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About Literature / Professional Official Beta Tester MichaeldavittMale/Unknown Recent Activity
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Michaeldavitt
Michaeldavitt
Artist | Professional | Literature
Current Residence: Andorra ~ Andorra La Vella & New Mexico
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium cool
Print preference: Large or Close Invicta - Blowzy red vixens fight for a quick jump.
Favourite genre of music: Blues, Jazz & Silent Sighs of Shiva Sleeping
Favourite photographer: Man Ray-Helmut Newton .Toni Fressel . Sally Mann . Aneta Kowalczy . Ansel Adams
Favourite style of art: Visual - why have Braille at the Drive up?
Operating System: McMac
MP3 player of choice: Our nano whoart in Nano hail nano full of song & podcast away the stone nano is with me and thee
Shell of choice: Conch resonant cavity of the shell, amplifies capillaries of the ear,it's you.you hear..listen
Wallpaper of choice: Greek Anaglypta of Hurstman Four
Skin of choice: INVISCATED Imperative & past participle
Favourite cartoon character: Clutch Cargo (Syncro-Vox) -Jonny Quest & Hadji
Personal Quote: "Tell the people to pray" Edward John Smith, April 15, 1912, Captain of the RMS Titanic

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous ~ Ingrid Bergman . . . www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKjVMC…

Blue, songs are like tattoos
You know I've been to sea before
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away
Hey Blue, there is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in
Well there're so many sinking now
You've got to keep thinking
You can make it thru these waves

Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside you'll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me

~ cat power
Interests

Activity


pHoNoFoRtEs
A character representing sound. Or. A machine invented by Thomas Edison by
which noise is recorded and reproduced. And. An instrument capable of being
attached to pianofortes and organs by means of which they are rendered.
Melographic. Capable of writing any music played upon them. For. If the
instrument makes probable this oral hahucination, you spin the record of your
reddened choice. Or. You mimic the melody and its blank harmony. You
accompany the symphony with a tenor of all tomorrows. While I, lost in the
Maze of Mirrors, ask you to tell me again the story.

You say, First. You say, Make. First, make your mouth make a sound. Speak into
the mouthpiece and cause the tremors in the thin diaphragm. Then. The steel
point makes tracings upon the hard wax. Fix the thing upon a spinning cylinder.
And. By means of the tracings, the diaphragm will repeat with perfection your
original voice. Or. The echoes in the mountains of your lamentations. As. Cries
in a haunted brothel. Or. Whispers in a ghostly tavern. The instrument has
spoken in our hearing. Listen. It is a natural outcome of the telephone. Listen.
The old man's laugh comes to us as out of a phonograph.

I say, Perfect. I say, Yet. This instrument warbles. And. This record is warped.
And. The tongue of this snake. Has scratched this disk. For. Your voice is
skipping. And. As I put the conch to my same hear, I listen to the echo of. I
listen to the echo of. The raspy susurrations of your adieu.

Applied to a person or thing that exactly reproduces the utterances of another
person or thing. Hence, the transitive verb. To report in Pitman's phonograph.
As. It is a great loss to me that your song was not phonographed and preserved.
And. Whether it be so, it is phonographed in the mind of the mindful God. All
out of sync.

~ Sandy Florian

I traded a life time of dreams ~ www.youtube.com/watch?v=CipvMp…
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amend the space both light and dark
.



    The Skyview apartments
                         circa 1973, a boy is
     kneeling on the rooftop, a boy who
                          (it is important
     to mention here his skin
                         is brown) prepares his telescope,
     the weights & rods,
                         to better see the moon. His neighbor
     (it is important to mention here
                         that she is white) calls the police
     because she suspects the brown boy
                         of something, she does not know
     what at first, then turns,
                        with her looking,
     his telescope into a gun,
                         his duffel into a bag of objects
     thieved from the neighbors’ houses
                          (maybe even hers) & the police
     (it is important to mention
                         that statistically they
     are also white) arrive to find
                         the boy who has been turned, by now,
     into “the suspect,” on the roof
                         with a long, black lens, which is,
     in the neighbor’s mind, a weapon &
                         depending on who you are, reading this,
     you know that the boy is in grave danger,
                         & you might have known
     somewhere quiet in your gut,
                         you might have worried for him
     in the white space between lines 5 & 6,
                        or maybe even earlier, & you might be holding
     your breath for him right now
                         because you know this story,
     it’s a true story, though,
                         miraculously, in this version
     of the story, anyway,
                         the boy on the roof of the Skyview lives
     to tell the police that he is studying
                         the night & moon & lives
     long enough to offer them (the cops) a view
                         through his telescope’s long, black eye, which,
     if I am spelling it out anyway,
                         is the instrument he borrowed
     & the beautiful “trouble” he went through
                         lugging it up to the roof
     to better see the leopard body of
                         space speckled with stars & the moon far off,
     much farther than (since I am spelling The Thing
                         out) the distance between
     the white neighbor who cannot see the boy
                         who is her neighbor, who,
     in fact, is much nearer
                         to her than to the moon, the boy who
     wants to understand the large
                         & gloriously un-human mysteries of
     the galaxy, the boy who, despite “America,”
                         has not been killed by the murderous jury of
     his neighbor’s imagination & wound. This poem
                        wants only the moon in its hair & the boy on the roof.
     This boy on the roof of this poem
                         with a moon in his heart. Inside my own body
     as I write this poem my body
                         is making a boy even as the radio
     calls out the Missouri coroner’s news,
                         the Ohio coroner’s news.
     2015. My boy will nod
                         for his milk & close his mouth around
     the black eye of my nipple.
                         We will survive. How did it happen?
     The boy. The cops. My body in this poem.
                         My milk pulling down into droplets of light
     as the baby drinks & drinks them down
                         into the body that is his own, see it,
     splayed & sighing as a star in my arms.
                        Maybe he will be the boy who studies stars.
     Maybe he will be (say it)
                         the boy on the coroner’s table
     splayed & spangled
                         by an officer’s lead as if he, too, weren’t made
     of a trillion glorious cells & sentences. Trying to last.
      
      
     Leadless, remember? The body’s beginning,
     splendored with breaths, turned,
     by time, into, at least, this song.
      
     This moment-made & the mackerel-“soul”
     caught flashing inside the brief moment of the body’s net,
     then, whoosh, back into the sea of space.
      
     The poem dreams of bodies always leadless, bearing
     only things ordinary
     as water & light.



     ~ Aracelis Girmay


        cross this bloody river ~ www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQMqWA…
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tawdry one eh

Lucy Locket lost her pocket

Kitty Fisher found it

Not a penny was there in it,

Only ribbon ’round it.
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forever hasn't happened yet
Crows on the a hillside
Kids in the yard
School in your lunchbox
You’re studying so hard
Your twin brother’s crying
He busted his new glasses

Mom’s gonna be mad
Probably scream for an hour
Put us in our room
& won’t give us dinner
Every morning at the school bus
I’m never, ever late
If I could just
Hold you up
for a minute
for this moment
If I could only hold you
‘til it starts to go away

We used to have some horses
I used to throw the hay
My step dad hurt somebody
& it all went away
Someday I’ll buy you glasses
that won’t ever break 

If I could just
Hold you up
for a minute
for this moment
If I could only hold you
‘til it starts to go away
‘til it starts to go away
starts to go away


~ john Doe  -  www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mXXqH…
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u tryin' to be immortal
Tryin' to fly mountain high
Are you tryin' to be immortal
Come on here's your chance
Take your dance
Say goodbye to your mother

Just let your life shine now's the
Time what you've been given will
Do just fine
Just let your love come through
Your song for the people
Listen to the voices of your soul

Are you trying to be immortal
I can see the future's been painted
Red white and blue
I won't whisper if you won't
You and I know that it ain't true
Just let your life shine now's the
Time what you've been given will
Do just fine
Just let your love come through
Your song for the people

Listen to the voices of your soul
They're tryin' to tell you
What you already know
Are you trying ot be immortal
My life's a bitch while you're livin' on the bubble
Thought I saw right
But now I think I'm seein' double
Are you tryin' to be immortal
Free the free you got to
Llook through your left eye
What you gonna do
What you gonna do
The future's been painted
Red, white and blue

