
(Where the fourth line of this stanza just disappeared)
Maybe a ghost owl and a near-dead crow in a duet?
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 26 52
Literature
Places I've Been You Wouldn't Want to Go
An oil-painted robust cowboy riding beneath epic Western skies
But a dark cloud passed, a tumor grew, dreams rotted and festered; yippi-ki-yi-yay,
Goodbye.
A dark court of one-story apartment buildings, hazardous, broken
Decorated by a rusty tricycle, mops on back porches, dead dolls
Fear of the one-armed man;
Goodbye, goodbye.
An old man with the smell of disease about him lies in thin blankets
A faucet is dripping, a clock ticking, a dog howls mournfully outside
Empty bottle of pills;
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 40 47
Literature
Three Pears
Three pears on a wooden table, light and shadow
Texture, composition, color; who cares?
A black cat looks on, curious but lazy
Pick up your brush and paint
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 9 10
Literature
The New Beat
Spools, large and wooden, empty now
The kind that used to hold industrial cable
The rhythm of the trucks have left their song
Imprinted upon them, all down the borderlands
Cryptic drawings and messages scrawled with knives
Ola, T’kia, Celestial Dawn, all have danced there
Beneath the moonlight’s unerring eye,
(I was up above it)
Redemption for a dollar, smooth-skinned,
(Now I’m down in it)
Stranglewood, gangrenous, limbs protruding
Jungle drums mixed with a wealth of tangled wire
Ghostly incantations, chanting, fires burning
All in Ohio’s darkest regions, like hell, like chainsaws
Unkempt and unclean, Guinevere drew pentagrams
Atop the spools in chalk, a candle for each corner
Beneath the stars’ cold blue eyes,
(I was up above it)
A thousand years of dead weight falls,
(Now I’m down in it)
Sally go ‘round the roses/ram/ram/ram/shake
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 30 45
Literature
The Black Clowns are Back
Twenty-four black clowns getting out of a hearse
Throwing moon pies at the doors of the unsuspecting
Dancing in the dark streets, singing woeful tunes
Brenda, where are you? Come to the window
Twenty-four crows baked into a crusty moon pie
Still alive, cawing “Stop the madness!” with vigor
We all forgot where we were for a moment
Until Connie appeared at the window and sang
Twenty-four women sang my water-dripping song
Christiane leading, lilting, trickling in the night
The black clowns played on, yesterday’s dark jazz
But they never lifted their voices in song again
Twenty-four open windows, chorus in black robes
Evenly matched, paralyzed, Spanish Angel Eyes
Who’ll come down to the pot-holed streets with me?
To slow-dance, sparkle-sing, and moon-cry?
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 18 16
Literature
Fire Dance
The way of the world, dancing, bright colored dreams, biting into life like a plump orange. Soul to soul, the sound of crowds and music reverberate, singing “Summer! Summer! Summer!” When the day lasts as long as it wants before retiring into smooth starlit night, we pair off and head down to the lake, the holiest of holies. Beads braided into our hair, faces painted, we sing the songs of our ancestors. We make love, ignoring all those things which would make these days unreal. These are the best days and nights, tattooed upon our hearts. This is where we awaken and dream. This is where we learned the Fire Dance so long ago.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 19 16
Lesions by Bark Lesions :iconbark:Bark 14 32
Literature
Sax
And suddenly the music stopped, save for one lonely sax; wailing through the darkness like a lost child, drifting in and out of the smoke. Drone. Whisper. Reeling drunkenly, bouncing off shadows. Just when everyone was entranced, beginning to dream, it happened. The sax broke out into an orgasmic series of notes, rough and real, cutting through the room like a mad blizzard of sound and motion. Fever. Frenzy. Fury. Then the rest of the band stepped back in and the spell was broken. The sax man receded and lit a cigarette.  
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 58 56
Literature
King
Soul juice poured out of long-neck bottles, drained voraciously by the shadow people in this dark place. This place where dreams are jokes, and the high are the mighty. Stand up and read sloshed poetry, you’re an amazing wordsmith here where there are no limitations, nothing more than the breath of the dying. Here, you are king; king of this shriveled and debilitated world, yes, but king. Until someone turns on the monster in the corner, and suddenly you’re hearing Jim Morrison… “learn to forget….” Sit down, king of idiots, king of graffiti-sprayed dumpsters, king of disheveled rooms with dirty sheets. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere. Drink now, until the hammers stop banging in your head. Fall into the soft darkness and find a quiet place to die. Tomorrow you’ll wake up dead, but you won’t know it.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 27 28
Literature
Chemo
5:30 am, get up and get ready for them to pump poison into my veins. I don’t mind my hair falling out, it’s this damned pain that always returns, no matter what new medicine they give me. Four hours of sitting, doing nothing, then feeling weak and disoriented afterwards. Fun times, huh? I only need thirty-seven naps a day. Try to make myself eat and drink water. 124 lbs I weigh… my girlfriend looks at me with sad eyes. She thinks I’ll die soon. Maybe I will, I don’t know. But for now, it’s off to chemo.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 24 84
Literature
MG
A vintage white MG speeds down an empty highway. West, to California. West, into the sunset. West, into that bright and colorful land of dead dreams. The driver knows, but doesn’t care. The wind in his hair is enough for now. Once there, once he sees the Pacific, he’ll drive north up the coast into the land of rain. There’s a woman there, one he knew long ago. They’ll embrace, open a bottle of Riesling, read poetry to each other. Maybe. If she hasn’t moved on. He doesn’t think so, though; her temple is here, she wouldn’t leave it. He hopes.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 23 28
Literature
Copper
A bitter taste in my mouth, I walked down to the town square. The sky was moving sideways, racing cloud shadows across the ground. Everything was so damned green, fresh, new. I sat on a bench in front of the clock tower and waited. A tank slowly moved down Main Street, firing randomly at the old buildings. Speakers were playing ‘Abaddon’s Bolero’ at full volume. I decided that the bitterness I tasted was copper. Everything seemed to move so slowly under the swift-moving skies. Still, I waited. I waited all day for your ghost to arrive, but you never came. I’d wanted so badly to recapture that old memory. A sickly, small King Kong climbed up the clock tower. Still tasting copper, I went home to our old empty apartment on Church Street. Nothing interesting happens without you here with me. Maybe you’ll come tomorrow.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 26 32

