linxinpei

Sapphire

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Control by linxinpei, literature

what we all want by linxinpei, literature

never write again by linxinpei, literature

Literature

never write again

i want to burn the words until they simmer in smoky veins of unfinished stories like they are, grasp them by their spines and pull, bead by joint. i want to press upon this shiny pearl, this layered tulle atoms and watch them shiftslide and butterflybend their hinged wings. "I don't understand," god says as he lines and twists secrets and foamy mysteries together, making them bite their palms. a helix. he motions, and air closes over it, full-bellied now. there are now snowflakes teething on my skin and grooves where they gather in my sleep. they press dark fingers to my eyes and carve thickly their history-thoughts, i try to explain.

Mad scientist by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Mad scientist

They first met at a party, under a dark glass sky spider-webbed with lightning. He was standing there, clutching a worn volume of Frankenstein when she, leaning against the sliding glass door, said it was beautiful. He stared at her. She laughed," The most beautiful things are poisonous. Like butterflies." She grinned, "Well, Frankenstein-boy, aren't you going to tell me your name?" They were awkward introductions and stuttered jokes, clammy hands and monarch wings in smiles. She laughed at all his jokes, and he collected the precious beads of words, storing them for private perusal. At one in the morning he left, with her cursives tuck

Mentor by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Mentor

This is how you braid the alphabets, weaving them into garlands smelling of light and rawness. We're up to our ankles in blistering blue grasses, noses cold and sweat threading through hair. Over, up and under. That's right. Keep going. Here is where you place the beginning, the clash of hungry clouds and tumbling innards, guess-games of favourite colours and hobbies. Your father and I used to play Scrabble in void decks, tapping the sick-yellow tiles into big words like 'agoraphobia' and 'tintinnabulation'. Don't worry about them, you'll learn in time, twist and bend - you will carve the names of people yet to be like tattoos of bloodstre

For a boy - by linxinpei, literature

Literature

For a boy -

(a) This is love, then: eyes that could not be opened wide enough to frame you. I tell myself that living things are real but you defy science, because I know your cells are not made of lipids but magic. How else would you know how to spell the most difficult words, would your skin and eyes be the exact shade of sparrows softened under shady leaves? We are to write a story, a story on our favourite toy, and my mind was twig basket casting out for sleek lies that darted like fishes in silver imagination: dolls, slides, the swing in the playground where I had pushed too hard and ended tasting a meal of crumbled-spine sand bodies, wriggling be

heartbeats are silent by linxinpei, literature

Literature

heartbeats are silent

i. Because a respectable woman must not. Because I whisper your name in my clay ribcage and let the sounds, softer than the sea in the shell, embrace my heart. Because of sweat and late night turnings and insomnia as I whispered the depraved name to the ceiling that tires of my stories and stows me away from the skies in ignominy, and how my heartbeat now sounds like the terkterkterking of your fingers marching their angry tempest lullaby across the keys. I finally unstitch my lips, sewn by sour and leaden weights in my belly, and let butter-legged emotions slide relieved from my tongue, unfurling their demon wings to steal my lungs away in

Winter solstice festival by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Winter solstice festival

冬至 (Winter solstice) 8 p.m. Cold floors and habitual silence, we let the television hosts be our conversation, ladling near-perfect pronunciation into our wooden lips and flat tongues. Darling's ruddy face is praying in the direction of his belly, inundating carefully, slowly. You are unaccustomed to the language, tong shui, heady and thick through your teeth. We inhale steam whiskers, and I watch you scrape the sesame filling with a fork. Chopsticks? No, no. Too painful on your fingers, you said, they press calligraphy onto paper flesh. The sweetness trickles on my tongue, then like nostalgia you ri

The Infamous Merlion Poem by linxinpei, literature

Literature

The Infamous Merlion Poem

Tonight is clear and starry out, and street lamps slather light with soft tongues. One day I will fall apart and disintegrate, but do not weep by my grave. I plead of you nothing but two favors: remember me, somewhere, nestled in the crook of your plastercine mind, somewhere. Someday I will not be able to watch over your every second, your every breath, count the stars and moons with you, but promise me you will carry on. I know one day I'll be forgotten, but the indelible relics of your passing will pass through my metal veins. I'll remember.

