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Suggest name and Win 500 Points

Thu Jul 2, 2015, 10:24 AM
We are going to change the username "mrfarts" , we loved it really very much but we lost few big projects because of the silly name they told. SO we are going to get a few more silly names and letting you decide which is the best.

How to win?
1) Just do the poll here…
2)  Comment Here " We are Artists, We stay United"
3) Favorite this journal
4) Thats all, lucky winner will get 500 points easy :hug:

Note: We have some pending works like selecting the winner of contest, giving out points for sharing the artists, dont think we forgot that, we will do it soon, just busy making things better. thats all
Good luck Love you all <3

Literature DD Round Up June 2015

Wed Jul 1, 2015, 12:50 AM
:iconirrevocablefate: Features by IrrevocableFate

on loving a girl who doesn't love herselfYou used to tell her that you’d accept the reminders, the dark shades running down and over the hill of her waist, the shadow of her wrist. Far from unlovable, you said. So far.
Grudgingly, you realized that you could not fix her. She was not a dismantled puzzle just waiting for you; she was her own brand of porcelain, one you didn’t know how to mold back together. She wasn’t breathing for you.
The moments of silence between you led to a longer period, those weeks when you went days without talking – and you didn’t know if you were supposed to be proud of her or cry.
Stargazed at each other’s words until the night came when you learned she wanted you to kiss her scars and make love to them as if they were her self. You laughed without humor and said, "I might as well kiss them with the fucking blade then." She said nothing.
When she discovered that you would love her and her body and her past – but wouldn’t trace the lines on her skin
No Definition NeededI read a book that reminded me of you,
of all the complicated words you used to use,
how definitions fled your mind but synonyms were so profuse.
I read a thesaurus and every word was you.
Happy BirthdayHappy Birthday
Lizzie woke up at dawn.  She was too excited to sleep.  Normally Saturdays were her sleep in day, but today was special.  Today was her mommy’s birthday. 
 Her daddy was going to be so proud of her as he didn’t have to tell her to wake up, to not sleep the day away.  Today she was a big girl, able to do for herself.  She was now 8 years old, no longer a baby, daddy told her so.  With that in mind, she was going to dress herself and do her own hair. 
 Even though Lizzie had not seen her mommy in a long time, she could still remember how beautiful she was.  She remembered how her mommy smelled, always of vanilla.  Mommy used to tell her it was because she was in the kitchen all day baking.  Lizzie did not really understand this, but she didn’t want her mommy to think of her like a baby anymore, so Lizzie would just nod and tell mommy how much she loved the smell.  It reminded he
Hello Neighbor - a Suburban Conversation on Racehello neighbor, i know that
we were supposed to welcome
a retired police officer's arrival
an ushering-in
of a safer enclave, but i
never expected much from you
i don't expect that you're
self-aware enough
to remember
how our mutual whiteness
lulled you into telling me
how you'd so longed to live
in the suburbs
among your own kind
i believe that you phrased it as
"not with the black and spanish"
i also don't expect
that you felt ashamed, when
you saw my wife
who is dark-mixed of
both these dangerous tones-
i do expect that you
probably assumed
that she works here
cleaning, maybe
not expecting much
makes it easier
not to hate you
because hate
is a heavy burden
and you're already
packing more
than a whole block's worth
and i can't lie, that i
don't relish, but still
take a small amount
of comfort
in your frustration, when those boys
broke into your house
to steal nothing but your comfort
and ease, to let you know
that they'd been there
and i don't expect you
found any justice
in the iron
HomeMy parents bought the house on April Fools Day.  It was something of a running joke: should have known, Dad would say, tightening yet another leaking faucet.  It was a sign, Mom said, staring down a nest of carpenter wasps.  In truth, they were never lucky with dates.  Got married on D-Day, had a kid on Thanksgiving.  JFK was assassinated on my Dad’s birthday; Brenda Ann Spencer went on her killing spree on my Mom’s.  Holidays were always a touchy thing.
My second birthday was spent in the new house—a gorgeous, rambling affair in the heart of what had been a boom town during the years of the Erie Canal, and was now just a sleepy commuter village.  They’d lived in consistently horrible neighborhoods up to that point.  Dad had been mugged a block from their first apartment.  A neighbor had been brutally beaten and robbed near their second.  My Mom would recall with wonder the first week they moved int
There Are No Fond Memories of the Garage SaleWe sold the old maternal dress.
The round fade on the worn womb
was greyed and thin. Someone left
a hole unstitched, a hem unpressed.
Everything that went too soon
had stuck around: the old blue dress,
the rocking horse, the rusted wrest
we thought we lost. We never tuned
the baby grand. The sound it left
became a prank to play on guests:
a soundtrack for an empty room,
a child’s ghost inside the dress.
We’ve come so far from being pests.
The blood that rushed to soothe the wounds
our mother’s wooden spoon had left
is calm. We are ready to forget –
un-know the pain. We assume
our mother sold the dress,
as grey and thin as someone left.  
grandmothershe died in 1990,
a stern lady
who had worn her hair in a bun.