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Literature
Mind Games pt 3 Welcome to the machine
Mind Games  pt 3               Welcome to the machine
We walked together across the soft, powdery yellow earth, Morphingus, Quaternity and I; who ever or whatever I was, until we reached a small metal door set into a much larger pair of doors that took up most of the front elevation of this rust coloured building. Morphingus opened it and showed me in. Trank was sitting at a console full of screens showing incomprehensible, colour coded graphics which pulsed with electronic life. One of the screens appeared to show a view of the console itself and Trank from somewhere near the door. I walked towards it and it bloomed in my vision until I was looking into it and staring down an infinite corridor of screens, each showing a small picture of itself. There was even a 'video tape delay' effect, like that used in the early Dr WHO titles. The corridor bent and twisted as I moved my head. It made me feel dizzy.
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Literature
Mind Games Number TWO 'OUCH!'
"!The Mind Games  2                      Ouch!
I could sense the damage almost at once and the pain followed a split second later. It was much more intense than I expected but duller, as if I'd hit myself with a tack hammer. I withdrew the pencil and glimpsed some bluish grey strands of something before my 'skin' closed up around the wound, leaving a puncture that leaked a slightly viscous translucent pink fluid. I was shocked and horrified, as well as bewildered. Without thinking I jabbed the pencil into the hand that Morphingus was even then bringing up in front of his face. He pivoted on his right foot and struck me with a low left jab that caught me just under the sternum.
Vagal inhibition kicked in at once and I bent forward and leaned on the desk, unable to draw breath. My left hand hurt like hell. I looked upwards at Morphingus as he retreated behind the computer desk and addressed the webcam above the flat screen.
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Literature
Ravenous
Bones.  You saw them before you even saw her.
The all-too-visible quiver of her jaundiced skin
tightening over well-kept secrets; skeletal protrusions.
Above all, I noticed her sarcastic slouch, vertebrae sticking out in a slump.
She would persist, boasting of womanly fullness while the emaciated truth
jutted out at her pelvis.
She wasn’t just hungry, she was ravenous.
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:iconemaciatedandepitaphs:EmaciatedandEpitaphs 102 20
Literature
If there be thorns
House of cards;
I was an unsafe child,
growing up in downtown Detroit.
Friend, trust me..
You weren't there
to see the way fire and rain
clashed in my Lego dreams,
turning my eyes a devastating color;
that of a zombie, wicked steel blue,
then merman green.
Oh you would've run away
if you had seen me then, I'm sure..
There was nothing innocent and sweet
about that smirk that sometimes
emerges in old photographs now
when I look back, dig up the dusty
old shoe-box hidden in the attic,
in the basements of my bipolar brain.
You say I'm a survivor..
You look at me like I'm a hero
in a graphic novel,
fighting bad guys all through
a silver lake city-scape in marble.
Friend, don't you know me at all?
I'm just a victim of circumstance.
I had to get out, one way or another..
When I was ten, I saw
the war at home for the first time;
my brother against my dad,
my dad against me; and my mother
standing stoic, frozen in a corner.
Demons rose from Nana's fireplace,
it was like a house of cards, crashi
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Ron Ray
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
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Smile! (personal)

