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About Deviant Official Beta Tester Joseph Louis Gay-LussacUnknown Groups :iconthewrittenrevolution: theWrittenRevolution
The words are the spark.
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Deviant for 6 Years
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Statistics 323 Deviations 27,323 Comments 47,149 Pageviews

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It's December - would you like a Christmas card? I won't be able to send them out before the 15th -ish, but you will get it. 

63%
5 deviants said Note me your address, and a picture. (even all of you like Steph or Exi who I should have the address of, you should note me anyway :paranoid: )
25%
2 deviants said There is no "no" option. :aww: I want to give out all the love.
13%
1 deviant said Mmmm, what kind of card? (Not the creepy one, promise)

Webcam

Stamps make me happy.

I even divided these into sections. :dummy:

You Think I Care Stamp by bizarrostamps Rain Stamp by Stamp221 Stamp - I love singing alone by BlueHunter I Heart Purple by webgoddess Stamp: i love blue by flyingdown2011 I Support Silliness Stamp. by miss-strychnine Stamp: Kindness by delusional-dreams I love my TABLET stamp by RRRAI Your Smile... by aternity Violent Stamp by Keiko-Koga :thumb76810001: DA Stamp - Video Games 01 by tppgraphics Hobbit at Heart by eniap .Sleep stamp. by rydi1689 I like trains. by bigfunkychiken

Games:

:thumb39732560: Final Fantasy Stamp by ReverieSummoner I heart HORROR games by RebiValeska Bioshock Stamp by Alcamin Ayane Stamp by neobunny Mortal Kombat stamp by Metadream i love tomb raider games by lucianag GTA: Vice City Stamp by NerdXV MGS Fan Stamp by Busiris monster hunter stamp by Xeno-striker Piggy Stamp by Tippy-The-Bunny Albedo Stamp by Mocha-Rush Xenosaga by IceVallejo Tenchu stamp by Llingy

Movies:

joe black stamp by birdie94 Stamp - Iron Hugs by Isilrina voldemort by lauren-lovebites Monster's Inc. Stamp: ... by XxoOjunefoxOoxX Mulan by ThimbleBostitch The Dark Knight-Joker stamp by Deezmo LOTR - Wander by Jenna-Rose

Anime/Manga/Comics:

Spawn Stamp by MR-PHiLL Witchblade Stamp by Notaku Got Geass? - Lelouch Stamp by DGrayAlchemist Orange-kun by cullencrazay NERV Stamp by HeruNoTenchi Absolute Boyfriend Stamp by BanXiao GITS SAC by skinnyveestamp Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann by Kurasii Lucky Star Dance Stamp... by Sheepio Maria Holic stamp by Nami-DA Imagination stamp by NamiYami One Piece Strawhats Stamp by Zocho Cute Face L + Stamp Death Note by Ludra-Jenova Exalibur Dance Stamp by AlClair Tieria Erde - Stamp by Valandill G00 Fan Stamp by Nawamane Stamp - Gundam SEED: Lacus 2 by Emiliers

Music:

The Original Trio Stamp by nakashimariku Sigur Ros Stamp by Ko-omote Jonsi Stamp by iamadem Explosions in the Sky Stamp by rynald Sara Bareilles Stamp. by mylittlebluesky Classical music stamp by Tollerka Music Stamp by JetProwerTheFox Porcupine Tree stamp by kurokimashin - I Listen To Post-Rock - by AbXorb Film Score Stamp by rushpoint stamp - Fabrizio De Andre' by pallottili Samuel -Subsonica- stamp by HtB-stamps

Visitors

If I Could DD, and ramblings

Thu Dec 18, 2014, 7:43 AM
This refers to this activity, If You Could DD... .I've been postponing this, mainly because I thought I didn't have a lot of time. Admittedly, I didn't, but I also would have if I had wanted to, so here I finally am. (: I chose both new favourites and old, because really, the oldies are deserving too. I hope you enjoy them. :heart:

The Wolf on the Hill (Revised)In a little old house on a little old hill,
With the dead black trees and haunted chill,
They say there lived a monstrous wolf pup
That huffed, and puffed, then gobbled kids up.
Three little boys - what a brave young team!
No big bad wolf, no matter how mean,
Could ever scare them - no, not today!
With a huff, and a puff, they made their way.
The first boy stood, staring in the maw
of gaping darkness; it gave him pause.
Like straw in the wind, his nerve gave way
In a huff, and a puff, he flew away
Boy number two, he wanted his kicks,
Throwing tough words and throwing big sticks;
But once he heard that ghostly wail,
He huffed, and he puffed, and turned his tail.
Now the last young boy, though things looked grim,
He stilled the quivers of his chinny chin chin;
Feet planted firm as a big brick wall,
He huffed, and he puffed, and stood up tall.
And, alas! No monster stood there;
Just an old kitty cat with greying hair.
No longer scared, and smiling proud
With a huff, and a puff, he laughed
  Be Not My Goddess
Let me never say
"I am nothing without you,"
for that would make me nothing altogether,
a hollow creature-
and such a thing can only be a parasite.
Let me never say
"I need you,"
for that is not love.
No man has ever loved opium or heroin,
he despises them even as he craves them.
So I would think of you.
Let me never with shaky countenance and weak bended knee
beg you for anything-
O, let me never grovel!
Let these lips never whisper
"I am not worthy,"
for in saying those words I would make them true.
  Nightmare BigGimme that sensation
a thousand times a day, please,
I want to play with with those
cold tingles up and down my hide,
feel the pulse of what our all-knowing
never-blinking inward eye sees and
get high and inebriated with expression's
grateful bounce off of, into and all around
just what it's all about. We are species from
tip toe to wavy, slightly frayed, kinda
frizzy yet still so elegantly orange hair,
so act like it when you ought to, or if
not just slightly breathe to take in
that nicely cooling, somewhat serene
"so my country" air. Fuck fancy, buy in large
or supersized if you want to. Have big nightmares,
if it's your fancy, or dreams if you prefer.
Spend whole days in bed exploring the touch concepts
"of each other" and fall in love. Or fall in debt just
to claw your way out of it. See the world how you
need to, in your eyes, colorblind to red-blue.
But what is love? What is the world?
And what exactly is who are you? Don't care,
I know children who try to tell me their
love is m
  Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.
Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.
Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smile--which didn't take much effort at all--and treated her gently. She would warm up to him sooner or later.
The young king started crying quietly as he stood there, before those old familiar doors. Henry stepped closer. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around the king, but that wouldn't be proper. It hadn't been proper for years.
It didn't matte
  The Fate of Foot 103To hear the cadence of the drum,
Beating as sorrow's softly sung.
Uniforms, rifles shoulder-slung,
The brave and young. The brave and young.
These boys of foot one-hundred three
Blessed youth and fidelity,
Took to the field, to swamp, to sea.
Land of the free! Land of the free!
Marching through the smoke and the smell,
Loyal hounds, to the mouth of Hell.
Thunder and cannon, shot and shell.
For whom the bell? For whom the bell?
T'was a cliff on the River Rhine,
Between the edge and Prussian line
Volley of muskets, sulfur, lime.
Never resign. Never resign.
Soaked in glory, head to boot,
If war a tree, victory; fruit.
But where those ardent, young recruits?
Buried in roots. Buried in roots.
 Let's Talk About SEX Baby by BloodshotInk (not exactly Lit, but I still regard it as something worth reading)  Knickerbocker GloryCHARACTERS 
POLLIN (male office worker in late middle-age)
MASSONIA (female middle-aged office manager)
HABERLEA (male office manager in mid-30s)
STRELITZIA (female office worker in early 20s)
RUDBECK (female office worker in late 20s)
GALANTHUS (male office worker in early 30s)
ZINNIA (male office worker in early 20s)
JUNCUS (male office worker in early 30s)
YUCCA (female office worker in mid-30s)
 
SCENE 1
 
(Lights up. There are two desks facing each other centre stage—not parallel, making an inverted V from the audience’s POV. HABERLEA sits behind the desk on the right, and MASSONIA sits behind the desk on the left. Facing them, with his back to the audience, is POLLIN—making the base of the triangle. He’s sitting on a swivel chair so that he can easily turn and talk to each interviewer, and the audience will be able to see him side on. The colour of the walls and the furniture behind each desk are noticeably different&
  The camp-followers“And they named you Blanche?”
The girl’s hands, holding the pot underwater, stilled in their scrubbing. They stood out against the sandy bottom of the creek like stains. “Blanche-Lys,” she said, “like the King’s flags.”
“But the lys is blanc, not blanche!”
At the puzzled glare the girl shot her, Aglaé understood and laughed. One couldn’t expect one of Blanche’s kin and station to speak well. Her father might have been a honest Frenchman, who stood all his life behind a cannon in a hurricane-battered fort, but the mother who’d given her that dark chestnut skin...
Blanche looked down; her hands resurfaced with the pot, dived again, resumed the scrubbing. Adorable, shy creature. Yet, laid within her arm’s reach and out of the water’s, were a powder horn and a pistol; slung on her back, a cartridge pouch.
“So,” said Aglaé, “Monsieur de Meynet says you o
   Three Point One FourHow I wish a stone seduction,
to wither bones and heart.
Whatever conquered mystery,
tarantula ink is too staining.
They dream to murder dark,
but men remember sin.
So confine daughters' sweet objections
in tailored artifact.
Does a cockroach idolise a canary?
Adornment may encourage adoration,
but becloud lusts I appreciate.
Those virtuous in commitment,
fantasise forever.
Many preferred lost love.
  Hide me in the harbor bed.you could always love me like the notes to your favorite songs,
plucked from velvet and laid below the earth with rose petals
and speeches from family members about the ills of addiction
and how I was never strong enough to make this on my own.
this is not what I was promised, alone in your passenger seat,
whispering that this will be the last time. where did the feelings
of contempt grow from? I devoured my lungs and hollowed my 
frame and found nothing but the will to fly, wingless angel.
I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west and I know
I will die before my time from the addictions I have chosen. 
Feed me to the winds in your breathless prayers, pick my bones
clean and wash away my sins, I want nothing of the life I have
been given. the silhouettes of my memories will not last and
the feelings you hid in your tear stained palms will fade with me.
do not remember me in the strength of your smile or the times
we believed in marquee lights, remember me in
  TragedyThis is the car they drove in the mornings,
when the kids had to be dropped off at school
and he went to work in a starched shirt and suit.
It smelled like coffee and peanuts,
and once the acrid sting of gastric juices
where his daughter threw up and they had to wait ages
to clean the mess off of her corduroys.
This is the fridge where his daughter taped her art,
and where they kept the vegetables she drew faces on
until they dried out because nobody had the heart to cut them up.
His wife always made sure that it was always filled
even when she was working too late to make dinner.
And this is the bridge he walked along
when he found out why his boss had fired him,
and this is the hat flung over the edge,
when he realized why he couldn't jump.
This is the car they used after they sold the old one,
when his son had to be dropped off early for detention,
and his wife started going to church after her mother died.
And it smelled like her terrible sadness,
and the perfume his daughter wore
  chemo bellissimothe chemo makes quick work of your shaggy, espresso-brown hair and eyebrows, leaving you with areas of skin slightly paler than your already wintry cream complexion.
the hair, you tell me, does not bother you too much (a lovely quote straight from your cracking lips: "ha, i look like justin timberlake"); it's the lack of eyebrows that makes you self-conscious. to cheer you up, i bring in some of my brow-filler on my next visit (autumn ash, 146). i had expected you to complain about your masculinity being endangered, but you do not argue, and smiling softly, you allow me access to your face with a serene, almost woeful kind of expression.
"i look like a freak," you say, eyes still closed as i simulate hair with swift, careful strokes (your skin looks so fragile i'm afraid i'll tear it).  translation: how can you still love me like this?
my breath makes fog on your glasses. "the mona lisa has no eyebrows," i begin. "and it's cons
  RapunzelThe floor is covered with ribbons of broken hair – snapped, dry, dirty hair. She watches it break and die every day; even when it groans from her scalp, she no longer cries for it. It's only hair.
She sits in the corner, with another of her headaches, closing her unwashed eyes and praying for sleep.
When a man's voice calls to her from outside, she jumps.
No one speaks to her.
She is one hundred feet from the ground and no one can see her face.
Heart quickening - a newborn sparrow that must learn to fly or else succumb to a hungry mouth -  she struggles with her locked bones to stand and run to the window. She only moves slowly, however desperate she is, her wasted muscles threatening to fold. Her fragile fingers with their grey, unfiled nails fight with the stone sill to gain purchase and she sways, a stricken willow planted in her own filth.
"Let down your hair," he says.
Why won't he leave her alone? Why won't he go from here?! But still she mechanically heaves her co
 




Personal life is pretty nonexistent since I'm on my own. I spend lots of my free time on dA, simply because I don't really enjoy much else right now, and it feels okay like that so why not? Tons of things around here going on anyway. :giggle:

It's almost the end of the year, we I always feel like making a balance when that happens. I guess, generally speaking, that this year for my family has been shit. My brother's fiancée's mother died, my brother-in-law's wife died, my younger brother is going through his crazy teenager phase which is pretty stupid and honestly, pretty heavy on us; trying to be supportive when someone is failing at his things and being told that "I can do it on my own" and when replied to that "why aren't you doing good then" you are told "because I can't", well, it makes you ask yourself THEN WHY NOT LET US HELP SINCE YOU CAN'T EVIDENTLY DO IT ON YOUR OWN. It's like it's so shameful to let someone help, and I don't know where the hell he got that notion from; plus, my mother keeps telling him that he then needs to demonstrate he can do it on his own, while I think it would be healthier if he could learn to ask for help when he needs it. So there's that difference.

On the work-side of things, my brother had to refuse an offer from a Japanese software house because of a Visa issue, so that was a big delusion too. I had my usual summer job, which was a delusion too, but we went through it nonetheless. Me and a friend of mine had been toying a business idea, but turns out that if you're not already rich, they won't give you the money to start it up because I don't know if you knew, banks aren't supposed to help you, but themselves. It sort of was good, though, because it was one of the many reasons that made us decide to relocate to the US, finally, so I think something positive is in there.

On the friends-side, I think I lost, or almost lost, two friends I care about; things have just changed, mostly for them I guess because I still care. But sometimes people just get tired, I guess, or for some reason that might very well have been me, choose a different road. I will eventually get used to it, once I stop caring too, which might take a long while; for one of these two friends, at least, I'm almost there. It's sad, isn't it?

In any case, even if the year hasn't been the best ever, me and iamadem were together for most of it, so it was ultimately okay. We tell each other that things will look up, and I'm sure they will. I've had the second good hair day in like forever, today, so maybe that's a godly sign; but I hope not, because truthfully, if he exists, I fucking hate god and his signs are probably doom for me.

:heart: It's our first wedding anniversary in two days, and we won't be together for it. Which is okay, too, we're working towards a future where we won't need to spend any other anniversary apart. 




How are you all doing?

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Activity


If I Could DD, and ramblings

Thu Dec 18, 2014, 7:43 AM
This refers to this activity, If You Could DD... .I've been postponing this, mainly because I thought I didn't have a lot of time. Admittedly, I didn't, but I also would have if I had wanted to, so here I finally am. (: I chose both new favourites and old, because really, the oldies are deserving too. I hope you enjoy them. :heart:

The Wolf on the Hill (Revised)In a little old house on a little old hill,
With the dead black trees and haunted chill,
They say there lived a monstrous wolf pup
That huffed, and puffed, then gobbled kids up.
Three little boys - what a brave young team!
No big bad wolf, no matter how mean,
Could ever scare them - no, not today!
With a huff, and a puff, they made their way.
The first boy stood, staring in the maw
of gaping darkness; it gave him pause.
Like straw in the wind, his nerve gave way
In a huff, and a puff, he flew away
Boy number two, he wanted his kicks,
Throwing tough words and throwing big sticks;
But once he heard that ghostly wail,
He huffed, and he puffed, and turned his tail.
Now the last young boy, though things looked grim,
He stilled the quivers of his chinny chin chin;
Feet planted firm as a big brick wall,
He huffed, and he puffed, and stood up tall.
And, alas! No monster stood there;
Just an old kitty cat with greying hair.
No longer scared, and smiling proud
With a huff, and a puff, he laughed
  Be Not My Goddess
Let me never say
"I am nothing without you,"
for that would make me nothing altogether,
a hollow creature-
and such a thing can only be a parasite.
Let me never say
"I need you,"
for that is not love.
No man has ever loved opium or heroin,
he despises them even as he craves them.
So I would think of you.
Let me never with shaky countenance and weak bended knee
beg you for anything-
O, let me never grovel!
Let these lips never whisper
"I am not worthy,"
for in saying those words I would make them true.
  Nightmare BigGimme that sensation
a thousand times a day, please,
I want to play with with those
cold tingles up and down my hide,
feel the pulse of what our all-knowing
never-blinking inward eye sees and
get high and inebriated with expression's
grateful bounce off of, into and all around
just what it's all about. We are species from
tip toe to wavy, slightly frayed, kinda
frizzy yet still so elegantly orange hair,
so act like it when you ought to, or if
not just slightly breathe to take in
that nicely cooling, somewhat serene
"so my country" air. Fuck fancy, buy in large
or supersized if you want to. Have big nightmares,
if it's your fancy, or dreams if you prefer.
Spend whole days in bed exploring the touch concepts
"of each other" and fall in love. Or fall in debt just
to claw your way out of it. See the world how you
need to, in your eyes, colorblind to red-blue.
But what is love? What is the world?
And what exactly is who are you? Don't care,
I know children who try to tell me their
love is m
  Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.
Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.
Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smile--which didn't take much effort at all--and treated her gently. She would warm up to him sooner or later.
The young king started crying quietly as he stood there, before those old familiar doors. Henry stepped closer. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around the king, but that wouldn't be proper. It hadn't been proper for years.
It didn't matte
  The Fate of Foot 103To hear the cadence of the drum,
Beating as sorrow's softly sung.
Uniforms, rifles shoulder-slung,
The brave and young. The brave and young.
These boys of foot one-hundred three
Blessed youth and fidelity,
Took to the field, to swamp, to sea.
Land of the free! Land of the free!
Marching through the smoke and the smell,
Loyal hounds, to the mouth of Hell.
Thunder and cannon, shot and shell.
For whom the bell? For whom the bell?
T'was a cliff on the River Rhine,
Between the edge and Prussian line
Volley of muskets, sulfur, lime.
Never resign. Never resign.
Soaked in glory, head to boot,
If war a tree, victory; fruit.
But where those ardent, young recruits?
Buried in roots. Buried in roots.
 Let's Talk About SEX Baby by BloodshotInk (not exactly Lit, but I still regard it as something worth reading)  Knickerbocker GloryCHARACTERS 
POLLIN (male office worker in late middle-age)
MASSONIA (female middle-aged office manager)
HABERLEA (male office manager in mid-30s)
STRELITZIA (female office worker in early 20s)
RUDBECK (female office worker in late 20s)
GALANTHUS (male office worker in early 30s)
ZINNIA (male office worker in early 20s)
JUNCUS (male office worker in early 30s)
YUCCA (female office worker in mid-30s)
 
SCENE 1
 
(Lights up. There are two desks facing each other centre stage—not parallel, making an inverted V from the audience’s POV. HABERLEA sits behind the desk on the right, and MASSONIA sits behind the desk on the left. Facing them, with his back to the audience, is POLLIN—making the base of the triangle. He’s sitting on a swivel chair so that he can easily turn and talk to each interviewer, and the audience will be able to see him side on. The colour of the walls and the furniture behind each desk are noticeably different&
  The camp-followers“And they named you Blanche?”
The girl’s hands, holding the pot underwater, stilled in their scrubbing. They stood out against the sandy bottom of the creek like stains. “Blanche-Lys,” she said, “like the King’s flags.”
“But the lys is blanc, not blanche!”
At the puzzled glare the girl shot her, Aglaé understood and laughed. One couldn’t expect one of Blanche’s kin and station to speak well. Her father might have been a honest Frenchman, who stood all his life behind a cannon in a hurricane-battered fort, but the mother who’d given her that dark chestnut skin...
Blanche looked down; her hands resurfaced with the pot, dived again, resumed the scrubbing. Adorable, shy creature. Yet, laid within her arm’s reach and out of the water’s, were a powder horn and a pistol; slung on her back, a cartridge pouch.
“So,” said Aglaé, “Monsieur de Meynet says you o
   Three Point One FourHow I wish a stone seduction,
to wither bones and heart.
Whatever conquered mystery,
tarantula ink is too staining.
They dream to murder dark,
but men remember sin.
So confine daughters' sweet objections
in tailored artifact.
Does a cockroach idolise a canary?
Adornment may encourage adoration,
but becloud lusts I appreciate.
Those virtuous in commitment,
fantasise forever.
Many preferred lost love.
  Hide me in the harbor bed.you could always love me like the notes to your favorite songs,
plucked from velvet and laid below the earth with rose petals
and speeches from family members about the ills of addiction
and how I was never strong enough to make this on my own.
this is not what I was promised, alone in your passenger seat,
whispering that this will be the last time. where did the feelings
of contempt grow from? I devoured my lungs and hollowed my 
frame and found nothing but the will to fly, wingless angel.
I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west and I know
I will die before my time from the addictions I have chosen. 
Feed me to the winds in your breathless prayers, pick my bones
clean and wash away my sins, I want nothing of the life I have
been given. the silhouettes of my memories will not last and
the feelings you hid in your tear stained palms will fade with me.
do not remember me in the strength of your smile or the times
we believed in marquee lights, remember me in
  TragedyThis is the car they drove in the mornings,
when the kids had to be dropped off at school
and he went to work in a starched shirt and suit.
It smelled like coffee and peanuts,
and once the acrid sting of gastric juices
where his daughter threw up and they had to wait ages
to clean the mess off of her corduroys.
This is the fridge where his daughter taped her art,
and where they kept the vegetables she drew faces on
until they dried out because nobody had the heart to cut them up.
His wife always made sure that it was always filled
even when she was working too late to make dinner.
And this is the bridge he walked along
when he found out why his boss had fired him,
and this is the hat flung over the edge,
when he realized why he couldn't jump.
This is the car they used after they sold the old one,
when his son had to be dropped off early for detention,
and his wife started going to church after her mother died.
And it smelled like her terrible sadness,
and the perfume his daughter wore
  chemo bellissimothe chemo makes quick work of your shaggy, espresso-brown hair and eyebrows, leaving you with areas of skin slightly paler than your already wintry cream complexion.
the hair, you tell me, does not bother you too much (a lovely quote straight from your cracking lips: "ha, i look like justin timberlake"); it's the lack of eyebrows that makes you self-conscious. to cheer you up, i bring in some of my brow-filler on my next visit (autumn ash, 146). i had expected you to complain about your masculinity being endangered, but you do not argue, and smiling softly, you allow me access to your face with a serene, almost woeful kind of expression.
"i look like a freak," you say, eyes still closed as i simulate hair with swift, careful strokes (your skin looks so fragile i'm afraid i'll tear it).  translation: how can you still love me like this?
my breath makes fog on your glasses. "the mona lisa has no eyebrows," i begin. "and it's cons
  RapunzelThe floor is covered with ribbons of broken hair – snapped, dry, dirty hair. She watches it break and die every day; even when it groans from her scalp, she no longer cries for it. It's only hair.
She sits in the corner, with another of her headaches, closing her unwashed eyes and praying for sleep.
When a man's voice calls to her from outside, she jumps.
No one speaks to her.
She is one hundred feet from the ground and no one can see her face.
Heart quickening - a newborn sparrow that must learn to fly or else succumb to a hungry mouth -  she struggles with her locked bones to stand and run to the window. She only moves slowly, however desperate she is, her wasted muscles threatening to fold. Her fragile fingers with their grey, unfiled nails fight with the stone sill to gain purchase and she sways, a stricken willow planted in her own filth.
"Let down your hair," he says.
Why won't he leave her alone? Why won't he go from here?! But still she mechanically heaves her co
 




Personal life is pretty nonexistent since I'm on my own. I spend lots of my free time on dA, simply because I don't really enjoy much else right now, and it feels okay like that so why not? Tons of things around here going on anyway. :giggle:

It's almost the end of the year, we I always feel like making a balance when that happens. I guess, generally speaking, that this year for my family has been shit. My brother's fiancée's mother died, my brother-in-law's wife died, my younger brother is going through his crazy teenager phase which is pretty stupid and honestly, pretty heavy on us; trying to be supportive when someone is failing at his things and being told that "I can do it on my own" and when replied to that "why aren't you doing good then" you are told "because I can't", well, it makes you ask yourself THEN WHY NOT LET US HELP SINCE YOU CAN'T EVIDENTLY DO IT ON YOUR OWN. It's like it's so shameful to let someone help, and I don't know where the hell he got that notion from; plus, my mother keeps telling him that he then needs to demonstrate he can do it on his own, while I think it would be healthier if he could learn to ask for help when he needs it. So there's that difference.

On the work-side of things, my brother had to refuse an offer from a Japanese software house because of a Visa issue, so that was a big delusion too. I had my usual summer job, which was a delusion too, but we went through it nonetheless. Me and a friend of mine had been toying a business idea, but turns out that if you're not already rich, they won't give you the money to start it up because I don't know if you knew, banks aren't supposed to help you, but themselves. It sort of was good, though, because it was one of the many reasons that made us decide to relocate to the US, finally, so I think something positive is in there.

On the friends-side, I think I lost, or almost lost, two friends I care about; things have just changed, mostly for them I guess because I still care. But sometimes people just get tired, I guess, or for some reason that might very well have been me, choose a different road. I will eventually get used to it, once I stop caring too, which might take a long while; for one of these two friends, at least, I'm almost there. It's sad, isn't it?

In any case, even if the year hasn't been the best ever, me and iamadem were together for most of it, so it was ultimately okay. We tell each other that things will look up, and I'm sure they will. I've had the second good hair day in like forever, today, so maybe that's a godly sign; but I hope not, because truthfully, if he exists, I fucking hate god and his signs are probably doom for me.

:heart: It's our first wedding anniversary in two days, and we won't be together for it. Which is okay, too, we're working towards a future where we won't need to spend any other anniversary apart. 




How are you all doing?

The Addiction and Expressivity of Life
180 deviations
Memories Journal Skin by HtBlack
Memories Journal Skin
Oh and - this is my first skin submission, so yeah, be patient with me while I fix the things I did wrong. :lol: I think I fixed everything.

As the skin says, thanks go to pica-ae for her CSS Tricks articles, and to neurotype for the lit-thumbs styling PE article. The thumbs I used inside the skin are, from my favourites, Second Breakfast by ever-so-excited and  Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.
Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.
Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smile--which didn't take much effort at all--and treated her gently. She would warm up to him sooner or later.
The young king started crying quietly as he stood there, before those old familiar doors. Henry stepped closer. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around the king, but that wouldn't be proper. It hadn't been proper for years.
It didn't matte
, both good stuff.

The only resource I used from dA is AndreeaArsene 's Glitter Pattern. Yeah, it's glitter. :B




This is my submission for CalendarProject , based on the keyword "memories". It's also the first skin I coded all on my own, except the designs I did for theWrittenRevolution in the past, so I'm pretty proud. (: :heart:
Okay, I didn't code it all on my own, I used pica-ae 's CSS Template, but it was pretty much a blank one. :noes:

I hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays. :hug:

PS: yes, I did forget to change the preview's title. :lol: when I was testing the skin, all the content text, header links and headers was "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy", so you're sort of lucky I didn't keep that and I just forgot the title. :XD:



instructions

<div class="content">your text goes here</div> for your main journal text. When you want to use a header, close the division first with the </div> tag!

<h3>your text goes here</h3> is the header with the star decoration. (:

<blockquote>your text goes here</blockquote> is the white text with the sleeping cat decoration. 

<div class="feature"> your text and thumbs go here</div> is the feature area.

<hr> (this doesn't have a closing tag! You just write <hr> every time you want a dividing line) for the divider.

To style the header links: (they don't have links attached to them, they're empty) when you click on Install it takes you to the journal page, on the right you click "edit skin", you accept the agreement, and in the CSS header option where there is this:<a href=""></a>, the URL address of what you want to link to goes in here <a href="YOUR URL GOES HERE">AND THE NAME OF WHAT YOU ARE LINKING TO GOES HERE</a>.

:aww:
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It's the middle of the month, and we're ready for some poetry discussion that will show you why this book is worth your time. (: this book is really short, so if you haven't gotten around to reading yet, don't despair! Ask PinkyMcCoversong who read like half of it in a day. "But she's awesome", the crowds say - I know, but her superpowers don't include reading poetry particularly fast. :aww:

Oh pray, good HtBlack, what makes this book of poetry from someone I don't even know worth my time?

Well, you know, we all have tastes, so we tend to read what we think we'll like - and it's fair. But sometimes our tastes prevent us from looking farther than we're used to, and as writers/readers, broad horizons in my opinion should matter. And Glück's works are an example of why.

"The Wild Iris" presents itself as an array of nature poems, from their titles. Read through the table of contents and you'll see it - also within it, the subject of flowers and of seasons changing is pretty obvious. Doesn't sound too exciting, right?

:stare: wrong
. Let me use an example. From poetryfoundation.org, (who displays it with proper permission) one of the poems from The Wild Iris: "The End of Winter".

Reading it once, it's a lovely nature poem, describing birth, discovery, and the parting of a bird from its nest maybe? There are no immediate rhetoric figures that stick to mind, apart from that first "bird calls, black boughs" and I think here's another thing we're not very used to do anymore: we don't think enough. I found myself looking between the lines for meaning, and there it was - the world beneath the veil.

Louise Glück's poems are never as simple as the first reading. Hell, sometimes they're not as simple as the second or the third. And it's not because (even though there are, they don't rule the writing you know?) rhetoric figures and flamboyant imagery play at our mind's edges: if they helped display things more evidently, in fact, the meanings within would be clearer more easily.

They are a different kind of clever, with how they read like something trivial at times, critical others. And they're different levels of clever. Sometimes her poems will hide their different meanings more than others, sometimes they will be more merged together. But nonetheless, - I'm thinking of "Daisies" here. That poem spoke to me in an incredible way. (for those of you following the month no, you haven't gotten to reading "Daisies" yet if you ended on "Midsummer", no need to go read the ToC)

Reading poetry this different from what I usually read has helped me understand other poetry in general more, I think. And that, especially as a writer but also as a reader, is very rewarding. Opening our eyes to other kinds of work and broadening our horizon should be a new year resolution of every writer AND reader. (: And this Book Club helps you start early, how awesome is that. :la:

So that's my take on Louise Glück's "The Wild Iris" as of right now. :heart: What about you all? As I've already said, it's a really tiny book, and so even if you haven't started it yet, you can still get it at your local library, or bookstore while you do your Christmas shopping (or in absence of that, your book shopping ;)).

What are your thoughts, your favourite poems/passages, and most of all because curiosity - what's your take on her interludes, the Matins? We can't compare them to the Vespers yet, but we will. :eager:

PS: Awesome prizes go to the deviants who participate in the discussion the most! Check them out in the main journal below.








"The Wild Iris" is a poetry collection by Louise Glück, an amazing poet born in New York City in 1943. (: We have chosen her for this month's Book Club for many reasons, but personally, her intimate, personal, "familiar" kind of writing makes me think of the nature of the holidays that are coming up. And since not everyone celebrates them, I think we could unite under the feelings these poems give us at least. :heart:

Fact:
Glück won the Pulitzer Prize with "Wild Iris"! We partly chose this collection of hers specifically because considering this, we thought it would be widely available, both in book stores AND in libraries for those who can't afford to buy it (if your library doesn't have it and you still want to follow reading with us, I have a list of links to some of the poetry contained in this book - I will note it if asked).


Some details:
  • We will have a mid-month discussion (I'm also available for a chat if you guys want, on the day I release the mid-month journal!), and by then, you must have read until the poem called "Midsummer", the last one before the Vespers begin.
  • at the end of the month, at the beginning of an exciting New Year, I will post an end journal where we can share opinions about the book and the poet. :D (and a chat, if any of you will be home that day, like me)
  • ANOTHER PRIZE UPDATE! this month's prizes, that will go to the deviant who actively participates in the Club the most, are: a copy of Christine Heppermann's Poisoned Apples: Poems For You, My Pretty, courtesy of HarperTeen Publishing and a copy of Michalle Gould's Resurrection Party, courtesy of Silver Birtch Press, and will be given to the deviant who participates in the book discussion more - and we have a stack of prizes for the "wrap-up", end-of-year journal!
 



Want more info on the Book Club?

Check out our FAQ and Schedule. (:

Want more info on Louise Glück?

I personally love her bio on poetryfoundation.org!

And here is the article from Yale News about her 2014 National Book Award for Poetry. :D she was awarded this after we decided to have our December Book Club be a book from her, so that's pretty awesome isn't it?



So what are you waiting for? Celebrate the beauty of winter (or summer, according to where you are ;P) with us and read some excellent literature. :heart: (maybe share some if you or someone you know wrote/created something about Glück or her works!)


GhostI walk amongst the trees
in the form of falling light.
Though the sound of my passing
is heard beyond the grove
the words spoken before the burial
are just pretty spokes on the wheels
of a rolling hearse with my remains:
the newest arrival on the asphodel highway.
Water runs from my bones.
My body has mutated
into a fine mess of flowers,
spring rain, and dotted moss.
I have been buried with
a gold watch,
a photo album,
a book of recent poems,
and a letter.
Why these things, I don’t know. The dead
have no need for time.
They neither remember nor recall, a photo
is nothing more than sentiment
clinging to our sides, unbearably warm,
hazy as the worn static of an old dream.
Their poetry is a container for beauty, a vessel
for the experience of living. The dead
couldn’t say these words even if they wanted to.
Their mouths are sewn shut, not even a hum
can escape that faint smile
made with a needle through the back of the throat, a thread
pulling at the roof of the mouth, produci
 Dance of the Goblins by catch---22  cold soup, for louisewhite and grey mother,
you knelt before the ice to watch
fat little faces sink;
descending figures,
elementary bodies of black
feather children.  a muffled giggle
sneaks from an open mouth, an
innocent face, breaks the surface,
shatters.  their school-yard laughter
silent until spring.
you'll say little, mourn less,
refusing to cry into cracked indigo
hands; you waved, sent them away,
more than enough.  but there are
no painters, no doctors to revive,
to relieve your burden;
best sink that, too.
 Wild Iris Sierra Sunrise by narmansk8  A Photograph of Louise GluckA Photograph of Louise Glück
She does not move, does not turn
to meet my gaze. The patterned collar
of her polyester jacket is rigid,
crisp against her neck.
Under my fingertips, it is smooth
against the aged photograph.
She cannot know life outside
this thick book cover. It is her
blue prison. When it opens
the spine creaks like old joints.
Her eyes are piercing,
stippled pupils behind wide
shiny lenses. They scan the painted sky,
milk it of its beauty.
I am relieved she cannot see
me. Or she would see beyond me
and know the imitation of my words.
-Tara Smith
 The Pond by tangentuniverse  CattailsCattails
I am one
of brown flowered bodies, swaying
on thin legs of stem,
uniform in the wind.
Swaying until you
stomp through us,
your purposeful stride punctuated
by the soles of your shoes.
Your feet are heavy like the fall
of a hammer.
You who move cannot
be permitted to go around
into the rippling shallow water.
Your feet are our judgment.
Half of us fold to the dirt.
Half of us carry on
erect.
I am one left standing.
- Tara Smith
 Gretel in Darkness by CrescentReflections 


December Book Club: Wild Iris, a poetry collection
For this month's CRLiterature Book Club we're reading Wild Iris, a poetry collection by Louise Glück. (: PS: we have great prizes and we're reading an amazing book! Join us!
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Journals that deserve attention
164 deviations

deviantID

HtBlack
Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac
Your friendly - but a bit of a troll, admittedly - next-door neighbour. I love cookies, gaming, Magic:the Gathering and anime; I love silence, music and nature; I love long walks, being lazy, I love silly things like earrings, jeans and nail polish (and I have tons of them all, beware). I love experimenting with my hair because let's admit it, it always grows back eventually.
I love smiles, cold weather, and I love when my toes are warm next to the fire. I love reading, writing, and improving my English thanks to both of those; I love #thewrittenrevolution and all that it lets me to for the community, I love the happiness it gives me.
I love the friends I have made, and those that I will make tomorrow. I love you.
Interests

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:icondeviantartist14:
DeviantArtist14 Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the favorite! ^^
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:iconcanis44:
Canis44 Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2014  Student Writer
Thanks a bunch for adding my poem, 7:00AM, to your favorites. :)
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:iconhtblack:
HtBlack Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2014
It was my pleasure. :heart:
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:iconuszatyarbuz:
UszatyArbuz Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fav! Sending warm hugs for the cold autumn day Huggle!
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:iconhtblack:
HtBlack Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2014
:heart: it was my pleasure. :hug:
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