she was from old farm days,
when one didn't care for caprice,
and didn't object routine.
as if to ward off danger,
she'd spray vinegar
on frightful stormy nights.1
people came to her because she knew
what those wax formations on water meant:
what caused recurring fever, which prayer could work.2
a town cook, 3
Ina4 could whip up a feast
and make me forget my name.
she was lady-steel until the morning when
her firstborn didn't rise from sleep 5
and so she refused to be and no longer laughed.
she mellowed
and with all her wisdom, i felt
she had no words for sorrow.
© May 29, 2015 :house:
Beauty To A Second GraderMy seven year old sister asked me
if she was skinny enough today.
I told her even if she were the size
of a swimming pool
she would still be the most beautiful
creature on this entire earth,
and she asked me
"If I were so beautiful, tell me why
I feel so ugly"
My seven year old sister asked me
if she looked good in her new dress,
and I asked myself how on earth
she was lead to believe any less than
perfect of herself,
and it made me realize that I never
told her how good she has to be
for herself.
The Mind's Own Place Ch. 1One
There is an Angel staring at me.
I don't mean "angel" in the way of the cutesy nickname men in bars give to women they want to fuck. Or the favorite child of a doting mother. It's not even some Good Samaritan doing deeds that make others proclaim them a saint. No, this is a capital-letter-A Angel straight from Heaven, the ones whose introductions always begin with "Be not afraid!" because otherwise they're too terrifying to bear. You know, that kind of Angel.
If you happen to be wondering how you can recognize one, it's the eyes that give them away. They don't glow, or change color or suddenly look different in a way that would alert you to the fact you're not talking to a human. It's not even a newness—that wet look of a freshly-peeled hardboiled egg—that the young and innocent have. Angels have old eyes, but it's the way they hold them that makes their strangeness obvious. Their brows are a little too high, raised in permanent surprise at the world around them. Blinki
Sinking of the SSS Dungong    Power is a very silly thing to crave.  There are much nicer things to want, like love, or water (rare enough to be wanted here), or good salted fish.
    Really, there can't be any reason to want power other than simply to have it: it doesn't tickle any primal mammalian desires, unless you count the desire to have control over other people.  Controlling others means you yourself are not being controlled by them, but if it's freedom you're searching for, why not put your energy into simply wanting that?
    No, all power gets you is more work and harder work.  Naturally, of all the crew and officers on the SSS Dungong, the captain with all his power has the most difficult work of all — at the moment, he is performing the work of going down with his ship.
    And I am looking down at the iron deck of the Dungong some twenty meters below, and the sands some twenty-five, frothing with moistur
Imaginary FriendI sat on the plush rug, waiting patiently for Delilah. Everyday after school she would meet me in the treehouse to talk. She had purposefully picked a place that symbolized childhood. A treehouse forgotten when its own children had grown up. I supposed she had never had the chance to have a hideaway of her own. I worried quite a bit about my dear Delilah, she had a darkness following her precise and delicate movements. She tiptoed around the word, but I still knew. There was a reason she was stuck in her rather immature ways. 
Right on time, exactly 3:17, I saw her charcoal hair peek around the make-shift curtain. "Brandon!" I love the way she smiled at me as if we didn't see each other every day. She knew I'd be there, but she still acted surprised every time. 
"Hello Delilah, how was your day?" I smiled encouragingly. She slowly sat crosslegged next to me, her overflowing backpack placed carefully onto my lap. 
"I'm okay. Today was a good day. I'd rather talk about you
i shall bathe in country watersThe idea was that any man could be changed.
       “The perversions of the mind — corrected!
       The darkness of the heart — purified!
       The turpitude of the soul — remedied!”
The answer had arrived; my sickness, once thought to be incurable, could now be treated. No longer would I pass the sprawling grove that prefaced my father’s home and know that I am unwelcome; no longer would I spend restless nights in the arms of another man, the feeling of blood on my hands.
I could change. I could return to the grove with a proper lover, and I would know how to love her. My father would look upon my face once more. The years I had spent swinging from acacia, plucking the honey suckle, bathing in country waters — they would return to me.
On the day of my appointment, I gave the grove one final passing. I allowed myself a moment to stare down the jade and hickory hil
MorningMy patchy kettle sulkingly burns my coffee residue
fresh-hot from yesterday's muck.
I gratuitously choke on it,
easing smoke through my gullet
like that pervasive daily sun eases mulishly
lace snagged and uninvited;
slick into my newborn retinas.
I can see in the white, bleach-light of noon
we are sick of the birdsong;
the light shaking disappointed fists
while I sit, my bed-sweaty back braced against it:
I wheeze through my coffee and sit vigil.
Bedding coils in dormant patience for the night;
viper-nightmares snooze, folded in my sheets -
damply layered,
they awake only to my scent. My daytimes watch them,
my nighttimes are their reign.
I sleep alone, these days -
my covers feathered hell-fire,
pillows fattened with shame.

