Wyrdeone

@wyrdeone

Co-Producer of three critically-acclaimed humans. Unemployed IT guy or starving artist, as you like. Was dying, now I'm on some sort of supervised work release.

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Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 7d

Hobby packing solution. Bubble wrap and a reinforced soft drink carrier. Traveling light. Army meet box. #warhammercommunity #miniaturepainting

A World Eaters army converted for Warhammer 40k the tabletop game. Cobbled from leftovers and sprues and bits with no money it is now mostly painted and going in a box for wherever.

An Arizona ice tea big cans 12 pack and some bubble wrap to transport minis and hobby supplies.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 13d

First Love of the Night (A raccoon startled by a fallen cherry learns trust and is rewarded) #poetry

His black eyes
star seeds
slow their light speed way back down to stare and wonder where she came from
with herds of rods and hardly any cones
the waves get tangled in the other waves
and the shocking candy red
that please consume me color
turns a muddled green
a not quite ripe but tender sour shining thing
held in hands so close to human
cherry sweat all glistening with the promise
not to sprout inside
but wait till after
the tree all outta needing dropped this thing
this tasty boring color thing
before him on his nightly sniff roun
promising
so promising
all the kindnesses he shows her in his dreaming
while the light of early morning in the cosmic sense
bumps along behind imagination
catching up to feeling

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 21d

True North #poetry

A tribe so small still that it fits around a fire
The taproot of a people shallow supple thin as thirst
In the holler here that's old as half of all the stars in pegasus
She aint the light left on at night
That's all combustion born to deadwood in a barrel
Whispers of the charcoal now smell nothing like the past
No more Baba Yaga or her walkin' Balnagown
No angels neither
See the feathers and the stains upon the stone
No whiskey cop commanche
No blood thorn of the Teutoburg to fashion into crowns
No martyrs but the one who's still alive
The burning of the land I did let it grow up after
Left my father's axe there in the cradle of the ferns
Their hands rise up to hold it as a compass
That points from my place in the world to forever

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 22d

My daughter brings me the coolest things.

A photo of a whale(?) vertebrae, 3 clams, a white feather and a rusted bolt laid out on a dock.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 22d

Two more deeply spiritual lads for the Word Bearers scraps army. Improving democracy by replacing the shoulder angel with a second demon to aid consensus and deliver results to the voters. #warhammercommunity #nerdlings #chaos40k #miniaturepainting

A miniature painted in burgundy and silver for the chaos space marines of Warhammer 40k, Word Bearers legion. Holding a fuckhuge daemonic axe and surrounded by grisly trophies, buddy strides. Converted from the parts from the AoS Chosen and CSM posessed and terminator kits.

A chaos lord for the Word Bearers painted in the same scheme. The angel on one shoulder has been replaced with a second devil to aid in the process of consensus building. The chaotic spirits are green streaked with metallic gold to resemble sentient pissed off circuit boards.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 23d

#poetry

You'll believe her when she suggests that nothing's changed and never will
She'll blame the whiskey sours
Knowing that you'll know that was a lie
But what kind of scumbag throws the moon under the bus
It was the silver light out on the water
It was the warmest that a June had ever been
Maybe Mikey whatshisname's death a few years back
Just the sense that life was beautiful
But short and often cruel
So a little crazy wasn't the worst thing you could be
And she meant it when she said that she loved you
Hers will be the present you look foward to at Christmas
A postcard a year from somewhere strange
The girl who laughs while making love belongs to noone
Not even to herself
She's just the light atop the water
She's just fireflies in Canada in Spring

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 23d

Post your last two brain cells.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· 27d

M0ther #poetry

Underneath the veil is so much screaming
Twitching
Curling of the lips
Saliva red as rain in Hormuz
She is that blackened burning desert sky
Decorum's not an antidote for anger
Just a bleach-thin woven cover
That she lays out on the table
To soak up guilt and messes left
By all the other woman's children

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 11

First squad of dorks for the Word Bearers. 10 Legionaries with various kit and their drake-slaying champion. I see your single somber tear Salamander's player and this changes nothing between us. I'll always love you bro. #warhammercommunity #chaos40k #miniaturepainting

10 chaos space marines of the Word Bearers legion painted in burgundy and silver with purple, gold and green accents.

