blackdahlia911

For anyone who still follows me on deviantart, I'd appreciate you checking out my new website: www.josiefrances.com
It is my photography/art website for business.
I have also started up an art blog to go along with it on tumblr: josiefrances.tumblr.com
I posted some photos and a random poem just to get things started but I will post photos, writing, and paintings regularly if you are interested in following  

When stripped down to bone and blood vessels, what makes us different from anyone else? Maybe it was never the body that made the difference, but the soul that lie inside it. Today a helicopter crashed. Two died and one in critical condition. But what should that mean to those who never knew them? It has the possibility of meaning everything. The loss is sad, but shouldn't that inspire us to really live? I mean truly and passionately live. Death is unpredictable but imminent all the same. So when I hear the advice to take chances and to go after your dreams, no matter how huge, it makes me wonder why most of us do not. It also makes me question what they really mean. Is a life without risk and wonder not a full life lived? Or is it okay to find peace in the calm and watch as others brave the storm? Here I am with all of these questions and here we all are without answers. Maybe that's the point. Maybe we aren't supposed to know the reasons behind life, but rather we are supposed to ride on the curves of emotion and sink into love like bathwater. For when I think of what I wish for my life, I wish for sun. To be rid of the darkness. I wish to fulfill my life's purpose even though I may never understand what it is. But mostly, I wish to love and be loved, because without that deep ache of love beneath my chest, I am nothing. Now as I inhale, I remember this idea I had, when I was very young, where I felt as though I knew what it meant to live simply and that was all I had ever wanted. As I have aged, I have realized that life is as simple as we choose it to be. We can hold grudges, harbor resentment, and hold onto the past. Or we can choose to forgive, to love freely, and to realize that we are not alone in what we want. That we are part of a bigger picture and that this moment, this second we are in right now is what makes all the difference.

I'm not sure how many of my watchers still even pay attention to my work and I feel bad that I have not been posting poems and prose lately, but it's because I have really gotten into painting. So here is the link to my etsy site where I sell prints, originals, and custom paintings: 

<sub>Ok so I finally finished putting together this book. It is a mixture of my photography, poems, and short prose. I don't expect anyone to actually buy it haha but I just wanted to share! I am excited for it to come in the mail!

Here's the link:
www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail…</sub>

I'm re-releasing four of my stored deviations and you can let me know what you think and if you'd like me to release more of my previous work. I have a whole phobia series that might be interesting to continue with.

the sun encourages the insaneSwollen lymph nodes in a swans neck;
Enticing little devils with sword-sharp beaks;
They could swallow your frayed ribbon veins like
angel hair noodles. winter lanterns won't igniteIt smells like Tuesday,
but no it's more like Wednesday
and I just caught my heel
on the rough side of the nails
holding down the floorboards of
your lackadaisical asylum.
It sounds like there are trumpets blaring
in the pulse of your obsidian shelves that you like to call
ribs.
Sometimes the horns are intermixed with
alligator silent lacerations
and it's nice because it's
quiet.
There aren't many quiet spells left
and I am still afraid of needles entering
the small veins on the top of my palms.
If I could stuff you with fire and sanitarium
cotton swabs I would because maybe then
you'd be able to swim faster instead of
swimming slowly through mermaid tonics.
The allover green and sequin gills repulse and
seduce you all-at-once.
Please don't underestimate the power of
the sirens, nymphs, and pixies
because you're better when you're
steamed-fresh, packed, and sealed,
even though you keep memoirs of undead poets
between the layers of the
plastic.  
When our inky, onyx eyes engag I hope you're not anemiclove me, love me, as if we're underwater,
breathe deep, inhale laps of turquoise heat,
exhale the hexes that arrest your lungs from
wiping away
resurrections.  
arrest your lungs like
handcuff bound wrists,
sleek and cool metal causing
your skin to retract and sing
quips of fucked up love
songs.
oh, but I'm no one really,
you could bite off my lips or
peel back my spotted angled
flesh to reveal I'm oh, but nothing
more than a
viral disease.
satisfaction has never come easy for
you because you have always wanted
aging, rotten berries that stain
white t-shirts as if
a scalpel was taken to the scapula,
carving seedless entities onto bony barriers
while removing the
pulp.
it has always been easier for you
to throw me
away in a replaceable fashion,
singeing the wrists with octopus ink,
and burying
then burying deeper the zebra striped syringes
that have injected you with a truth serum to reveal
you're just another cracked out
liar.  
if I were to pull down the zipper tha who am ii. i am a shy shakespearean sonnet,
silent like a silent, holy night;
the only things that wander here are
malignant whisperers and
stagnant sheep.
ii. i am a wild withered wolf,
swamp dusted fur with
wrung out rack bone ribs and
deer never sounded so
good.
iii. i am a childish carnivore's caress,
made up of granite and rock and
nothing truly exceptional,
no nothing truly great.
iv. i am a lovely lanky lullaby,
sung by old-fashioned orca whales
and monsters from
under the bed.
v. i am a perishable paranormal pomegranate,
succulent seeds to a rotting core,
gutted and extinguished,
to never be enjoyed again.
vi. i am a sleek sanguine scar,
from a memory of fourteen years ago today;
to match the twelve stitches that held the
skin in place.
vii. i am a chilled clairvoyant cavern,
filled with sweet vampire bats
and nocturnal light,
which means no real light at all.
viii. i am an ancient arctic anchor,
holding down a ship at sea;
withering away with oars and humans
and all things seaweed.
ix