Journal Entry: Thu Feb 26, 2015, 11:15 AM
Most of you know that I have some health problems, but I've decided not to let it get me down. We all have problems throughout life; personal, family, financial... a host of different types of problems. We plow through them until we reach the other side. That's what I'm going to do. No whining or bitching and moaning... every day is a gift, and I'm going to use these gifts to try and do something positive with them. :)

Thank you all for being here. That's why I've stayed on this site for ten years; the good, kind people who inhabit it and give it a real sense of community. Thanks, my friends!

This Journal Skin was designed by Night-Beast

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:iconartin2007:
artin2007 Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2017
...so much enduring work...
Reply
:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2017
Dear Ron - two years - has it been that long?  I hope for you, wherever you are, that time is not even a memory now.  That the song of those of us reading your works aloud will have you humming along.  Always, your friend - Jadey
Reply
:iconshyll-j:
Shyll-j Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
I didn't ~really~ know you, as we never met, but you left an impression upon my mind....enough so I feel the need to visit this page ever so often---even as you are gone. But then as Einstein and many others have expressed, time is an illusion and perhaps so is death. If so, we shall meet again, even though we never really met.
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:iconwdwparksgal:
WDWParksGal Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017
Dear Bark, you are missed :sadangel:
Reply
:iconmilenareinherz:
milenareinherz Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Yes, very much... :(
Reply
:iconme2smart4u:
Me2Smart4U Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017  Student Digital Artist
:party: Happy Birthday :party:
I Hope U Have A Blessed And Wonderful Day.
May All Your Wishes Come True :heart:
:hug::heart::love::heart::blowkiss::heart::glomp:
Reply
:iconwdwparksgal:
WDWParksGal Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017
Just to let you know, Bark passed away a few years ago.
Reply
:iconme2smart4u:
Me2Smart4U Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017  Student Digital Artist
OMG...I have been posting a birthday wish on his page almost every year..
I always try to keep in touch with my friends here on DA..
I am sorry to hear that he has passed away... 
thank you so very much  I truly appreciate you sending me this message.. 
My thoughts and prayers are with his family :heart:
Reply
:iconmetal-bender:
Metal-Bender Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017   Photographer
:blackrose::hug:
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