~ Beth Hart





 Whole Lotta Hart  ~ www.youtube.com/watch?v=EbwggC…
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I put a smell on u

absinthe makes the hurt grow fonder
the green fairy burbles what's this 'ere
when vincent (sozzled) knifes his lug off
all spirits then succumb to fear
depression takes the gloss off wonder
and people (lost) tell god to bug off
the twentieth century drowns in sheer
excuse that life is comic blunder
temporality dons its gear
forbidden thought soon rips its gag off

stained glass (you think) must be bystander
its leaded eyes seek far not near
the day's bleak dirt it learns to shrug off

the history of the race confuses
heady spirit with bloody need
nothing can stop the sky from tingling
intrinsic hope rewords its screed
assumes it must outlive its bruises

stained glass deigns to face the mingling
of atavistic search for creed
with each desire gets what it chooses
it tries to suck out truth from greed
and calmly pacifies the wrangling

lasting spirit allows no ruses
what's bottled dreads to pay much heed
between the two meek life is dangling


Rg Gregory

Iput asmell onu bcause yurmine ~ www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-_gr4…

stOneD Again ~ www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1sa1t…
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N Hell I'll B GOOD Come Pan Knee
Dead Love couldn't go no further,
Proud of and disgusted by her,

Push shove, a little bruised and battered

Oh Lord I ain't comin home with you

My lifes a bit more colder,
Dead wife is what I told her
Brass knife sinks into my shoulder

Oh babe don't know what I'm gonna do

I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed, queen bee, my squeeze The stage it smells, tells, hells bells, knocks me on my knees

It didn't hurt, flirt, blood squirt, stuffed shirt, hang my from a tree After I count down, three rounds, in Hell ill be in good company
Dead Love couldn't go no further,

Proud of and disgusted by her,
Push shove, a little bruised and battered
Oh Lord I ain't comin home with you

My lifes a bit more colder,

Dead wife is what I told her
Brass knife sinks into my shoulder
Oh babe don't know what I'm gonna do

I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed, queen bee, my squeeze The stage it smells, tells, hells bells, misspells, knocks me on my knees It didn't hurt, flirt, blood squirt, stuffed shirt, hang my on a tree

After I count down, three rounds, in Hell ill be in good company

In Hell Ill be in Good Company



The Dead South ~ 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9FzVh…
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a box to put in your brain
h a r d   w i r e d

Your wants desires
Needs and wishes
Will be duly noted
Processed filed and cataloged
Labeled and encoded
Turned into sitcom dialog
And advertising slogans
We've got a box to put in your brain
Hard wired for downloading
All the secrets and the mysteries
You've been selfishly withholding
The dreams and hopes 
That once were yours
Will now be collected and dispersed
So the first to come with cash to spend
Will be the first one served
We've got a box to put in your brain
Hard wired for downloading
All the secrets and the mysteries
You've been selfishly withholding
Make you think you like to be watched
Displayed on the auction block
Invaded in your own home
Stripped naked on the television
Humiliated in front of millions
We've got a box to put in your brain
Hard wired for downloading
All the secrets and the mysteries
You've been selfishly withholding
We've got a box to put in your brain
We've got a box to put in your brain
We've got a box to put in your brain
We've got a box to put in your brain
Your wants desires
Needs and wishes
Will be duly noted


~ Tracy Chapman ----  www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhl2Kt…



Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
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:iconmichaeldavitt:
Michaeldavitt Featured By Owner May 13, 2017  Professional Writer
glad to see you doing great things always
Reply
:iconruimanuelr:
ruiManuelR Featured By Owner May 13, 2017
hi Michael! Thank you so much for :+fav:ing...   :thanks:
Reply
:iconchiichiichan94:
Chiichiichan94 Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanx for the fav :hug:
Reply
:iconannmloveart:
AnnMLoveArt Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2017   Digital Artist
Happy birthday Michael!  Birthday cake  icon 
Reply
:iconmecengineer:
mecengineer Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2017
Happy Birthday!
Reply
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