~hands-down182

Joshua

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About Me Member Antagonist hands-down18223/Male/United States

Recent Activity Deviant for 5 Years
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FloyDman meets White Ninja

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SunburstDamn this infernal machine. Just let me wail and scream for a night And then I’ll stop.
I torture myself when you’re away. In the night, when the moonlight plays, I pick at old wounds, not-quite-healed wounds; I re-read volumes of sad, somber, jealous poetry, Searching for a reason for its being, But finding none.  I open to the beginning again.
The room is too small for me. (Or am I too tall for it?) That’s how you make me feel, love: Like my heart is drifting out to sea.
I tried to write you a poem— A verse Sunburst
by ~hands-down182

A Poem in Free Verse:A Poem in Free Verse:
"A wild mane of grey hair, Grey beard"--a poem I heard on the radio By a poet I cannot name; And while the words, Read in soft-spoken baritone, Struck me dumb with thought, It was only to wonder how She devided it: With a comma, Or a dash?
- Joshua D. Beachy     November 20, 2007 A Poem in Free Verse:
by ~hands-down182

An Ode to LonelinessAn Ode to Loneliness
There’s storm clouds rolling in tonight. The wind’s got my cat in an awful fright, But my eyes are grey and void of light. There’s a book my hand is gripping tight. The thunder can scream with all its might. Nothing can shake me tonight.
My mind is trailing off of the lines Of poetry I’m reading to pass the time. My soul is bewailing this cell of my design. So I close the book and my eyes to repine. Everyone questions their place in time, And tonight I’m questioning mine.
If the world really is one c An Ode to Loneliness
by ~hands-down182

The Bird“The Bird”
I’ll not be the bird with a broken wing That’s too wounded to fly or sing. I used to shake at your slightest grin. I’ll not tremble for you again. It’s not that your power has ceased, But my will to resist has increased. Since you insisted that I desist The changes in your eyes still persist; And you will never look at me the same, Let alone remember the roll of your name As it was wont to fall from my lips, Even if you’ll always know the way they kiss. At least, your taste never left my tongue After all the The Bird
by ~hands-down182

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Where do deleted files go?

Sat May 26, 2007, 8:14 AM

Mood: Desperate
Listening to: Dustin Kensrue
Reading: The Decline of the English Murder by Orwell
Watching: nothing now that Heroes is over
Playing: Kingdom Hearts II
Eating: ham sandwiches usually.
Drinking: Berry Lemonade

So I deleted all my old journal entries. . .
They sickened me.
I'd delete all my poetry if I had an actual copy of it, but I gave all my journals--save two--to Rachel a long time ago.
Speaking of Rachel. . .She's getting married on June thirtieth. . .I don't even know why I care anymore.
Really, it's 11:02 in the morning and I haven't slept since yesterday. I really haven't slept since Sunday. I started to slept last night, but I was awakened after four hours. I didn't know where I was or what day it was. I can't sleep. I keep waking up after a few hour because of some dream. Whether it's a dream about being killed by a bomb or something to do with her. . .
I've been working almost every night of the week, and when you work third shift that can become draining. I have no time for videogames, though I find time for books. I finished C. S. Lewis' Surprised by Joy in two days. Excellent book. One of his best.
I'm working on a long poem with a couple stanzas about getting older and being lonely. I've become infatuated with a girl at work. She's beautiful and literary.
FloyDman has changed hands. It's now done by myself and my friend Chandler. He does the art and I do the writing. But I may do some "demo" projects with the original stickman style comics.
That's all for now. . .

8 Comments | Previous Journal Entries

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Devious Info

Current Residence: Illinois
Interests: Literature, music, tea, history, folklore, British peerage
Favourite movie: Wicker Park, Old School, Mallrats, Donnie Darko, Stay, There Will Be Blood
Favourite band or musician: The Get Up Kids, Mae, Jimmy Eat World, Death Cab For Cutie, Relient K, The Decemberists
Favourite genre of music: punk rock, indie, hardcore
Favourite poet or writer: poets - Byron, Wordsworth, Emerson, Sandburg. writers - C.S. Lewis, Dickens, Chesterton, Austin
Favourite style of art: I'm going through a medieval and romantic craze right now in all art forms
MP3 player of choice: Zune, but it broke
Favourite game: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy Tactics, Metal Gear Solid 3, Kingdom Hearts
Favourite gaming platform: Role Playing Game or action/adventure
Favourite cartoon character: Calvin and/or Hobbes
Personal Quote: Life is like a horse wearing a suit and smoking a cigar: hard to explain.
Tools of the Trade: My black, Champs brand mechanical pencil and my journel.

Website: http://www.myspace.com/22047516
Email: josiah182@msn.com
MSN: josiah182@msn.com
Yahoo: hands_down182

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Comments

~kitten-in-a-toaster Dec 11, 2007, 12:20:36 PM

You + Live = Now!

lol, I'm not good at math. But you get the point. Submit more stuffs nao!

--
-Katrina

~art-luv-tmy Sep 10, 2006, 1:31:44 PM

Yeah, thanks again for yet another

--
_{There Are 10 Types Of People In This world. Those Who Understand Binary And Those Who Do Not.}

"May he_{(Michael Jackson)} be moonwalking with angels, now."-~Neodusk

~art-luv-tmy Jul 17, 2006, 12:37:46 PM

Thank you so very much for the

--
_{There Are 10 Types Of People In This world. Those Who Understand Binary And Those Who Do Not.}

"May he_{(Michael Jackson)} be moonwalking with angels, now."-~Neodusk

~art-luv-tmy Apr 20, 2006, 8:47:05 PM

Thank you for the Add and thank you for the fave on Tumnus.

I appreciate it.

--
_{There Are 10 Types Of People In This world. Those Who Understand Binary And Those Who Do Not.}

"May he_{(Michael Jackson)} be moonwalking with angels, now."-~Neodusk

~lauraspeaksoftly Mar 30, 2006, 3:55:04 AM

ahaha no worries its def a good thing

~hands-down182 Apr 13, 2006, 8:35:16 PM

what is a good thing?

--
There must, whether the gods see it or not, be something great in the mortal soul. For suffering, it seems, is infinite, and our capacity without limit.

- from Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis