Gnosienne's artwork

[Gnossienne]

Three paintings I made http://i66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...ure003-1-1.jpg http://i66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...ure002-1-1.jpg http://i66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...ure001-1-1.jpg Piano music 1 D minor http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...Picture007.flv 2 C sharp minor http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...cture004-1.flv 3 B minor http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...Picture005.flv 4 E flat minor http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...t=MVI_0105.flv 5 A major http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...cture006-2.flv 6 C minor http://s66.photobucket.com/albums/h2...Picture008.flv Whoops, double post lets keep this one

[CarmineEternity]

Dubba dubba dubba dubba. I really like your music, soad.

[Gnossienne]

Dubba dubba dubba dubba. I really like your music, soad. Thanks for the comment Link to my other poem http://www.dreamviews.com/community/...ad.php?t=87127 Here's a shorter one: A handcuff with the word "love" scratched on it. A key that does not fit. This room i'm in. A stoic lock, An esoteric paradox, a box with no windows or clocks. This room i'm in. False memories are specious, like one half of a game of chess. Lady darkness begins to undress. I'd rather stay here.

[epicdreamer371]

very interesting the first one is my fave and i like your style its unique keep the pics coming i m guna listen to the music now epic.

[Abra]

I like how you end each verse. And I saved the first pic, so I s'pose it was a good'un.

[Gnossienne]

Thank you all very much for the comments Number 3: A tranquil lake. A lone snowflake, that only thinks it's unique. A ghost that returns in the fog to remind you just as often as you forget. It's easy but hard to admit. If you can ignore your disease, wine extinguishes the fire caused by burning memories. I was on my own, she was on my own. What lies ahead is truth distorted. like unwanted guests, the fork in the road is ambidextrous. A tranquil lake. A heart about to break, that only thinks it's unique. A ghost returns in the fog.

[Gnossienne]

Thoughts that are uncomplete. Rendered obsolete. At the bottom of descending staircases, memory erases. Like an unresolved mystery that an obtuse parody of is rarely seen, moonlight pours in through the scars in the ceiling. It wastes no time dreaming. Twisting and distorting, making images more frightening and realistic then they actually are. Like a forgotten form of art, I don't know whether The blue light put the pieces together before, or after we took them apart. From your eyes ignorance bled. From your mind it had bred. Blurred vision. Like a broken two way mirror where you can only see your own reflection. To reassure without repeating the same action. To lament but not repent. Inspiring, but far from achieving. A blank slate. A canvas never painted. A conscience never sedated. A state of mind not found on any map. A schism deep within a mind of photographic metabolism. A crime you didn't commit, but a crime you didn't prevent. On the other side of the mirror, broken reflections imitate disgrace. Taking advice from an unfamiliar face. One half of a widowed couple, buried in ground where only weeds grow. What makes shadows become faces in the window, when the night is over by one half. At the bottom of descending staircases, This place that I have to see, must be a poorly written story.

[Gnossienne]

Roosters painting Man playing cello Peter Griffin Tessellations made with MS paint

[nina]

Those last two are like...obnoxious MC Escher

[ReachingForTheDream]

i really like the first painting in your first post

[Gnossienne]

I made some electronic music a long time ago, I may as well post it http://soadfreak2121.newgrounds.com/audio/ Poem 5. Photographic; a more accurate description of his reflection in the mud puddle. The dismantled self portrait that screamed while it was being torn apart. Thoughts that cannot be expressed with a sensical sentence, a dyslectic vision of right and wrong. Schizophrenic; his feral mind accompanied morose intellect. Used and then broken bottles, laid dormant on his floors. Resembling warnings, inevitable conclusions to omens, and mousetraps His attention diverted away from clocks, the only solace was looking into the past. When the sundials were rewound, and people smiled upside down. When the back of the mind was more interesting than the front, and the moonshine on the back of my eyes made lies more difficult to despise. We could live without the past, if memories did not have to exist. Laughter was cheap, but you could not afford it. We both wanted to get out of here but you had other plans. Plans I subconsciously arranged when I was consciously deranged. We were never really in the same place, after all. Before everything that amounted to nothing. They all stood but did not understand. Upon their eyes it was bestowed, the jury who they did not believe in. The debt they owed, to their friends and their foes; written on mirrors, locked away in file cabinets, to collect dust, to lose meaning, to be forgotten. In the end, they were all buried with their promises. At the funeral those words from his mouth, the air had taken. and yet the corpses did not awaken.

[Gnossienne]

When you so poetically expressed that you did not give a shit you left before you finished talking. You were right, all of this is pointless. But it hurts because it's sharp, and not meaningless. When you walked on the opposite reflection of the arc, turned around on the correct path in the dark. You lost your way when death changed it's address. With thought process glycemic, failure was your completion. Decreasing the threshold of your existence. Deceiving future with past tense. Defaming your pretentiousness. You're a genius because you're an atheist. Obviously. In the corner, the darkness she witnessed composed hideous notes. With candles burning, the illuminating safety evoked newborn shadows. The curtains closed; the dimness dismissed. The door opened; the path awoken. The lies extracted, the words were spoken. Diluted Moonlight reverberates in plain sight. So easy to hide behind meaningless abstract comparisons. An unexpected philosophy; concerning our beliefs. Expressed and inexplicably considered to be worthless. Exonerated as the definition of alternatives to sly metaphors. Too often longing for dry deserted worn out imitations of good consciousness. Hallucinating abstract barriers and borders containing various unappealing deconstructed apocalypses. Harsh audible noises causing deafening madness. Horrified by my her own reflection, a vicious persistent infection that didn't deserve love and affection. A promise with no specific direction. The beginning of great thoughts without conclusions. The end of fears with limitations. The cycle of actions and repercussions. Waiting for the pattern to complete, over and again. Repugnant and redundant, a flip book of pictures with and without me. Every emotion was a blur. Facial symmetry was a mythology. Pictures with and without her. None of which I want to see. Childrens' coloring books on a black and white television screen. Paintings of out of proportioned memories on a thin see through woven tapestry. Skewed optical illusions. Delusions that are deceiving. The fragile alacrity in the air that we were used to breathing. Animosity given gratuitously. Lucidity taken so gracefully. Alone. Unknown. On my own, attempting serenity with great vanity. Attention in vein. Apprehensive of attaining significance. Appreciative of attaining alliterated past experiences. Former ideals that are brightly colored and uncomplicated. Slow drawn out classical music that is misinterpreted. As I await in agony in silence of longevity, I wish that you could change my memories. But you can't see in the dark. Inside that corner. You'll never admit what is. Your life and your love are not real, but neither are those noises.

[Gnossienne]

Winter pitchers These sticks looked like legs and they freaked me out.

[Darkmatters]

Great photos!!! You've got a really great eye for composition. I especially like the snowy trails going off into the woods.

[Gnossienne]

The method of meditating, patent pending. The cycle of medicating, heavily sedating. The irony of which we speak, the words that echo down the horrid corridor. The alibi full of lies. The bulimic line that divides the weak from the wise. The thoughts that separate the truth and the joy, as the sediment slowly sinks to the bottom where we hide. The truth that we believe but destroy. We travel on the sidewalk of the street of time and avoid the middle line. In an alternate universe, where everything makes sense. Adequately unique, unlike the rest. Individually facing separate tests, failing because you did your best. Seceding away from the expected path. Succeeding in eliminating expired past. Preserving false experiences in little glass jars. In hope that liar's circumstances are not near nor far. The circumferences, most noir, the distance between life and cinematography. It made no difference to me. The shortest rest, relief in negative space. A pause from being frightened. Fallacies so hideously irrelevant to me, casualties so casual on these streets. Indiscretions that can't hide in plain sight. In ordinary light. Taboo, the glue that melds the minds together. The callus developed from denying the debris, the density of the rich leather armor. Predisposition to protection from all sources of discomfort. Frightened by all ongoing unknown distant conformity. Near sighted of all incoming far away mysteries. Wasted abolition, daunting deference. Recycled questions, curiosity of little significance. Burning roses as they melt your coffin. Committing self destruction, rearranging the letters of your name. Among other things. Realization through hideous mutilation, self affirmation. Screaming for technicality, annotations of great complexity. Confusing ideals birthed randomly and unexpectedly. Consuming chaos in it's relative meaning. Relentlessly coinciding with dueling personalities. Coincidentally residing in equal circumstances. Restlessly examining unimportant details. When your own muse you were misusing, your own mind was not the only one you were abusing. The direction that was not of your choosing. You never gave up on the mind that you were loosing. Thank you.. But that doesn't matter. It all came to an end. Wandering around the final garden. Inside Venus humanfly traps. Wondering, why we didn't listen, pondering why we couldn't see. The stories written on the flesh of a poor tree. The roots of a new beginning. In an instant, the final subtraction. Extinct in a manner of matter reduction. Instincts, our first reactions contribute to the Jurisdiction. Our thoughts, just mindless decisions. Our faults, apparitions we created, adding to the submission. For the Queen bee must feed. A royal hyperbole of moral quandary. Who witnessed the fake path to enlightenment, what delirium brought forth such great satisfaction. Where surrealism became escapism from this reality, when the significant other became the handshake through the mirror. While we were cast away, they remain, they fuck the past away. Martyred, along with the insane. Slaughtered belongings causing possession, unneeded materials initiating obsession. The glasses with which we view the past, are more often then not misleading. Judging through the crystal ball filled with alcohol. Recklessly misreading space and time. When philanthropy was such an arduous philosophy, when negativity became the new nativity scene. He who accidentally painted beautiful melting blue, the high ceiling. Who mockingly let us view only part of our dreams. We laughed at his duality and mortality. Subconsciously, we cried for his forgiveness and morality. Then gasped for breath and begged for pity. Even though we are correct the fact remains we it still cannot destroy it because decay. it is nothing. it is what the shit we are made of ...