Dreams of Death by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Dreams of Death

There is a world full of supine children, fallen angels with small statures, little men and women who dream vivid dreams beneath the shades of eyelids. Their back kisses cloud mattresses that smell of flowers and soap, their heads little droplets of flesh and bone which sits snug in the embrace of pillowcases. The ceiling they see, with eyes open and closed, are graphite black – an infinite lacuna elongating its spinal cord up into a sky with no clouds or any distinguishing of colour. All children are graphite black. All souls are graphite black。 I say black, graphite black, because there is no such fixed co

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Control by linxinpei, literature

what we all want by linxinpei, literature

never write again by linxinpei, literature

Literature

never write again

Mad scientist by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Mad scientist

Mentor by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Mentor

For a boy - by linxinpei, literature

Literature

For a boy -

heartbeats are silent by linxinpei, literature

Literature

heartbeats are silent

Winter solstice festival by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Winter solstice festival

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i want to tell you by Aquarius-Claire, literature

Literature

i want to tell you

imagine a world without gender a world where we are not confined to the arbitrary interpretations of an inexact biology. imagine we could rise above the places below our waists, reside instead in graceful hands, in angled cheekbones in some deeper conception than this skewed perception of you. I strip myself bare of unforgiving flesh, squinting behind dim caverns of girl parts-- what are girl parts? all we have are beating hearts. I sit inside this trembling body, shoulder to hunched shoulder, stacks of bones too unsure to be brave enough to tell you that my gender will never fit on the plastic sign above a bathroom door. a

the artist. by momo-madness, literature

Literature

the artist.

01. the sky was earl grey and the clouds were steamy sips and i wanted to drink it all. 02. the leaves were star yellow and the bark smelled of coffee and the bakery was selling a moon made out of cheese. 03. there was an old man on a bench he threw his wedding band in the sewer i cried for him. 04. the birds were dreams and the mountains, my obstacles, tally ho young adventurer tally ho 05. i ran into an artist today he drew signs on corner post buildings but he also gave his lunch to a homeless boy. 06. my mom holds black holes beneath her eyes and for the first time in days, she spoke to me, "i'm worried about you.

Deviation Spotlight

Mad scientist by linxinpei, literature

Literature

Mad scientist

linxinpei

About linxinpei

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Artist // Student // Literature

Sep 6, 1994
Singapore
Deviant for 16 years
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: Within the spun words of literature
Favourite genre of music: Chinese/Japanese pop, horror punk
MP3 player of choice: Hopefully I'd get my ipod this christmas!
Skin of choice: ...As in animal skin or human?
Personal Quote: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. --Dante

Favourite Visual Artist

You.

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

None at the moment.

Favourite Writers

I wish it was myself, but I'd be lying if it was.

Tools of the Trade

My computer, keyboard, my brain, my (limited and pathetic) creativity

Other Interests

Reading manga, writing, listening to songs

Posts

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linxinpei

Feb 6, 2010

i am beautiful

0 min read

You know you're an artist/writer when you are upset as fuck and you use words to convey your frustration and sadness, hammer out the disjointed tunes on your keyboard or speak in run-on sentences that seem almost poetic. Heck, I get poetic when I'm upset, and I don't know why. An inspirational poem I'm planning to stick under my desk came out. If it's good enough I'll move it to the gallery. Yes, I know you're wincing at how bad it is. I never claimed to be a poet, but a wannabe. Yes, I know the structure is terrible, so help me improve it if you can. So here goes: I am beautiful. I am beautiful because I can laugh while crying, and prete

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linxinpei

Dec 29, 2009

Don't bother reading this.

0 min read

goddamn, i  have a migraine. Words: Split splint Splinter, thought-sounds and image-dreams. we swallow skewered nails, throats arcing to hold the waves undulating sour cracks in eyes scream bounding from the kids two floors below god, i hate kids. wish they could curl up and die. when they are in pain, screams are more like Beethoven. woman, convulsive moaner, nagging      woodpecker, high-pitched only i think a wood pecker would be more forgiving. to show how this poem is turning out really badly I SHALL GET A KNIFE from the kitchen stab. blood-coloured fireworks and, Wearing copper like perfume, problem solved. or

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linxinpei

Apr 24, 2009

CAP 2009 -

0 min read

YES! I GOT IN!!! WOO HOO! This is really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity...thanks to all those who let me use their images and wished my good luck(: However, I seem to be unable to write nowadays. Especially poetry. Whatever I write turns out to be overembellished pretentious crap. There's no sincerity or emotion behid them, it's like I now write for the sake of writing and not because I enjoy it. I write to be the best, and I no longer derive any joy from it. Argh. I can't say it's writer's block since I have an influx of ideas (e.g. abuse, loneliness, etc.) but whatever idea that sounds good in my head turns into melodramatic crap when