If the life you've lived so far was written as a storybook,
What type of storybook would it be?
In which category you want it to fall...
Are you really doing something to make your story stand apart with pride?
Sleep. Spoken Word.I used the terminology
You said you wanted honesty
But the truth broke you down you see
You're not the man I feel in love with
My head's all full of smoke
And all I wanna do is dope
Something to not make me feel
This whole experience is so surreal
Did you ever love me at all?
Or was it just that I was at your beck and call
That you want me to stay
Afraid that I'll ever go away
I know I've strayed
I made mistakes
But boy, you are not perfect.
Because for all the ways
That you made me pay
Left me wanting to pray
God, that's sacrilege.
I am a pacifistic
But when it comes to my rights
I better stand up and fight
Because who is going to fight for me?
This person who adores me?
This person that is no longer himself
But the real him on a shelf
Changing to erasing
All because he's afraid I'm not staying.
Can't handle that.
We are like flowers that are wilting
Now an imprint
A reminder of what once was
A snide remark
Of what's never to come
What do I do
When I am bo
The Depth in a Drop of Starlight (Part 1)The depth of a drop of starlight
Memory. A droplet falling through the void
Sparkles resonate upon the surface
Abrasion aft and oft avoid
Where seasons bereft, a dawnless solstice
Into the ever, a journey through
Tracks and railways into the dark
From the depths of you into
Manifest. Within a light's true spark
By the substance of tangible touch
By sight into the mind's might mold
The vault of virtue, the home of much
Where consciousness is only told
From the scales of density and thought
Into the pierce of concept born
An aspect of perception oft naught caught
Save for some that sue forlorn
Resonation regal as pure starlight
The gradation of gleam in glisten
Held by the magic of the night
If only your heart could only listen
Streams of symphony to senses sure
Sacred sanctity instilled so true
Profound and puissant in piercing pure
Caught in more than a sense of view
From the deepest depths of be
From the dearest of the heart
All and part of every sea
To never end and from every start
Along Dreams…Along dreams,
As many will falter,
We create our own worlds.
Celluloid fashion slaves
Rush to buy the
Next new shiny void.
Crumble this empire,
Our leaves are dormant here,
And our minds are
Futurist fables and retro roughage.
Sunshine flower eyes
White faint clouds
Across the blue sea-sky.
Hold the soil in your hands,
Hold the past in your mind.
White faint clouds
Hide your fear,
For there is no tide here,
And your hair shines
As if I were asleep,
Dreaming of our dormant leaves
Unfurling and reaching for the rain.
Dreaming of our dormant leaves,
That offer new concubine hats,
Reflective nasal portages and
Guttural riverside ramblings.
Blue up above,
Sky-scape above us,
Heads all attached well,
Use your arms to reach,
I was once informed
That they like the way we smell
And they’re all around us.
Crumble your ashes of
Burnt celluloid dreams,
Kick away your trend shroud
For they can see through your disguise.
And along we fa
Flash-Forward: Kawena Ch.???My bare feet touched down on solid land, caressing the soft soil in the webbed cradles between each of my toes. I staggered forward and fell, unable to hold the full weight of my body as my limp legs crumpled beneath me. My wings twitched and tingled against the frosty fur of my clothes, unable to stop so abruptly after flying for three days and nights through the open sky.
Never before have I tired of flying. Never before has the mist of the clouds felt so cold on my blueberry-gray feathers.
But in the open sky and without so much as the speck of an Isla in sight, flying blindly, exhaustion crippling my wings… for the first time ever I prayed I would be able to stop.
And I had nearly done just that.
I staggered and swayed, but eventually managed to stand on my own two feet. Bubbling white clouds met periwinkle sky at the horizon and went on forever behind me, obscuring from sight the world I had left behind.
The sandstone earth popped beneath my feet.
I leapt with all my remaini
Kawena Ch. 2.1: Child of the SkyIt wasn’t long after I’d set a piece of fish beside Fallon, thanked Cressa and Nassima for the food, and took a bite of my own breakfast that Fallon spoke up.
“How can you eat that,” Fallon asked. He’d covered his mouth with his hand, which made it difficult to understand him. When I looked up at him from where I sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed of furs, I saw Fallon glance around the room as if noticing where he was for the first time. “This whole place stinks of dead animals,” he said as he blinked back the water welling up in his eyes.
