Shop More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Member Philip Jarrett Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
Needs Premium Membership
Statistics 56 Deviations 1,791 Comments 3,549 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Favourites

Activity


Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: ideologically sensitive material)
nibbled to death by ducks

there isn’t much that’s left of me
some bones and hair and strips of flesh
i am being slowly, relentlessly nibbled to death by ducks
all that once was pure and fresh
has long since succumbed to obscenity
my shriveled soul has slipped my grasp and sank beneath the muck

death holds a paltry, insignificant fear
compared to premature decomposition
pain, though unpleasant, shrieks i’m alive
not agony, but numbness plots the course of my deletion
and at night in deathly dark i strain my ears to hear
the flutter of wings at my window as they arrive

soft thudding of webbed feet
creeping closer while i feign sleep
struggling to stay still in hopes that they will wander off
my fingernails, grown long, lacerate my useless skin
and i hear, dear god, i hear their muttered, quacking soft
my eyes, shut tightly shut, squirt tears as i quietly weep
then the first cold bill nudges me
and the feeding frenzy begins
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
and the field ‘neath my feet will lay fallow

the world is a harsh metaphor
for something i can’t understand
twelve candles or stars
or tongues of fire
against a darkness not evil, but bland

i’ve stumbled and grumbled my way through life
passed sixty years now and nothing to show
a month-to-month rental
some trinkets and trifles
a head full of nitro with no fuse to blow

so come along girls and all you young men
the promise was made to be broken
with god for a lover
and satan your friend
there is much left better unspoken

life is a mystery and death is its solving
and all the rest is a red herring
the sun will rise ever
the moon keep revolving
so learn when you’re young to stop caring

old age is a blessing and death is no curse
as i drop through the hole in the gallows
one last shit and it’s over
for better or worse
and the field ‘neath my feet will lay fallow
I've been around for a while now.  I've lived through a lot of history, for better or worse.  I'd like to think I know who I am, even though my self-identification is obviously flawed.

More and more I think I am nothing more than a listing of places I've been.  A bibliography of books I've read.  
Years ago, in my youth, I was in Nashville, Tennessee.  That seemed to be the sum of my existence.  I was a young man living on the streets of that gritty, ugly and sublime town.  Nobody who hasn't lived in Nashville can understand what that means.  I suppose, on some level, we all have our Nashvilles.  Truth is, I don't care about anyone else.  

Nashville was my Mother...far more than the biological womb from which I first emerged.  There are many places in the world, many towns...Hemingway in Paris comes to mind.  But I doubt any of you can understand the connection...between myself, and a town and a particular moment in history when everything came together to mold the rest of my life.

When you leave your family, when you leave your home...the first city...be it LA or New York or Paris or Berlin or London...the first city where you come into your own as an artist, as a writer...the place is special, as special as the first girl you ever lay with.  The town becomes a part of you, of who you are on some visceral, deeply psychological manner.  

Nashville was the light that drew me out of the darkness of the West Virginia hollers where I grew up.  Nashville was the freedom outside the cage of those dark, dangerous and disgusting hollers.  So many people wax sentimental and sticky for where they grew up.

Me, I still have nightmares of the holler in Boone County, West Virginia where I grew up.  The darkness, the clinging, cloying heat of the coal black summer nights and the freezing, blistering cold of the winter days in those hollers still haunts my dreams and my nightmares.

Nightmares of the house...my uncle's house...up Snodgrass Holler in Boone County, West Virginia.  Where the light switches never work...where the darkness is more than visible but is a presence all its own.  

Ignorance.  Of course.  It would be easy to ascribe that darkness, those futile light switches...to a manifestation of the ignorance I struggle against...I still struggle agains... even 63 years later.

But there's more to that darkness.

