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About Literature / Artist I am Siam, hear me roar.Female/South Africa Recent Activity
Deviant for 10 Years
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My titles never friggin' fit.
And If You Cannot Find Me
After You Have Looked In All Of These Places,
Then Look To The Rooftops
Unimaginable Quantities of Ink and Ingenuity
As the Indigo Children Bowed Their Heads
God Save the Outcasts
The Unbearable Burden of Somnambulism
Or even
Just One More Day
Always: Just One More Day
Tonight, we shall sleep on the rooftops
Our days of living
By the simple truths of thorn trees
Are over
And the dogs are never coming home
So, tonight, we shall sleep on the rooftops
(Like Sean Lance, we shall scale the buildings)
We shall summon the Indigo Children
Summon them to the rooftops
For the rooftops, they say, are free of uncertainty
When the houses smell of twilight
When the moon’s gravitational force is turned against it
When the grass sprouts green and cool
We shall journey to the rooftops
(Like Sean Lance, we will stand, looking down)
The skies will be a projection of our dreams:
A seething mass of hats and hands
Of entangled words and paisley patterns
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It's a fiendish thingy.
A Knowledge of the Future, as written in the Past, being read in the Present
The paint on the dollhouse is peeling
“Tall tales in the subway
New members are found
Wicker basket, windowsill
All you see, all you see
“Empty!” (To the dust and the rain)”
The paint on the dollhouse is peeling
“Arrows on the staircases
Trilby hats on broken heads
Scratches on the banister
Crumbling moss, twisting cracks
Shadow puppets against the grass blades”
The paint on the dollhouse is peeling
“Small messages in bathroom stalls
(I feel I don’t have time)
Ironed, buttoned, collared shirts
(My hands are slipping)
Heated tar against our palms
(I’ll have to leave you soon)
Cold, cold chains and homesick blues
(I have forgotten what rainwater tastes like)
Octopus, Oedipus, mattresses, ropes
(This will soon have been my childhood)”
The paint on the dollhouse is peeling
Five minutes
Five minutes, please, to write it all down
I am afraid of forgetting
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Woo, surrealism
I Suppose You Could Call It That
At first I don’t see the roses blooming on your blue shirt
(You seem to be leaking, Neal Adams)
At first I don’t see your stagger
(Your ideas are dribbling down your chest)
How you look up at the moon’s face and plead for help
(There will be no redemption tonight)
Perhaps now, Neal Adams, that everything is over
We can ease our feet in the waters of the Lethe
Perhaps now we can dictate dreams about what wasn’t
The circus lights are bright  
And the gun is still smoking
Executioner, sever me from my shadow
This is no time for nostalgia
Watchman, what is left of the night?
Where are the songs that clung to our boots?
There are still porches, Neal Adams,
There are still swings
But our fingers are tangled now,
And can no longer pluck out music
Everywhere I go there are guitars, Neal Adams
Everywhere I go
Jeremiah, who repairs shadows, has been sobbing all night
“Pinocchio,” he says to me,
“The sky is falling.
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Living on the Edge by the-Uber-Cheezgrater Living on the Edge :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 1 4 Night Reconnaissance by the-Uber-Cheezgrater Night Reconnaissance :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 1 2 Got a rainbow in my pocket by the-Uber-Cheezgrater Got a rainbow in my pocket :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 1 7 New DeviantID by the-Uber-Cheezgrater New DeviantID :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 3 9 The Blurred Man- Picture by the-Uber-Cheezgrater The Blurred Man- Picture :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 4 8
The Mender-Man
The Mender-Man
Have you ever cast a broken watch into the rubbish bin?
Have you ever gotten rid of a much-used violin?
Or perhaps you’ve done away with a shoe that lost its sole
Wrapped it up in plastic bags and tossed it in a hole
But in your destructive life, have you ever stopped to wonder
What happens to these object that get carelessly torn asunder?
Let me tell you of the place where broken objects go to rest
It’s beyond the craggy outcrop where the eagle builds her nest
West, towards the sunset, over Neverland’s cobalt blue sea
Through a locked, wooden door for which there is no key
Down a ladder-less hole that goes straight through the earth
Out the other side and follow a seventy-mile firth
If all goes well, you will arrive at a valley, vast and sheer
Everything anyone has ever discarded has somehow ended up here
There are mile-high piles of books with lost pages
Microphones and podiums that once stood on stages
An ornately carved wooden cross, bearing our Saviou
:iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 5 12
Liberty by the-Uber-Cheezgrater Liberty :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 1 5
Yes, another poem.
To Make a Socially Acceptable Novel
From the back of my mind, I extracted a small, pure truth
That contained all the innocence and beauty of youth
I put it inside a soft, black leather pouch
And hid it for three years under the couch
I added a small obscenity, just, of course, for show
Before taking it to the kitchen and kneading it like dough
At night, I kept it close to where I rested my head
Where it whispered to me secrets of all things unsaid
I toasted it over a fire until it was shrunken and crisp
And all juvenility rose from it in a wisp
One gram of normality and two cups of detestation
Was all it took to eradicate every revelation
I dipped it in gold and wrapped it in a thousand lies
So as to make it less frightening in society’s eyes
Together with half a can of malice, I boiled it until hard
And when at last, I took it out, my truth was intolerably marred
As I bound the pages together, I thought back to the very start
When the novel had been woven from the thin strands of
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What I lost and where it went
What I lost and where it went
There was a hole in my pocket, as I walked home one day
I thought nothing of it, and by this thought was led astray
For in my pocket was a number of irreplaceable things
There were letters and chewing gum and a few arbitrary strings
There were memories of childhood, of love and liberty
A few old brass coins and scattered pieces of tranquillity
There was one forgotten language and many forgotten days
There was a wooden box, and inside it, ten golden sunrays
There was a crimson rose, with only two petals still intact
There were several pages of Hamlet- only the last act.
And the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, which I always kept close at hand
For I had a love for words that few could understand
My autobiography was there, scribbled down on Post-it notes
A few glass vials, and inside them, miniscule boats
There was a lightbulb that ignited by the power of thought
And a cardboard box containing every battle ever fought
There was one ounce of affection in a small
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Celestial Mango Trees
Celestial Mango Trees
I was walking through a storm
Down a narrow country lane
When I saw a man clad in tweed,
Standing in the rain
He turned to me,
No expression on his face
And said, quite seriously,
“I’m going to leave this place.
For this wondrous life we are given
Is much too short to waste
On trite things such as tragedy
And conformity and food with bad taste.
We are each given proverbial crayons
To do with whatever we will
But if we conform to society
Our ideas will be worth nil.
You see, the world’s creative thought
Has been wrecked beyond repair
Most of our number have sold their souls
After being caught in society’s snare
Just a handful of the global population
Still remain truly independent and free
And we few must stand together
Under the world’s shroud of orthodoxy
But the day will come when
We leave the place that we call home
And I shall go and find us another abode
Where we can confront the unknown
But I resolve to return here
To collect those w
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deviantID by the-Uber-Cheezgrater deviantID :iconthe-uber-cheezgrater:the-Uber-Cheezgrater 1 14
The Musings of a Desperate Man
The Musings of a Desperate Man
Lying here, in a fresh-dug trench,
My trousers soaked with blood
Lying here, a dead man, surely
Facedown in reeking mud
The sky is filled with crimson smoke
As though the blood has stained it so
Through a veil of dust and smog
The moon is brightly aglow
Stacked sandbags and barbed wire
Provide little shelter
Here below there is putrid death
Above, the desperate welter
Flechette bombs, missiles
And machine guns bring death
A fellow soldier beside me
Lets out his final breath
Impressive cities, luxurious spacecraft
Are now all things of the past
Here, in the midst of mishap and death
I wonder how long our world will last
They told us androids were safe machines
That they were not, in fact, alive
Now we’re fighting: It’s us against them
With little likelihood to survive
A.I. was suddenly dominant
As automatons swarmed our streets
They came by air on jet planes
They came by sea in fleets
First, they took our weapons
Then they took our lives
They mov
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Title's too long again
Calamity, Bereavement and Buttered Toast
This is a story about a man by the name of Simon Fields and his breakfast. Simon was a man of vast calculations, endless numbers and exceptionally few words. His breakfast spoke even less. Considering his bland personality and even blander wardrobe, it was only suitable that he should become an accountant. He worked at a large square building that seemed to be all concrete and no soul. The building, Simon knew, was exactly 532 strides from his flat.
Every morning Simon awoke promptly at 7:32. He allowed himself exactly 3 minutes to wake fully before taking a shower that lasted precisely 6 minutes. Thereafter he brushed his teeth for one minute and dressed in a grey suit, a white shirt and a blue tie. When he was feeling particularly cheerful or adventurous, he sometimes wore a dark blue tie. It would now be 7:50. After running a comb through his hair four times, he went to the kitchen and inserted a slice of white bread into the toaster, where i
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Blue Rose: Shadowgate by vebelfetzer Blue Rose: Shadowgate :iconvebelfetzer:vebelfetzer 997 112 Torrent by abyssfull Torrent :iconabyssfull:abyssfull 85 17 Biological Clock by abyssfull Biological Clock :iconabyssfull:abyssfull 19 11 Lost Hope by SyntheticMind Lost Hope :iconsyntheticmind:SyntheticMind 1 7 victory by b-r-u-t-a-l victory :iconb-r-u-t-a-l:b-r-u-t-a-l 55 28 The Leaving Lady by b-r-u-t-a-l The Leaving Lady :iconb-r-u-t-a-l:b-r-u-t-a-l 105 26 baaaaaaaaaang by lora-zombie baaaaaaaaaang :iconlora-zombie:lora-zombie 379 89 Ride at Dusk by Cruxenjeru Ride at Dusk :iconcruxenjeru:Cruxenjeru 4 0 Acquisition by debruehe Acquisition :icondebruehe:debruehe 2,052 195 Suicide Typography by TeiHz Suicide Typography :iconteihz:TeiHz 697 102 Suicide Letter by debruehe Suicide Letter :icondebruehe:debruehe 308 47 Svieciantis miestas by Jurgis Svieciantis miestas :iconjurgis:Jurgis 8 16 DEATHNOTE-- Encounter by DarkChildx2k DEATHNOTE-- Encounter :icondarkchildx2k:DarkChildx2k 3,836 328 Rebellion_remixed by batetooz Rebellion_remixed :iconbatetooz:batetooz 35 43 TiananmenToday by sorutsuripu TiananmenToday :iconsorutsuripu:sorutsuripu 1 0
Wine glasses
Dum da dum
Dum da dum