I looked around the room as I ate and tried to see what was upsetting him. Several old pelts and furs that were losing their fur were piled here and there despite doing my best to keep them sturdy. It had been a long time since I last felled a deer, so those pelts especially were looking worn down—but the smell was nothing like when Teacher and I spent two days skinning and processing a pair
Double Deceit 32. Refugees
"Lilith didn't even want to eat the things I prepared. She stood and left me behind in that terrace and with my breath cramped in my throat as I couldn't figure out anything reasonable to say. Apologize mayhap, albeit I didn't think I had reasons to apologize. And that's it, the sad story of a loser," Solan sighed as his fingers knotted around a glass which had once contained a throat-scorching quantity of brandy. It was past midnight. Solan had returned, sequestered Amar in their suite and with the help of a bottle of Cyril's most expensive distilled spirits had he unrolled the wretched tale.
"You missed your chance again, bro'," Amar stated where he sat sprawled in the sofa with a composed face and half-finished drink in hand.
"I shouldn't even aim for that chance, you know!"
"You ought to talk to her."
"I don't suspect she'd listen. You know, she was so prepared to go the whole way after all. Just a few more moment, one, I'd say, and we'd be too far caught up in the lust. And we'd d
ToleranceI don't like Christianity,
their uncaring God upsets me.
I don't like homosexual relationships,
it is a choice made, and they can easily dispose of it.
I don't like feminist,
they live to treat men like bullshit.
I don't like school,
its boring and uncool.
I don't like religious persons,
I think those who're non-religious annoy them.
I don't like Atheist,
they're jerks, and love to make fun of us.
I don't like Islam,
it only succeeds in dropping bombs.
I don't like certain races,
they throw their struggles in our faces.
I don't like certain genders,
they use their sex to wrap others around their fingers.
I don't like many things,
namely those that go against my beliefs.
But despite my dislike,
I know not to fight.
I know not to hate,
scorn, or show my distaste.
As a human being, I'll tolerate,
because my negativity will contribute to hate.
So my endless dislike,
I will keep locked inside.
Yes, I'm GayYes, I'm most defiantly gay,
but that doesn't mean I'd throw my Bible away.
Yes, I'm certainly sure I'm a lesbian,
but don't think I’ll ever stop loving Him.
Yes, I'm pretty sure I’m bisexual,
but that doesn't mean I’ll stop praying through Gabriel and Raphael.
Of course I’m a feminist of epic proportions,
but that doesn't mean I'll ever support abortion.
Yeah, I haven't been to church in ages,
but that doesn't mean I’ll never flip my Bible pages.
Yes, I know my sexuality is a sin,
but that doesn't mean I don't belong to the Kingdom of Heaven.
I'm aware that you may not like my gay lifestyle,
but beneath that, I’m a child of God, and that makes Him smile.
Of course I'm aware that I'm a colossal slut,
but if you say I’m not God's daughter,you can kiss my butt.
Yeah, I know that I have a terrible drinking problem and I’m stuck on drugs,
but that doesn't mean I'm not God's son.
Yes, I know that I've hurt and nearly killed,
DeathMareWhen I die,
still the birds will sing and fly
When I die
few will mourn me, few will cry
When I die,
still will rain, still will dry
When I die;
tell me when, I know why.
When and if I ever die,
you'll see my star up to the sky
When and if I ever die,
gods will mourn me, they will cry
When and if I ever die,
the earth will shake, seas will dry
When and if I ever die...
I am immortal, I can't die!!!
We are never talk so well,
things to say we cannot tell.
Words from small to bigger man,
learn to live, while living can.
Face with eyes and mouth don’t move,
nothing saying, does not prove.
If you hearing through the fuzz,
learn to be, while being does.
Where beyond the quiet place,
search to see the change of face,
use your time left just to see,
be a living, live to free.
leaving now, but hear before,
easy caring, to ignore.
Do not to hear these words ban,
learn to love, while loving can.
[Mikuni x Jeje] Spin the Bottle
They watched as the bottle spun round and round on the table. When it landed on his Eve, Envy let out an audible sigh. “No. I’m not kissing you. I’ll spin again.”
“Eh?!” Mikuni exclaimed, “But Jeje!”
“You're so mean!”
The other pairs looked on awkwardly. Envy was pretty intimidating. And it was hard to believe that he was even willing to sit and play this game. Maybe it was because it was his sibling’s request? That’s probably the only reason that anybody is playing in the first place. This whole thing was put together by All of Love and Lawless, of course. Everyone else was looking pretty bored.
Envy reached for the bottle, giving it a whirl and having it land once again on Mikuni. He tried a third time and it continued to land on his ridiculously annoying Eve, snickering uncontrollably beside him before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“You might as well resign to your fate, Jeje!” he
[SakuMahi] Spin the Bottle
It wasn’t really his cup of tea, to go to parties, that is. The only reason he decided to go was because of his friends’ pestering for him to relax. And of course none of them had even bothered to show up due to some family business. Even Sakuya said he had something to do and couldn’t make it. It’s not like he couldn’t hold his own in social gatherings, in fact he prided himself on making friends easily. But with an entire list of chores to do back home, he couldn’t be bothered with taking a break just yet.
“Geez,” Mahiru sighed after taking a small sip from the soda cup in his hand. “Maybe I should just go home…”
He turned to a familiar face. Thank God someone he knew was here after all.
“Sakuya! I thought you had errands to run or something?” Mahiru asked, giving his best friend a raised eyebrow. Now that he mentions it, Sakuya never actually specified what he had to do. He pro
Nikita's Bedroom Sketch, Tolstoy's Master and ManIt’s cold out again tonight. The frigid Russian winters creep through every crack and crevice into the worn-down hovel Nikita calls home.
A small, wood-fired stove is cool to the touch. There’s nothing left to burn but old hay from the barn. Footprints of ice trace Nikita’s most recent steps across the wood floor.
A single shelf decorates the far wall, holding an empty bottle still fragrant with wisps of strong vodka. If Nikita were here and not running around in the blizzard on a midnight errand for his master, he would be tucked away in his bed after a hard day’s work. His hole-studded coat that cost him three month’s wages would be resting its tired shoulders on the back of the rickety chair he hasn’t sat on in days, and his thin scarf and mittens would be hanging half-frozen over the cool stove.
There’s a small wooden box beneath Nikita’s bed. Inside is a folded packet of old papers, a candle, a single copper rouble, and two matches.
Tea“This can’t be right. Tea, come over here!”
Tea flew over, a tiny robot with three long tentacle-tails and a pair of beating wings keeping it aloft.
“Tea, analyze this artifact.”
Tea’s sensors swept over the artifact; I held it still, wiping the sun’s heat from my brow. Global warming, as it turned out, hadn’t been a bunch of BS. The planet was getting harder and harder to live on with each passing day.
”ANALYSIS COMPLETE” Tea said in her quiet voice. Her three blue eyes flicked to him. ”ARTIFACT IS A PAPER-PRINTED [BOOK] MADE OF RESTRUCTURED TREE AND INK. BOOK TITLE DOES NOT EXIST IN DATABASE.”
I glanced down at it again. Something wasn’t adding up, but I couldn’t say what it was. A book? What was a book?
“Tea, what’s a book?” I asked.
”RESTRICTED.” she replied.
“Override,” I said.
”OVERRIDE LOGGED AND REPORTED. A BOOK IS A RECEPT
Everything ElseI don't know my name or my origin, my parents or my age, the feeling of love or even death, but I do know everything else.
Two dimensions are plenty enough, but quite boring once you've gotten the hang of it. Three dimensions add a whole new layer of complexity to everything I do—but nowhere near as complex as this fourth dimension I have decided to call Time. I live in a world of length, width, depth, and timespan—and just as I can look down and see the length, width, and depth of an object, I, too, can witness just where an object is going to be as it deteriorates—or even how it got to where it is in the first place.
I oftentimes run into an issue of determining what is and what was at one point in history. Hopefully you three-dimensional readers can understand (I say this while you look at what is essentially a two-dimensional surface), but your languages are all very limiting to me when they only refer to the universe as three dimensions. I don't know why it is yo
That Thing Some Might Call 'Married Life'In the middle of July, when the summer heat wavers thick above the blacktop and even the most vicious dogs pant feebly in the shade, a man walks down a barren road with a bulging plastic grocery bag in each hand.
Sweat soaked his dark green t-shirt, and dripped with each step from his disheveled black hair. He trudged through the sweltering heat just fast enough that his sandals didn’t melt to the blacktopped road, and ducked into a fenced-in, burned-out lot partly shaded from the sun by a tall, gray apartment complex.
“Good morning, Trish,” he said to a woman watering a droopy pot of slightly brown herbs set out on her windowsill in the full sun. Her bright red fingernails stood out against the blue-tinted Fuji water bottle. She spilled some water on herself at the sound of a male voice calling her, but her panicking eyes softened when she saw the man approaching.
“It’s you, Sam,” Trish exhaled in relief. With her hands on the windowsill she
Turing's Beta TestHe opened his eyes in the darkness. His phone was beeping quietly beside him on the bedside table; he rolled out of bed and groaned, stumbling a moment before righting himself. His head felt fuzzy, like it was filled with static – it took a moment to clear. All part of starting up too quickly, he assumed.
He checked his phone; today’s schedule was clear, but for one appointment: a meeting with Dr. A. Turing. There was a message from him, too: APPT 3:00 PM – ID 8820. He felt like his entire life had lead up to this interview; after straightening himself up and doing a few practice questions in the mirror, he grabbed his phone and hurried out the door.
“Ah, welcome,” the doctor said. “I’m glad you’re here: we’ve been working hard, and were afraid you wouldn’t make it today.”
“I’m glad I made it too,” he said, closing the suite’s door. “I was thinking this earlier, but it feels like my whole li
of a boy and a girlshall i tell you a story?
it's short and (not) not sweet, and it goes like this:
there's a girl. (and she's strong and smart and sweet and everything a girl can be, and she sees the world in a rainbow spectrum of happiness.)
and there's a boy. (and he's small and weak and tired from seventeen long years of life.)
and the boy likes the girl (and the girl likes the boy.)
but because the boy knows that the girl doesn't like him back (though she does, she adores him because he's small and cute and weak in a brave, always-keep-trying-to-beat-the-odds sort of way, and because he's tired from seventeen years of getting knocked down but always standing back up, for himself and for the people who've lost their voices.)
so the girl waits for the boy to fall into her arms, because she's so popular and talented now that no boy can resist her...
...and the boy waits for the girl to find another guy (a mr. perfect with golden hair and blue eyes and a
Wrath Rought DraftTo be honest, my alter-ego would be focused on revenge and wanton cruelty. In real life, I am nice and kind to the point of self-sacrifice, but on numerous occasions (more than I care to say) I have been tempted with the possibility of discarding those traits and succumbing to the dark side, so to speak. It would be so easy to do so, especially with the behavior that passes for "cool" now... being loud, abrasive, and always ready with a put-down makes one a badass worthy of respect. It is often said that nice guys finish last: keeping this in mind, what if I were to give in to the base instincts of my alter-ego?
Going with honesty, the first response would be a sense of euphoria bordering on orgasmic. With the limits imposed by strict parents and a conscience, it would be exhilirating to break free of those arbitrary bonds and let my id run wild. Not always having to be such a nice guy would leave me free to take revenge against people who have wronged me with slights great and
dizzy pt. 2As I took a drag from the cigarette between my fingers, I looked around the dimly lit room. Her paintings were strewn across the walls of the apartment and the walls of my brain -- intoxicating, as always, depictions of broken hearts and broken lives, but always alive with a beauty I still couldn't grasp. How did such things come from her? She spent hours upon hours creating these pictures, these parts of her that I didn't recognize, that only came to light when she touched the canvas, her fingers and brush breathing a life into it that couldn't possibly be hers -- her life was with me. I saw her everyday. I slept in the same room with her (though only in the same bed when she was plagued by the heartbreak from which I constantly attempted to save her). Every day, I watched her leave for the job that she hated and then poured her a drink when she came home, tossing her bag to the floor with an exasperated sigh, spouting the same complaints she'd had about her position for the past two
Point commissionsHello! I was thinking of doing some point commissions for you guys! If you want one comment here or note me and go to this link http://tsukroffhan.deviantart.com/?givepoints
DA Muro: 1 point
Example: http://dramaticrabbit.deviantart.com/art/A-Song-I-d-Like-To-Sing-Hatsune-Miku-353543624 (thumbnail wouldn't work...)
Photography: 3 points
Hand drawn (traditional): 5 points
If you want more than one (like Photography and Hand drawn), the prices will add up (ex: 3 points + 5 points = 8 points total)
If you want me to add more categories, comment below or note me! Thanks, Hannah
Auditions for Written OCTGROUP: http://writtenoct-hh.deviantart.com/
I am hosting a written OCT - and for more information on OCT's click here -
The OCT will take place in a Haunted House
Auditions are now in play. Please write up a reference sheet for your character (include name, age, sex, height, weight, and anything else to help the other participators portray your character correctly) and a story of how your character came to the OCT (no fighting, just how the character came to be in the OCT)
Deadline: 2/14/13 (Valentines Day)
If you have any questions, ask
Please link your audition here: http://writtenoct-hh.deviantart.com/
Prizes for first place (so far, more to come): 2 llamas from Nobody, 1 llama from Nobody, 1 llama from Nobody, a watch from Nobody, a watch from Nobody, 5 favorites from Nobody, 5 favorites from Nobody, 2 critiques from Nobody, 155 oin
Nonet Three AwakeningAwakening
As I look around I start to see.
No one is who they claim to be.
Fake expressions, forced smiles.
When truly all the while,
With my two real eyes.
The real lies
The TroubleStarterI'm the TroubleStarter,
I'm the sad abstracter
I am Love defeated,
I am wish inflicted!
In this peace of desert
I'm the lonely pervert!
In this world of silence
I'm the failed science!!
I'm the last infection,
I am cure's rejection
I am not a hunter,
I'm your shadow's haunter!
In your great empire
I'm the lost desire!
In this race of duty
I'm the call of beauty!!
I'm the sudden doubter,
I'm the mad demander!
I'm the TroubleStarter,
I'm the sad abstracter!!!
I'm the TroubleStarter,
I'm the sad abstracter
I am Love defeated,
I am wish inflicted!
One Heart - PoemPlease do not love me
I will only give you pain
Even if you tell me plainly
That to you; I mean everything
I haven't the space in my life to hold you
And I am too selfish to make you happy
I know what I am
So surely you can't
If you did... then why would you want me?
Give your heart to someone else
Somebody who wants it and is worthy
You should not be too eager to part with it
Just because you feel empty and lonely
For once long ago I gave my own quite hastily
And now I cannot bear to again risk such frailty...
So before yours is broken and shattered into shards...
Take care to whom you give it...
For you have only... one heart
The difference between reading the dictionary andwhen I read books
I don't imagine the world they're in.
or how the characters look or sound.
I don't fall into the story,
living someone else's life.
It's not what they're describing that captures me,
It's the words used for it.
I lose myself to the spaces
Each word like a star
scattered throughout the night
and I imagine
what the person who wrote them
must've been feeling
When they tossed them
into that paperbound sky.
Don't give me your stories
or speak poetry,
When all I want
is to understand what created them.
Who held these nouns and adjectives
so close to their hearts,
that they got carried away in the bloodstream
and spilled out
on the pages
when their skin finally tore?
Devious Journal EntryHello interwebs! theirishdwarf here and I thought maybe the world would like to know that I'm in the process of writing a spy thriller. I'm wanting it to be james blondish but I'm having trouble and knowing the people of the internet I figured that you guys could help. Therefore I present a challenge! I need ideas and also inspiration so whoever can give me anything I'm accepting it. thanks! you guys are great and I'm done now so you may now continue with your wonderful lives!
on waking alone in the nightit is four in the morning.
with my eyes closed i could be a child
tonguing the space left
by a missing tooth, probing,
some loss - the slow, nagging drip
of that open wound.
in this dark i can't see
my palm as it rises there
like a specter, the unfurling
of the hand like lips, the spaces
between fingers as they search again
for some missing thing. these are
the real wounds.
i am not a child
anymore: there are worse things
to have lost
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