A Word Bearers chaos space marine champ painted in burgundy and silver with a green dragonscale cloak (stolen from an old world kit for cities of sigmar).

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 10

Finished another of the Word Bearers lads, this time a Master of Executions. I primed the whole army at once in silver metallic to cheat on trim and I'm restricted on the palette so kinda just cranking through these guys. #warhammer40k #chaos40k #miniaturepainting #warhammercommunity #nerdlings

A kitbashed master of executions for the chaos faction of warhammer 40k. Silver and burgundy color scheme with green gold and purple accents. Painted in metallic acrylic and a few inks. Kitbash is an AoS chosen with bits from Nighthaunt, 40k vehicles, csm terminator and Posessed kits. The platform he's standing on is probably from the Grey Knight baby carrier but that's just my best guess. Part of an army I'm scavenging entirely from spare kits and bits in an effort to play a game of the new edition with my son for exactly zero dollars. Happy hobbying y'all!

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 10

Finished Dark Apostle for my Cult of the Arkifane Word Bearers. It doesn't translate great to photos but the ghost is shot through with true metallic gold veins so he looks like an angry little circuit board. #warhammer40k #chaos40k #miniaturepainting

A miniature for the warhammer 40k game painted in a scheme of burgundy and silver with his buddy, an angry little circuit board machine ghost in green with gold inclusions. Kitbashed from an age of sigmar chosen and a kit from the nighthaunt range, along with various other bits from 40k.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 10

Say Their Names #poetry

When the madness ends there will be a monument erected
Names that once had voices
Chiseled
Permanent in stone
Well-intentioned pilgrims will struggle over sounds from foreign places
The Xie's and Alaujo's
Paktyawal's
Najafabadi's
These sounds had mothers
They had children
All the somber weeping in the world will not help even a little
To undo all of the loss that selfish small complacence brought to pass
But may it remind us in the way that babies and blossoms sometimes do
That permanence is ugly
That breath like life is meant for using

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 10

#poetry

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 9

#chaos40k #warhammer40k #miniaturepainting Trying something new.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 3

#poemsabout #cheapmotels #poetry #poetrycommunity

An easy-clean landscape of alien bumps
The motel's curtains are textured like fuck gloves
Easy to sanitize
But they'll never be clean
Strung up like that in the window of this avalanche shelter
Proximal between the mountains of Repulse and Arouse
Hardwired alarm
3 locks on the door
As if I or anything here were of value
The joint in my shirt pocket's the only mercy I smell
It's losing ground to antiseptic
In the war for the senses
Dawn's coming soon
Checkout's soon after
Not enough space for a dream

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 1

That's My Jam #poetry #poem

What's Art
To turn the sunlight or ripening in shade
Sour sugars early frosts
Unique shapes and vibrant colors
Into jams for all of history's cellars
Your neighbors or your readers
Any strangers with a very human hunger
To keep in places that you hide from sirens in
A bit of beauty to keep a soul from starving
Preserving something infinitely perishable
The seasons that you left by
The sights that no one else was there to see
And they will not last forever
Not like they say with honey
But long enough
When you do it right
To turn some kids blackened toast
Into love and loss and jealousy
But the sweeter kind
Nostalgia's older wiser cousin as a baby
Looking over time's broad shoulder
Gap tooth smile wondering at the flavor of the song that plays
The melody the taste of someone else's life

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 1

A painting of an orange hanging upside down on a gnarled stem, crowned in white blossoms. Artist: Ruby Ryan gauche(?) On canvas. Is the paint spelled the same as a display of poor taste? I may never know.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 1

Knotted Orange Stems (for Hope) #poetry

That woman with no husband
Queer and fragrant out of place inside the church at first
As heaps of knotted orange stems on the altar
When she jumped into the pool
With The Theology
We all assumed it was self loathing leading to a suicide by zoo
It circled her and watching felt like sinful voyeurism
But we couldn't look away
She looked so joyful though
Not some depressed drunken idiot who'd gone to feed himself to tigers
But maybe foolish then unsupervised
The type of childish mind that got Harambe shot
But no
It came clear after a while
The Theology for its opaque arcane reasons
Didn't recognize her as food
It even rose up underneath her
Let her ride and stand atop its back
Imagine that A woman with no husband
Walking on the water!