I'm listening for heart beats in shadows
That jump out at me like
the violets your numb hands ripped out from the earth.
I'm reaching for a hint of my reflection in you,
Perfection in you,
That won't ever be found.
I'm waiting for you somewhere
Lying under pianos
And drinking in the cold harsh music
Ringing out from the vibrations
You're still trying to rub the taste
of that biting whiskey your father left you
off the roof of your mouth.
It was the only kind you could get your hands on,
so we learned to trace new picture frames
on the empty walls we drew
with dust covered fingertips
I always knew you were something divine
Because you smelled like my grandmother's perfume
And looked like Aphrodite had leaned down
and set a kiss upon your cheek
the day of your birth
Your hands were so delicate,
as though da Vinci himself
drew his paint brush from the canvas
and outlined your long pointed fingers
with untainted pigments
I still feel those fingers on my face
:iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 10 24



I am Siam, hear me roar.
Artist | Literature
South Africa
Current Residence: The corner of No and Where
MP3 player of choice: Creative Zen. iPod is overrated
Favourite cartoon character: Chef Brian, from ctrl+alt+del
Personal Quote: Where there is fire, we will carry gasoline.


Add a Comment:
DouglasHumphries Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2008
---> thanks for the fav !
the-Uber-Cheezgrater Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2008   Writer
No problem. :D Your art is incredible.
DouglasHumphries Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2008
...thank you kindly.
get-philosophical Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2008
I'm baaaaaack.

And I have lots of writing to post!
LittleLottexo Featured By Owner May 20, 2008  Hobbyist Writer

Why thank you for the support!
sorutsuripu Featured By Owner May 15, 2008
Thx for the fav!


Greetings to SA
badaily Featured By Owner May 12, 2008

hi there.
I'm a friend of =LittleLottexo and I love your username. You're kewl. =]
the-Uber-Cheezgrater Featured By Owner May 15, 2008   Writer
Hehehe, well, thank you very much. :D
Kalagarn Featured By Owner May 2, 2008
Theu have been taggeth once again!
LittleLottexo Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2008  Hobbyist Writer


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