There is the hot breath on the back of my neck from my brother as he sodomized me.  There is the distant and uncaring aspect of my father who only spoke to me on two occasions...taking me down to the church where he preached as if to emphasize that what he was saying wasn't just coming from him but from the Lord himself...to lecture me about the evils of masturbation...evils that it would take me years and countless hours of contemplation to understand weren't evil at all...but were rather the normal activity of a boy my age who happened to be unfortunate to have been raised in a Christian minister's household.  Of my mother who ignored me as I grew up...except to take me aside and tell me how my father had raped her 7 times on her wedding night when I was barely 11 years old.  How was I supposed to handle this?  This abuse, this violation...from my brother and my father and my brother?

I fought back.  Even  in my earliest years I fought back.  I began writing short stories and novels when I was 12...spreading my pages on the dining room table and banging away at a portable, manual typewriter I had asked for for my eleventh birthday.  Nobody paid any attention, that's the cruellest thing.  I wrote and I wrote and my parents ignored me.

Still, to this day, I know of no one who has read my work.  Strangers, perhaps.  But no one in my family or friends...not even my wife who says that my poetry scares her...even the love poems I wrote her when I was wooing her.

I come out here on DA and I throw pieces of myself out into the water like a fisherman chumming the water to draw in the big fish.  Some people say nice things.  Nice.  

Nice means they just didn't understand at all what I am writing about.  

Nice means they somehow missed the anger that fuels my poetry, my short stories, my essays.

I am not a nice man.

I am not a good man.

I am angry and full of rage.

I am a lonely man.

I am...

deviantID

PJarrett's Profile Picture
PJarrett
Philip Jarrett
I am a writer. Whatever there is that can be written, I have tried my hand at it over the years. Now a days I write poetry and short 'gags' for T-shirts. I am always working on something, although what I'm working on doesn't always see the light of day. I am looking for someone to work with on the T-shirts. Someone to do the graphics to my gags.
Interests

AdCast - Ads from the Community

×

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconmadam--kitty:
Madam--Kitty Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hi. wanna join my group called Anti-illuminati-01? anti-illuminati-01.deviantart.…
Reply
:iconpjarrett:
PJarrett Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2014
Sure, why not?
Reply
:iconmadam--kitty:
Madam--Kitty Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
ty
Reply
:icona7xfan666:
A7XFan666 Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2013
Happy Birthday :3 :party::iconcakeplz::iconballoonsplz:
Reply
:iconcanankk:
Canankk Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2013
Thank you :iconredroseplz: :heart:
Reply
:iconsuki42deathlake:
suki42deathlake Featured By Owner May 15, 2013   General Artist
thank you for the watch ! ^^ , if you like all thing's creepy please do cheack out the group "twistedcreepyland " :icontwistedcreepyland:
, ! ^^
Reply
:iconpjarrett:
PJarrett Featured By Owner May 18, 2013
I like 'twisted and creepy" and would love to have access to a group who would accept such postings I make that are beyond the pale.

By 'Twisted and creepy' do you really mean what you are saying?

So much on DA...even the name Deviant Art...implies an openness to really 'deviant' art and writing...and yet, I find myself here, on this site more than any other, being called down as 'unacceptible' and 'deviant'.

Why is that so? Deviant implies the site welcomes true deviants.

You say you want stuff that is 'twisted' and 'creepy'. OK, I can afford you plenty of material. I just don't want to waste my time on a site that calls for 'deviant' but doesn't really want true deviance.

Assure me that your site is both "deviant' and 'Creepy' and 'twisted' and I'll be more than glad to contribute.

I just need to make sure that you aren't just another site that is asking for what you don't really want to see or read.
Reply
:iconsuki42deathlake:
suki42deathlake Featured By Owner May 19, 2013   General Artist
the group , the name is exactly what it implies ^^ . anything that is "creepy " or "twisted " .such as organs , gore , blood, supernatrual eg zombies , vampires , ghosts. mass murders , ect ^^ , it can be in any medium however in the correct genre is accepted ^^
Reply
:iconsuki42deathlake:
suki42deathlake Featured By Owner May 19, 2013   General Artist
or anything "insane ect " ^^
Reply
:icondevoman1948:
devoman1948 Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2013
thnx for faving
Reply
Add a Comment: