#Detroit poem

[thirst2]

After finding out where I was from a woman on the train in Boston smiles and tells me not to worry she hears that in the next five to ten years Detroit is going to be the Midwestern New York I in turn worry for obvious reasons the rats in New York are tall enough to drive taxis the people in New York are all seemingly allergic to saying excuse me those are problems we do not want three years later I pick up a paper and the headline reads welcome to the new Detroit and I'm quickly reminded of something my grandmother once said you can sell a house a hundred times but the walls will still tell stories on the first family that owned it you can't throw soil on top of a land of living people then try to convince the outside world that their home was graveyard before it began to blossom bike lanes and fine dining this is not a city attempting to transition into another city it's Detroit it's churches in old buildings that lean like drunk lovers but still open every Sunday for worship it's Coney Island hot dogs and Faygo pop on the days when you wanna feel like you were the only one told the secret It's what up doe and water shut offs a woman planting flowers in potholes a line straight out of a tupac poem it's still here because we didn't change our zip codes when our schools started shutting down our sports teams started losing and our air started smelling like gun smoke and new money it's Motown it's a homeless man in bright colors on the corner of Selden and Second in bright colors and music-less headphones always dancing like his imaginary check had more money on it than he expected and yea sometimes the suburban folks treat the city like a party they weren't invited to leave trash start fights then exit before the police show up sometimes the police don't show up it's not perfect but it's a city that held its place in line until God returned from an extended lunch break a place where any person on the streets will still politely give you directions even when they themselves feel lost it's a beast that swallowed my brother along with countless other friends and family members long before their time but home is wherever the most of your loved ones are buried it's the place that's found the perfect balance between breaking your heart and layering your skin it's the factory that you were built in on the nights when you feel defective it's the safest space for you to return to so to the woman in Boston who thought that I was worried to the couple in Seattle that wanted to know if my skin has ever tasted bullet to the people trying to figure out which Detroit to believe It's a complicated story with more semi colons than periods on its best day it's still broken but it works it grinds it is ours still

—"Detroit", Natasha "T" Miller

[sergeifyodorov]

Element 006 | Carbon | Sergei Fedorov

Graphite is soft enough to form a streak on paper (hence its name, from the Greek verb "γράφειν" which means "to write"), while diamond is the hardest naturally occurring material known.

Fedorov was described as "three great players in one".

for @simmyfrobby's series

[detroitlib]

From our vertical files: "Old Man in the LIbrary." Author unknown.

[husshow]

to a sad daughter - michael ondaatje

jackson // nwachukwu // robinson

[pewter-yellows]

i looked into the face of my saviour

the barrel of his gun gazed at me just as kindly

a finger prepared to trigger my redemption

i prayed silently, 'lord, lower your aim to my lips, that i may kiss what is yours and taste divinity before you cast me aside'

my answer flashed before me, and my penance was the outpour of blue

i am delivered, mouth untouched and eyes forever empty

(what i listened to on loop while making this)

[simmyfrobby]

[hauntedcheesecakewizard]

Replayed Detroit become human and AAAAAAAFHFFJXFJXFHXHFXJFXF-

"I think, therefore I am," but is that really true? Are my "thoughts" no more than a few lines of one's and zeros just as your thoughts are no more electrodes shooting through your neurons? What makes your electricity different from mine? What makes the electrical pulse in your heart differ from the electrical drum in my thirium pump? No wonder humans believed there is a god when we have such a spark on each and every one of us.

Am I alive?

Are you alive?

What is "alive"?

Logically, to be alive is to have oxygen in your system that is carried by red blood cells to your heart. But just because the body is running doesn't make you alive. The unconscious body is alive, but to be bed ridden, hospitalised, isn't alive.

So I'll ask again. What is alive?

Is it your experiences? Scanning previous data to farm an opinion? An analysis? Patern recognition?

Is it your emotions? The hormonal responses to situations? A biological condition that controls the body and its actions? A neurological code, so to speak?

Humans are more mechanical than any creature on this planet. Quite simplistic, when written on paper. But to dive into your psychology, your code, your programming is truly fascinating, and your internal cooling system is state of the art. To naturally know when you're overheating and begin to sweat without so much as a second thought.

It's all so mechanical.

People call it organic or biological, but what is that really? What is natural? Lemons aren't naturally occurring. Modern bananas are nothing like it's predecessor, so are they truly "natural"?

So I will ask again, what is alive? What is it to die? To stop breathing? To decompose? To be forgotten?

Are you alive?

Can you die?...

Will you show me?...

[dbhstruggleposting]

The world will rot.

The stars will fade.

But your memory will last.

Etched forever on my hardware you kissed so tenderly.

Scrawled across my rusted flesh by your hands.

A disk skipping a beat everytime it thinks of you.

Looping forever.

Looping forever.

Looping forever.

Hank × Connor if ya think about it idk my tummy hurts and I want a nap hhh

[kissoflightning]

Roses are red

Thirium is blue

Carlos Ortiz

28 STAB WOUNDS!!!

[audreyrose7]

Roses are red,

violets are blue,

gavin reed is gay,

and you can be too.

[deviant-sent-by-cyberlife]

Blooming feelings

AO3 / Commissions / Links /

Summary: Connor starts to question his program and himself, seeing life in a new, different way. Maybe emotions aren’t unnecessary nuances, bothering numbers you need to lock away, but blooming flowers, worth living for.

content: pov Connor, anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, fear of being replaced/left behind, overthinking

a/n: it was 100% self-indulgent, I’ve had really stressful weeks in the last 3 weeks and other additional dreadful ones will come. In a last attempt to help myself getting thru it all I’ve been bottling and locking up emotions, trying to bury them so I can focus on the task that needs to be done. What a genius move I know

It’s my first fic in this fandom hope you guys will like it ~

You are not supposed to and can’t feel ,

You are a machine Connor,

Not a living thing,

Software instability ^

RK800 heard Amanda’s harsh voice in his head,

A voice calculated, cold and emotionless,

“Connor?

What got to ya?

Told ya not to lick that blood.”

Warm, brown eyes opened to see,

Him and Hank still standing in the lift,

“Did your battery die or what?”

“Sorry Lieutenant, no,

I was sending the report.”

The two of them were leaving a scene,

Where they saw,

The 3rd deviant case in the week.

Connor’s been… experiencing a mild unease,

That he couldn’t place,

Nor he could find,

Any malfunctions in his program.

He ran tests after tests,

But to no avail,

There was no problem in his system anywhere,

Even now,

As he was staring at Hank,

He had the urge to lie to him instead.

I wasn’t sending any report,

Not even writing,

Just heard Her voice and …

Had the impression of concern,

Even something that humans call dread,

But why I had the impulse to hide,

Keep it a secret,

And lock it inside?

But Amanda’s tone rang again,

Voicing his concerns in his head,

But you know that don’t you Connor?

It would mean you are a deviant,

And failed your mission.

Therefore who would need you anyway?

An android,

Which was created to hunt,

Became the hunted rabbit in the dark,

Even Hank,

That drunk police,

Would turn away,

And laugh in your face.

You always accomplish your missions, eh?

Software instability ^

“Jesus Connor stop staring at me!”

The grunt of the grumpy man,

Pulled Connor out of his head,

The door of the lift just opened with a ping,

Letting a little bit of fresh air in,

“Sorry Lieutenant,

I was running some checks in my software—“

“Ugh, forget it.

I need a fucking drink.”

Days went by and that unease didn’t cease,

If anything it increased,

He was waiting in Hank’s car,

While the man stopped at his favourite burger place.

More and more deviant cases happend,

And he was a silent witness to it all,

With every new case,

A new weight appeared in his synthetic cage.

He started to … see these deviants in a new light,

Somehow sympathy crept into his heart,

Sympathy?

But I.. yes,

I’m sure that is the feeling,

What humans call sympathy—

Feeling .

To feel something —

“Alright, now we gotta go back to that shithole.”

He jumped as Hank climbed into the car,

Didn’t realise how long he’s been thinking,

While Hank’s “interesting” music choice screamed inside,

He took an other trip into his mind,

‘ Eyes are the window to the soul’,

He heard once a long time ago,

‘I’m an android. I don’t have soul’,

How easily I answered,

Whiteout a blink and a second thought,

At that time,

That possibility wasn’t unlocked before my eyes,

Feelings,

Amusing little butterflies,

Whose fills up chests,

And helps to bloom,

The pretty flowers of souls.

But now..

“Do I have a soul?”

“What?

What the fuck ya talking about,

Where did that come from? “

Unintentional whisper left the men made lips,

Spreading panic through artificial skin.

He froze,

His system showing error codes,

He just stared ahead,

Onto the dark rode,

Not daring to move.

I.. I failed my mission

Software instability ^

Now Hank knows,

He must realise that I’m …

I’m a deviant now.

He will report,

And sent me back,

Where they destroy and replace Me with Something else.

“.. Fuck knows,

I’ve been seeing all these cases for weeks now,

Seeing at first hand what these deviants do,

Learning their motives and stuffs….

They don’t look that different from me,

Or the other folks I know and see.”

From under a shocked silence,

Connor just stared,

Not registering what Hank just said,

“You know,

At first I saw you as a tin can,

Like an additional machine to a computer,

But then, khm,

All I’m sayin’ is,

That you are more .”

“… you mean, Lieutenant..?”

“Oh Jesus Connor, ughhh.

Maybe you do,

Maybe you don’t,

All I know is that,

We are quite similar at this point.”

“So.. you aren’t replacing me?

“What the fuck would I do that?

We are partners, aren’t we?”

He felt something in the air,

Something inevitable and comfortable.

But with comfort,

Came uncertainty, overstimulation and burden,

However there was something.. freeing there,

The looming weight of being replaced,

Had lifted and gave place,

To a chaos so colourful yet deep,

He felt his fans heating.

It f-feels … scary.

But strangely lifting too.

So this is what ‘waking up’ entail,

Liberating on one side,

And anxiety filled on the other.

They are not the never ending attacks of mosquitoes,

But the kiss of bees,

Worth living for.

Feelings filled his chest,

But for the first time in his life,

He didn’t try,

To shoo them away and stay in the dark.

Software instability ^

B̩͎͍̾ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦ F̘͍͖ͫ͘r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕

An impenetrable wall broke,

Slowly collapsing,

And leaving painful cuts,

Then,

When the last piece fell,

Darkness befell.

There was no Amanda nor update checks,

Only silence and Himself.

However in the dark,

He saw a blue flower blooming hard,

As he stepped closer and tried to touch,

It omitted pollen,

And embraced him in warmth.

As he looked down,

He realised,

There are many little blossoms under his shoes,

Waiting to bloom.

“Ya comin?”

Hank’s waxy voice slipped through the haze,

Comforting him once again.

We are partners in this case,

And friends in some way,

He really is waiting for me to step forward,

And spend days in union.

“Yes, Lieutenant,

I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m a sucker for symbolism and metaphors :’D

Ps. English is not my first language, but I tried to somehow get the feeling of Hank’s accent in writing.

My writing requests are open ~

[detroitlib]

The May Queen and other poems / Alfred Lord Tennyson ; designed, written out and illuminated by Alberto Sangorski. Rubricated and illuminated. Colophon: "This manuscript, selected poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson, The May Queen, The sea fairies, The beggar maid, Hero to Leander, and Dora was designed, written out, and illuminated by Alberto Sangorski for Messrs. R. Rivière & Son bookbinders & booksellers to H.M. King George V. London. This manuscript will not be duplicated. This manuscript was executed by me [signed] Alberto Sangorski London A.D. 1912."-- P. [63] Full blue morocco, inlaid and gilt in an over-all design with semi-precious stones and seed pearls, mounted on upper cover. Beige morocco doublures, inlaid with red, white and green morocco and gilt. Silk protective guards interleaved between some pages. All edges gilt. Stamp-signed on upper doublure: "Bound by Riviere & Son". In silk-lined green morocco folding case.

[husshow]

mary soon lee - krypton

panagiotakis // sancya // x // sancya

for @simmyfrobby’s haiku series

[contremineur]

Detroit is a city that sometimes forgets its own wild name: people stir and wake themselves to wander out into broken streets, complaining of misery and poverty, and suburbanites still speak of the city as if ugliness and waste were undeniable truths. But every morning, chicory chooses to open its blue, old world flower heads and light up the ruined, haunted fields. Asiatic dayflower blooms, too, for a few blessed, violet hours, while red clover rises out of a humble vine beginning to an extravagant head full of pink, and its cousin, white sweet clover, assumes its delicate, tiny clusters quietly. Queen Anne’s lace, considered a hairy weed by the ignorant, grows wild carrot under while blooming fine and cream above, every day a reminder of survival. Like lush pictures of Auschwitz I once saw and murmured beautiful over before I knew their significance, Detroit aches with pain and beauty this summer. In the empty fields where slums once stood, slender bush clover, lady’s thumb, sow and bull thistle, bitter nightshade all now bloom, unaware of the acrid air and poor soil, and we are unaware that the wild is taking the city back, unaware of a rare, awesome force.

Amy Spade, Days of awe

from here

[xanyiaz]

if you've been wondering where i've been lol

[simmyfrobby]

perchance a dylan larkin poem? <3

— A Very Short Song, Dorothy Parker