:iconsingingflames: Features by SingingFlames

tutorialtake an evening -
reclassify emotions as chemical compounds.
remove one atom,
see what changes.
take your field notes, transcribe them
back to front.
add line breaks.
be scientific. be too scientific.
replace the word 'entropy'
with the word 'god'.
be so full of want that you can feel it
scraping its numb jaws against your insides.
write about flowers instead.
make your first line provocative.
follow it, let it unfurl -
ctrl a.
inauthentic, try again.
ctrl z.
who the fuck
wants authenticity
read, find inspiration.
find new ways to plagiarize old ideas.
stop reading.
hash and rehash,
slash and burn.
look at the mess you've made.
add punctuation
as decoration.
spend an hour flicking back and forth -
write about family. if it hurts too little,
write about flowers instead.
use a word bank.
write in the dark.
write from within your own skull.
write drunk.
write your litanies.
write your lines.
write your
before_ever notice how your fingers curl perfectly into the dip of your palm? how your knuckles rise like snow capped mountains and your whole hand flushes cold and pale? how you can feel the burn of your fingernails digging into your gentle skin, because it doesn't want to fight? how, even after you release the tension, your hand stays white for a moment, with little crescentic indents left amongst its smooth creases, because it remembers? it remembers your fist.
but it soon forgets. it forgets the pressure, and flushes warm and pink again, and the burn quiets away and the quarter-moons smooth out, and you're left with blood on your knuckles that you'll wash away.
the bruises will disappear, and the scars will fade, because the skin hates to remember any more than she does.

:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack

...because all men are brothers    “‘Bout fuckin’ time, look, he’s coming up over there.” The man on the bench beside me tapped my thigh and pointed down the darkened maglev tracks. “Twenty minutes out in the cold, Christ… now don’t you think they should run these fuckin’ trains on time? I only gotta go one stop away, might be faster for me to walk at this point, huh, sweetheart?” He spoke in a mumbling slur, shaking his head, swathed in a stained maroon North Face parka.
    I leaned forward and looked down the track. Aside from us, the platform was empty, lit hesitantly by blue OLED panels that flickered on a collection of dirty benches and overflowing rubbish bins. Silent fields of scrubby grass, gray in the moonlight, extended to the hills on one side; the plant lights glowed behind me.
    “I said hey, don’t you think– this shit needs to be run on time? Eh?” The man jostled pointedly
Delusions of Grandeur
Work was done on sinking ships
In a different time, in a different place.
I had carved my name in the first piece
Of rubble to reach the ocean floor.
Hell was on the high seas,
And I went with the anchor
In the waters of what I thought
Might be my shallow grave.
Atlantis was my refuge,
For I swam with closed eyes
Out of fear of the salt.
I merely felt my way down.
I heard the howling and war
Just above my feet as I descended.
I felt the bubbles of my last breath
rush over me and back from whence they came.
I cared so little as my lungs screamed,
And the pressure crushed my being.
The anchor swam for me as submerged tides
Carried my blind way down.
Had I let go, I might have
swam away from Hell,
Though I feared one journey
more than the other.
I think I will awaken
I think I shall live
I think I can dwell
In Atlantis, should it be found.
That One Show with the Stuff and the ThingsCurtain rises. REPORTER, MR. JABOWSKI, and JACOB are all sitting around a small round table. REPORTER is writing in notepad with a bowler hat in his lap.
MR. JABOWSKI: The day my wife acquired magical powers, we sold the family business. It was the only logical choice considering that the ability to uncontrollably shoot fire out of one’s hands was not exactly conducive to maintaining a fireworks factory. I was devastated, naturally. This business had been passed down through my family for generations, from father to son ever since fireworks were first invented back in 1802.
REPORTER: Um, weren’t fireworks technically invented way back in 7th century China?
MR. JABOWSKI: No no, that’s just another government cover up ploy. You see, my ancestors, they were British. Brought fireworks to America personally when they came here. These silly American’s just don’t want to admit that the British actually did something cooler than themselves, they would rathe
Familial    “He used to scream at me for anything that went wrong, even if it wasn’t my fault.” Becca tells me, sitting across from me on the couch and fiddling with the pockets of her jacket. “The abuse pretty quickly went from verbal to physical. He’d hold me down on the ground and choke me until I passed out. One time, I jabbed him in the ribs as hard as I could to make him let go, and he punched me so hard in the jaw, it cracked my back teeth.”
    I nod. She’s not telling me anything I couldn’t have guessed. Nothing he could’ve done to her would surprise me.
    “When he found out I was pregnant, he tried to beat her out of me. He’d punch me as hard as he could, putting me back on the bed so he was hitting right on the mark. The whole time he kept punching and kicking me in the stomach, he was telling me he loved me. He was doing it because he loved me.” I halfway expect he
Mountain ManIt’s 9:30 AM on a snow-bright morning and he’s whistling loudly. He treads through slush, meets us college kids at the bus stop, and speaks with alcohol-stale breath.
“G’mornin’, young ladies!” He sounds like country and warm summer farms.
We smile and nod, let him ramble because no one likes a drunkard. No one likes the obnoxious honesty, the rancid vulnerability. Keep the sadness at home, sir, for you must be a sad, sad man to be drinking so early. Or, if you don’t have overdue bills and four nicotine-stained walls, finish your beer at your usual street corner.
Don’t speak to him.
Ignore him.

“I’m fifty-four years old!” He takes a staggering swig and the iced sidewalk suddenly seems perilous. “I’ve lived a looong, long life!”
The screeching of bus brakes beckons dread. A couple of us glance at each other, not intentionally being cruel with our judgment, but it’s a Monday morning and we ar
The Stars (Are Out Tonight) - Full VersionSquinting at his reflection, Frankie put the final touches on his makeup. He did a quick itinerary check of the contents of his purse, hitched up his tights, adjusted the starry metallic fabric of his miniskirt and blew his reflection a kiss. Not perfect, but it would have to pass muster as he was already far too late. 
It was Saturday night and his brother Henry was being moody, watching reruns of the same news that had been playing on the telly all day, as though he was still waiting for the ramifications to sink in.
—Population levels have now reached an all time high, prompting Governments across the globe to once again consider Dr. John Eisen’s long disputed Planned-Birth Policy, which would require licensing and pre-approval for prospective parents. Making all non-approved births, in essence, illegal.
The proposal has sparked serious concerns among the growing pro-life supporters in Great Britain and across the world. They claim that it is
PoltercatI always considered myself a person of reason, and of course, at the time I had reasoned that the boxed cat on the passenger's seat of my automobile couldn't possibly be the one I had run over.
It was a common breed, with a common coat. Statistically speaking, the identical hanger on the identical collar could have been a freak occurrence, though wholly explainable by chance, given enough cats with non-matching accessories being run over on a global scale on a daily basis.
Coming home, I had just enough time to unbox the animal and reach for the telephone, before I learned that my great-aunt had died in hospital, and I realised that my 'guest' was now promoted to heirloom and my official property.
-”Auntie's dead,” I told the scraggy thing. It blinked, once and slowly. 'I know' it seemed to imply, somehow smugly.
And that was that – for that day.
I woke up to the smell of coffee – an unfamiliar thing, given my bachelor's life. The brew sat
It's The Distance, I Think.It was sitting on our kitchen counter-
Brown glazed and curved, like her-
Perched next to the microwave.
I thought it would best hold
Her spatula and my two bamboo spoons.
She filled it with yellow tulips and
Pink carnations and hydrangea blossoms and
Told me to "Get your own spoon vase"
With bells in her voice and
Her cheeks dimpled and her eyes crinkled,
And I wrapped my arms around her waist and
Punished her back-sass by tickling her ribs until
We were a jumbled mess, strewn
Across the tile floor- with flushed cheeks and
Not a worry in the world.  
These days, the curved brown jar
Sits next to my stove top and
Holds my two bamboo spoons,
Three of my own spatulas and a metal whisk.
The tiles have been replaced with hardwood
And my eyes never crinkle
And I can't remember the way hydrangeas smell.
Dementia Takes HimSay hello to the old man and
he'll respond with good morning
because he's lost his track on time.
He stands like a hunched statue
and shuffles about like
a child still testing his steps.
Deteriorate and deteriorate
until all words become movements,
until movements become a thought.
He does not bother to sit
for any of his meals but reaches
for it from a standing position
like a cautious animal.
Sleep. His sleeping habits
would make a sloth smile.
Rest in the hospital bed
but stay in your home.
Deteriorate and deteriorate
until words become movements.
Just flesh and bone,
just so much bone to the old man,
a fragile case of worn out paper.
Deteriorate and deteriorate
until all words become movements,
until all movements become thought,
until all thought becomes dark.
Blackout Poetry 3 by ClassyWalruses The Wall [Teaser]     "You took care of everything, right?"
    Miles fumbled with the key ring in the darkness. His heart pounded. He couldn't see the other man in the shadows, but he could feel his breath on his face, and he could hear him as he reached into his coat pocket. Something cool and flat was pressed against Miles' arm, then slipped into the pocket of his dress pants.
    "You can keep your name and everything," Jace assured him. Miles pictured his smug grin and bit the inside of his cheek; his hand slipped, and the key sliced the side of his wrist.
    "You'd better keep up your end," he mumbled. Jace reached over and pried the key ring from his hands.
    "You know I will." There was a soft clink as the key slid effortlessly onto the metal ring. Jace dropped it back into Miles' shaking palm.
    "How do I find the place?" Miles put the ring in his pocket alongside what he assumed was an ID car
lynx lore.grass underneath my bare, boney feet
heat lightning splicing through the air,
hot, & thick, & buzzing
summer nights,
feeling good about the fact that:
you don't know how I love Run the Jewels,
I didn't get them from you
&, you don't know what I thought in that van, but I do
&, I am trying to forgive you
but, here I am dancing, & lonely, & not
here I am unshaven legs & ten shades of I don't give a fuck
here I still love the world, bruises, scars & all
I catch myself breathing,
in four,
out four
so steady, so stretched, so still;
a lynx before the leap
Will I also returnI was young as spring,
and held to autumn's wind
like pomegranates  
in the highest branches,  
before crows hollowed them  
autumn flurries return
with the scent of fallen fruit,
dying leaves
crushed underfoot,  
shelter for next spring