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 1

#poetry

Freedom may owe her indelicate ways to being bastard born of Education and Rebellion
Unwelcome at either holiday table
Laden till they groan from all the weight
Of privilege and sacrifice put out there to feast
That when she's snuck a plate from both
And sits alone
By the culvert down the creek to eat
The tastes of both all heaped and
Running brown into the sauce of one another
Fighting over balance on a single cheap ass plastic fork
Not cold or hot so much but that sad and quiet middle child temperature
She had to come to love it
The same way people fall in love with her
Firstly out of hunger

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jul 1

From Places Gone #poetry

Puerto Escondido
At the twilight of the century
Suffered earthquakes from the laughter
Feral pale boys from the North
Who wished to wed a different ocean
A few had done the math
And stolen just enough
To delight in poverty forever
At least until the day they would be swept out to the sea
By some wave or girl
Who'd made the sunset jealous
Finally live a story like the Greeks would die to tell
Explaining the origin of sand fleas or of spiders
That sort you dream up
When you fall asleep while empty-pocket fishing
With contentment on the hook
A pink and wriggling worm like thing
That ancient fears are fond of eating
To cast out past the drop off
Between the waking world and sleep

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 27

Times Square Sisyphus #poetry I miss NYC, but mostly the way she was, and have been thinking about it a lot since they got a proper mayor. The good old days were really, really bad actually. Nostalgia is a fucking liar. So I wrote this. RIP The Idiot.

This poet is working Times Square with a partner
A girl with tits out and torch up
He tells you she came from DR to play Liberty with latex for copper patina
A man moves behind you
It just looks like he's checking his watch
The cops are on shift change
As the tour guide explains in her native Korean
That nudity's legal when the bodies are painted
On the C Line they'll huddle divide up the money
The girl trusts more in the man with chipped teeth than she ever had trusted her father
Now the mouse picks your pockets instead of us rats
This bit hits like jingling keys for a baby
But that girl from DR was born Matt in Daytona
And when steam from the subway makes rainbows they all smell like piss
You still watching the show with the pythons
The breakdancing words
This poets a creep, he's probably fourteen floors up with a telescope
The only compassion he's showing is to his own three inches of dick

Pull the hood off the art Scooby Doo
AHA! masturbation
Pretention for those who steal nuts from the St. Regis lobby
All this takes is some courage and a borrowed air of belonging
Ask the real writers they'll tell you it's true
Poets and conmen go to all the same bars
Not the Carlysle or Vanguard (even though they got Jazz)
But 55 and The Idiot, or maybe Reynold's in Washington Heights
He's a fraud they will scream
This whole time he was working an angle
Truth is you'll never know less he tells you
How much resentment he holds for the tourists
The girl or the city turned sterile
The man in the mirror who should be drinking with Bowie
The nuts in the lobby The baby he's left with
One must consider the pickpocket poet Sisyphus happy
Far from home telling stories
Jingling keys for the baby

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 26

#poetry

We're famous in the mountains for our quarries
Slate and marble stick together but couldn't be more different
Slate's as brittle as a stone can be layered dense and rigid
She's a feast for greedy oxygen
Shot through somber black with iron
And jaunty garnet polka dots like the circus come to services
But marble nah
He's hard but stars ain't shared a heart with him
Appears as sturdy as the bedrock under heaven
'Cept the specks of gold inside are tent pegs in the fault line
The richness there creates tremendous weakness
Marble wants to take the form of all your dreams
While the slate would rather fall to pieces
Than bend even a little
Hard to believe they came up similar
That they slept so close for seven hundred thousand centuries
Two lovers silent in a bed together
Queer as you and I

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 26

Accounting For #Poetry

The human soul's an awkward fit for any ledger
Our numbers are all made of angles
You would never find in nature
The lives we make
The ones we take
Are both and both at once there
Adding and subtracting
You can't round scents
The lilacs endlessly frustrating
And as it turns out tears are a solution
They take any ink right back to delible
So you try to write in pencil
But constant erasing's tore the paper
And now there's forty years of effort
Crumpled
Lying all around the trashcan
But you suspect there is a boss somewhere
Who'll demand to see accounting
Any day now
So you take another crack
But end up doodling in the margins
Two initials in a heart
A plus
Divide by zero

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 26

Worry #poetry

A coarse round stone small enough to cradle like a baby in a sling
For when I start to itch and feel the need to be Sir David, Former Giant
It was me I was the one I felled
This stone here keeps the record
It plays just like a master wax
Run under the needle of my thumb
Every imperfection mirrors one I called my own
Dents and cracks worn proudly until the flaws became the armor
And the song the record sings isn't one I loved producing
But it's true and it's worth hearing and the weight of it's just right
In hands that have done love and have done murder
The shape it holds is one you'd never replicate except under those same exact conditions
Under the crush of all the world's weight
The tumbling The burning
But the thing I love about it best
Besides it being in my hands now
This stone's shape like mine is only temporary

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 21

Starting work on a Word Bearers/Dark Mech army out of spare parts and random sprues I had lying around. I am armyless for the first time in like 30 years due to shit circumstances, but we keep on keepin on. Minor kitbash for this Dark Commune bro. #warhammercommunity #nerdlings11thed

A dark mechanicus HQ converted to a Dark Commune icon bearer. Base coats of red and silver done, and working on some gross flesh.

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 5

#poetry

The fear is that little kind of eating
Appetizer-sized
But meant to share
I'm so hungry
I probably should have ordered two
She tells me that she's saving room for dessert
Am I really meant to do shit
Or am I just waiting the clock out
Is it even living
If it isn't any fun
Thirty odd years gone by
I'm pissing in a sink again
So like me
The plumbing here has given up its ghost
They'll come and throw me out soon
Maybe I'll move into the basement
Tend my bioluminescence
Be a roach
The children all have jobs now
I guess sympathy's expensive
But it mean I've done my duty
Reproduced consumers
Now I molt and leave a scaffolding for mold
Is there nobility inherent in decay
Or a special cash award
For the thousandth lie I've told myself
That's the first course done then
Small talk until the main
She's going off to college
Come this fall

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 2

#poetry Politicking

You sent a fool to keep the throne warm
For a king you'll never meet
While the potholes vomit beetles
Attracted to the heat
Jesus called me from your mum's house
Said he's working late
Wierd to me you're hungry for the rapture
When it's your head on the plate
I guess sucking off that golden idol
Really was just the best that you could do
So I pray beggars will be choosers
And Big J ain't choose you
Cause my Heaven's just a double-wide
And we're all full up with Jews

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· Jun 2

#poetry

The path is crowded
Nearly blocked
By the carcass of some pitiful
And light-shy thing
At home there in a puddle
Of his makings
Begging with a voice
Like a split and half-drowned trumpet
Used to praying
For his torturer's attentions
Bent in half and dripping
With the rags of glory
The scabbiest Adonis
God damn you wretch
And no
He isn't me
And never was
But only just

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· May 31

#poetry

The horror of self reflection is both dark and incandescent
Pulled as if by necromantic sinews up from the grave of memory
Twisted tight then as the rope around the neck of all my fathers
And shot through with a current
Of electric shrieking fear
The burning is unpleasant
But the light it sheds is special
It reveals a secret sort of message
Scrawled with acid on the parchment of the self
And in this cheap motel of Me
I remain a plucky mystery solver
Scrutinizing stains the naked mind's eye'd rather miss
Speaking with the dead
Asking ever tougher questions
Listening hard

Wyrdeone@wyrdeone· May 14

Better Hell or Mississippi? #poetry