:iconliliwrites: Features by LiliWrites

Throwback ThursdayYou know what I miss?
The simple days
Of aimless buses and trains,
Like magic carpets
That helped us to escape,
If only for a little while.
I miss the endless walks
That led to hours of
Shopping center shenanigans--
Spinning in desk chairs,
Petting that little blind kitten,
And reading anything
From cheesy joke books
To Frost's melancholic verse.
I miss cheap deli lunches,
Discounted coffee house milkshakes, and
Midnight conversations on the swings
At your old elementary school,
With the moon so bright that
I could see your T-shirt.
Remember that time when, hot chocolate in hand,
We followed the sound
Of live fiesta music
Sailing on the hollow winter air
Until we nearly crashed
A Hispanic family's party?
Or what about the moments
Of heartbroken silence
When we discovered
The ruins of a piano
At the church
That was once your daycare?
I remember climbing, barefoot,
Halfway up Ricky's fence
To watch his illegal fireworks
And stealing Mom's car
In the dead of night,
Just for store-bought C
an infinitesimal sibilancea wisp of a whisper
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
perhaps forever
things we create
or build
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
still here
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
StrayMy father
alone in the white, white room.
This place, which is not empty
but emptied
which was my fig leaf, my raison
de fierté

seems small as a crab shell.
Enough for his back,
his hideous grief.
Little else. It is unforgivable
to leave him so little
to leave him, that dark body
in that blinding room.
The Crying Of BirdsI pluck their calls from the sky,
Stuff them into my pocket like so many marbles.
Sometimes I cast them on the ground
And like runes they advise me,
Nudge me about things I already know.
Afterwards I’ll scoop them up and in cupped hands
Breathe gently into a cave of skin.
Then there will be music.
en routemy body is the
abandoned bank
on main street;
my body is the
burnt hull of an
apartment complex
only now in repair;
my body is a
feeling of shame,
a pungent rot,
a score of roadkill
in half decay.
my body is migratory:
a flock of wearied birds,
a search for belonging,
the fat on my hips.
with too few windows
and a steep indoor climb,
my body is home.
LokiWe are born in pain, all of us. When that first breath of oxygen touches our lungs and it tastes of fire in our bodies, it is then we are known to be alive – screaming our indignation that this is the life we've been brought into, that this is how the world will greet us. With suffering. I was no different, whimpering softly, stunned at the sensation in my infant body, wondering why it must be that my entrance to this life hurt. It was only appropriate, then, that my birth as a god was through agony.
Sometimes, when walking home after dark, I'd play this scenario through in my head. I was raised to believe I'd be attacked by men. I knew how I kept the mace in the front pocket of my purse, although I'd been too timid to take the lid off and figure out how to actually use it. I was reckless in my disregard, knowing full well what I'd been taught growing up, and then discarding it the next moments with only the outside illusion of playing by the rules. Instead, I saw in my head what
HeadwatersAlmost 30.
Where did I sleep the decade away?
Under a desk.
In a factory.
Stone frozen in the cascades.
I fell prey to cow songs,
the nightly lowing.
Some christ called me back.
Not my sister in red canyons,
not my cousin
or the thick gumbo of my youth.
Nor did the
honeysuckles trill me
                   my lover, I woke to find you
At first when I heard you
it was a mosquito in my ear.
You called.
You called and called and
you were waiting
down in the well
three paces from
the patio door.
The bucket and rope
I threw down in front of me,
Pulley and rod tossed
into the tall Bermuda grass.
I have jumped into
              the water,
  the rich black earth.
And from there
can be no ascent.
WaitingThe summer of ‘67, funerals fanned out
like a poker hand in Mother’s family.
You could see she'd waited a lifetime
for this one, black dress in plastic,
handkerchief ironed and folded, ready.
She forced herself to touch the badge,
the service revolver he'd used, his Stetson,
sweat-stained on a hook in the hall.
She would conjure everything in time,
enough to rise above the casseroles,
the Jello salads melting in our kitchen,
hoarded tears poised above the glare
of Tupperware and Avon calling.
It was in the way she held her mouth,
her breath, waiting for something beautiful.
A childhood ago, summer nights,
her skin had prickled at the crunch of gravel,
his boots, hard across the floor,
the smells - leather, cigar smoke,
Macallan on his breath.
A five-year old wears innocence like iron
and a paper crown, shedding glitter.
She'd filled herself with crickets' song,
flown with fireflies beyond the glass,
as she waited for something beautiful.
Monsanto CafeHe looked up from his chemistry notes to see her staring at him intently from across the table. She sat with her hands clasped around a cup of dandelion tea, eyebrows furrowed and lips frowning bright red over the white china rim.
“Do you ever stop and think,” she said, slowly and purposefully, “that you could have been a binder?”
He looked down at the binder in his hands. She’d been staring at his notes, not at him. “Sorry, what?” he said, slightly annoyed.
“Just think. Your body is made of billions of atoms. What was the probability those exact atoms would come together to make you?”
“Your point being?”
She sipped pensively at her tea. “Well, what if something had happened? The chances those atoms would get like this –” she jabbed a finger at him “– right here, right now, were amazingly small. One mishap and they could have become anything else. You could have been a dog, an asteroi
jerichoshe must have dreamed him,
assembled of slow pieces
that clutched
and called in the dark
she is a temple
and he is dismantling her
with chorused glories
that terrace and
he bleeds desire,
an ache to sculpt her;
a curse born of ruin,
a silence crafted sharp
in flickered glances
and in flame.
she must have known him,
borne witness as he
stormed and conquered
with shadows rampant
at his back
and she must have seen him
behind shut eyes;
not as he will be
nor as he is,
but as she
would have him;
arching hallelujahs
under the domes
of her doomed
The Gap - Page 38 by Peris-Productions MercyI don't want to die.
No one does, I suppose. It's a natural human instinct to keep on living. But that doesn't stop the hands of fate. The hands that, as soon as their cold fingertips brush against your skin, you're gone.
The hands of the ones they call Angels.
They aren't real angels. Real angels don't exist. Just as God doesn't exist. There are no benevolent beings with crystalline white wings and halos burning with heavenly fire - there is no supreme existence sitting on a golden throne watching from above. Not anymore, at least. If they ever did exist then we killed them long ago and as punishment, the universe created the Angels that we know now.
It was an accident. As are most things these days. Three hundred and then some years ago, back when people still went to church and prayed to whatever deity they had conjured up in their minds, it happened. The stories say it was a joint effort of an elite handful of scientists gathered from around the world. They had meant well; s

Want to suggest a Daily Deviation?

Send a link or thumbcode of the deviation you want to suggest via note to the appropriate CV. There is a "6-month rule" which means an artist cannot receive another DD if they have had one in the last 6 months.
FAQ #18: Who selects Daily Deviations and how are they chosen?
FAQ #313: How can I find out if someone already has a Daily Deviation?

Happy Birthday  Usagi  By Amai Kawaii-d6bek55 by techgnotic

Little Felicia 2015 by Thiefoworld

Today's Inspiration

Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible. - Francis of Assisi

Lost Voices

Darius Simpson and Scout Bostley are both students and poets at Eastern Michigan University. This is their joint spoken word performance they delivered during a poetry slam invitational and it's unbelievably powerful. The message? There is a thin line between supporting someone and speaking for them.

Happy Birthday, Usagi! by Amai-Kawaii

Happy Birthday, Sailor Moon!

Today we celebrate the shared birthday of Usagi and Chibiusa! Thanks for always saving the world... even when you didn't want to. Grab some cake and settle in for a celebratory Sailor Moon marathon! Which is your preferred version of our beloved Sailor Senshi, the classic Sailor Moon or Sailor Moon Crystal?

Troll by ken-wong

How To Care For Trolls

This is an old post but it's just as relevant today as it was when it was first posted. Internet trolls are a rare and mystical beast and without the proper care and feeding can make your life miserable. Not to worry though because FantasyStock has put together this helpful guide to assist you.

Return to Daventry

If you're a child of the 80s and you love video games, chances are you've heard of King's Quest, the world's first animated adventure game. Whille the game had seven successful sequels, it came to an unfortunate end in 1998 when Sierra Games hit it's own trouble. Fast forward to today - Sierra Games is back and a new King's Quest will be it's first launch. The Odd Gentleman is developing the game and staying true to the hand-drawn feel of the original so much so, that they have printed out each scene and hand-painted it with watercolours. Whether you're nostalgic for the original or just discovering the game for the first time, we're almost certain this game has something for you.

I Am Chris Farley

This is our first look at the documentary about comedian Chris Farley, who passed away in 1997. We're sure there will be plenty of laughs and just as many tears.

Hand and Fingers Resource Tutorial by ConceptCookie

Being Resourceful

There is a treasure trove of resources to be found on DeviantArt but it can be overwhelming finding what you want and then figuring out how to use it. Cue this helpful tutorial by managoddess to lead you in the right direction.

The Yeti Crab is Real

In 2005, the first Yeti crab was discovered, deep in the South Pacific Ocean. Now a new species of Yeti crab has been discovered and it's the first to be found in the extremely cold waters of Antartica. They live near hydrothermal vents in the ocean floor where hot water gushes into the cold water of the ocean. They get their name from the bacteria that lives on their body which gives them a fur like appearance proving that the bottom of the ocean is a weird and wonderful place.

Seyutana Castle by mythrilgolem1

Discover a New Artist

It's time to discover a new artist on DeviantArt! here are 5 that deserve your attention. Have you found someone new today? Let us know in the comments below.

UFO Sighting?

Last night there was a huge flash of light that lit up a giant area of the lower Eastern states, about 12 to be exact. So what was this phenomena? It wasn't aliens, meteors or Superman but rather space trash, returning to where it came from.

Debates. by ArtisticWarrior0

Debate It

CRLiterature has sparked a new debate! Critique vs Critism - What is the right balance of positive and negative when critiquing? Do you really need both? Join the discussion.

Journal CSS Creator by Darqx

Journal CSS Creator

Have you wanted to create your own journal CSS but have no idea what CSS stands for nevermind how to code it? Well lucky for you, Darqx has created the Journal CSS Creator. You simply choose a template, plug in the requested info, click the button and like magic, you have the CSS ready to be copy and pasted. It's also free to use because Darqx is awesome like that.

Dogs Vs Cats by TheMunchbot

Cats or Dogs?

Splatoon is having a 4th of July team compeition to decide once and for all which is better: Cats or dogs. Pick your team, kids and squids, and fight for the glory and honor of your favorite furry friend! Get ready, the battle begins July 4th at 12:00 AM PT.

One Summer's Day by arefin03

In the Forums

For some of us it's summer! What are you looking forward to this summer? Share here.

Bupkis Bunny by FontesMakua

Happy Birthday

Join us in celebrating FontesMakua today! Be sure to visit his excellent gallery while you're over there.

You know you can't resist it

        The rhthym isn't out to get you, the flash is!

                                and we don't mean the very fast super superhero

The Flash by clefchan

                                                               YOU WILL BE THE SUPERHERO!

And why is that? 


Bullet; Blue What is Flash Fiction Month? 

A very awesome article was written a few days ago. Which really tells you all you need to know about flash fiction. The short version is this: For every one of those 31 days in July, write a piece of Flash Fiction. We can also pretty much guarantee you'll have a good time, meet new people, and learn some stuff.  We'll hit you up with some brilliant unusual prompts, tricksy (optional) extra challenges, and bonkers chat sessions guaranteed to take your writing somewhere it's never been before. 

Bullet; Blue"I'm interested. Where can I learn more?" 

Oh look there is a wonderful explanation of everything Here.


Bullet; Blue"I'm excited. Where can I sign up?" 

Sign up here


Bullet; Blue"Where is all this absurd, frantic chat entertainment going to happen?" 

In the chat room Here. Join us any time, any place and I am sure you will find some friendly faces to challenge to look at each other's daily attempts!


Bullet; Blue"I'm busy during July/afraid of commitment/not a writer, but I still want to help. What can I do?" 

First off, none of those has to keep you from participating. But there are other ways to be a part of Flash Fiction Month: contribute to the 2015 prompt bank (opening for business later today!), join the chat and encourage participants, and watch the Flash-Fic-Month account, so you can read and comment on the awesome flash fiction pieces created this July. All of those are awesome things to do.  This year, we're also looking for judges prepared to read a few pieces of flash fiction every week and say which they like best.  If this sounds like something you could do, send a note toFlash-Fic-Month


Bullet; Blue"What's happens next?" 

We'll be having a Flash Fiction Month Pre-Game chat session


Tuesday June 30th, from 8.30pm GMT onwards (that's 3pm EDT, 8pm BST and noon PDT). We'll flex some flashing muscles, explain what's involved for those who don't know, and have a few flash fiction-related minigames. There might even be points involved. Spread the word!

After that, the prompts start rolling.  Be sure to watch this account for the journal updates and challenges, where you'll be able to post your fictive flashing efforts on a daily basis. 

Flash Fiction Month is almost here! VIVA! *fistpump*l

The Tearoom Debates III: Critique v Criticism

Journal Entry: Mon Jun 29, 2015, 12:14 PM

Welcome back to the third installment of CRLiterature's new article series, The Tearoom Debates! We've shamelessly ripped off Mrs-Durden and CRPhotography, who currently run a bi-weekly series of opportunities for group readers to debate both sides of questions like "film or digital?" and then, in the next article, spotlight the input of the previous week's commenters.

Last week we asked "Does fanfiction have any place in publishing - and if not, in a perfect intellectual-property-lawless society, should it have a place in publishing?" and we got some brilliant feedback from you all. Some highlights included:

Your Input

There's individual moral obligation, which is the primary reason most fans, like myself, use standard disclaimers on our fan-work uploads. It doesn't clear me of legal action, but it's just in recognition of those who did put in the effort and costs of creating the worlds I am writing about. It's a thank you, that disclaimer, because I am a fan. - hlwar
Fanfics using the characters created and established by the author, well ... I can't say I'd give the writer of such a fic a lot of respect.  We can make an educated guess about how an established character may respond to a given situation or event, but the character is the property of the author.  It's akin to using someone's car without their permission.  If you use someone's car without their permission, you get hauled off to jail. But if the fanfic uses the universe rather than the characters, that's a bit different.  I wouldn't see an issue with a story about some kids at Hogwarts, as long as the writer of the fic used their own characters.  That's more like driving your own car through someone else's neighborhood.  Unless there's a sign on the street that says "No thru traffic" then in my mind, it's not so much of a problem. - Steve-C2 
I believe there will arise methods and platforms to make it possible, keeping the majority of people happy within a legal framework... but that's only going to get started on if the demand and the need for such a thing is high enough: as it is, the average fan may not realise it is not legal to let people commission Invader Zim or Slave Leia cross-stitched on a handkerchief, even if they put a disclaimer on their page. And that's where it should start: clear information about what's legal, and what's not. More people should get informed, and not just parrot the rest of the internet. - BATTLEFAIRIES
"50 Shades gives fanfiction a bad name ;) " - vespera | "Or a very good name, if you're into that shit." - tiganusi
Fanfic does have a place in publishing, but because the market is saturated with free fanfic, it's very unlikely you'll see anyone pay for the vast majority of it. But the really gigantic fandoms like Star Wars/Trek have been pumping out licensed(?) published canonical/canon-friendly novels for years that are essentially professional fanfic. - nawkaman 
But so long as we call them 'fan X' we're admitting that the thing is not meant to be taken seriously. That's the artist's choice, I suppose. As a consumerist culture, we've created this sub-basement for ourselves to toil away in (sometimes) obscurity, to get away with doing what we've always done, in a slightly more honest way.  But I suspect the future will belong more to the imagination than the dollar. - sandzen

This Week's Discussion

Toning down the flamebait this week, we're going for a somewhat less divisive but also more personally-charged topic for a lot of our readers: What is the right balance of positive and negative in critique? Do you really need both?

Here's what our local harebrains had to say:

Tailoring critique to the person you're giving said critique to is the best way to go about it, I think. Personally, I think it's good to go with the Gordon Ramsay approach. And not the Kitchen Nightmares "this poem is soggy because it's so half-baked" sort of way, but the actual "get it together correctly" sort of way. Gordon Ramsay is very nice when teaching people who are relatively new to cooking. The reason for that is because they're new to it, they're working to be good and to improve. I think the same approach is important for writing. It doesn't do much good to be blunt to someone who's new, or has only just started to try to improve. That's a solid way to discourage people from wanting to write, and as writers we should bring people in, not push them away. However, much like Gordon Ramsay, I draw the line when people who don't really know how to write claim to be professionals. At that point, I don't think being nice is as necessary. If you're making the claim that you're a professional in any given field, then that means you are similarly accepting that you will be criticized by your peers in that field. I'm not saying that critique should be rude or involve personal attacks, of course — keep it professional, keep it to the writing itself. But at that stage, it's not about balancing positive or negative, at least not in my eyes. At that point it's about making the writing better, and giving critique in a way where the writer can constructively take away from your feedback. If you're not sure where the writer's at, then meet in the middle. Be constructive, be friendly, make it clear that your feedback's about improving on the work, not about taking them down. Mutual respect goes a long way, without it having to come to positive or negative. Pointing out things you like is helpful, so the writer knows that there are aspects of the writing that are holding up well, but having said that, if a reader doesn't comment about it, the writer should assume neutrality. If you like or dislike something enough to say so, then that's the feedback you should leave in your critique, but otherwise, no need to say more than you mean for the sake of pleasantries, imo. - wreckling

I very much agree with the notion of tailoring your crit to the recipient. If you're working with someone who is A) experienced and B) asking you to rip something to shreds, you can feel free to rip it to shreds and skip the positive stuff. Personally, I'm a very friendly person. I don't like ripping stuff to shreds, so I'll try to find at least one or two nice things to say about a piece. I very rarely decide to critique something I completely loathed anyway. Something in the piece made me think the writer had potential to make something (more) enjoyable, and I want to help that along. If you're working with someone who is less experienced, it's good to throw in a bit more positive stuff to be encouraging. I mean, you just spent some of your precious free time trying to help someone improve. You don't want to be so discouraging they just give up entirely. But the positive stuff works best if you can explain why it is a strength in the work. Often, new writers don't know when they're doing something well anymore than they know when they're doing something awful. Explaining the why's and how's of both the good and bad aspects of a piece of writing can be very beneficial. - LiliWrites

Critique is to be tailored, of course. However, I think that regardless of the "expertise" of the person whose work you're critiquing, mentioning the positives in one's work is part of the critique process - and not because like for beginners, you need to "encourage" professionals too, but because it's as important to point out what didn't work as what did, writing-wise. Granted, you will say "but a professional should already know what works"; and that can be true. But I don't think that's always true, and considering that critique is in part made through personal perspective, the critiquer might give insight or compliment a specific part of the poem that the writer was unsure about. It's like "this worked, you should keep it up" - and I think this is a critique too, simply instead of correcting, it confirms. It's as beneficial as improvement suggestions because it gives the writer a few pointers as far as "things I don't need to focus on right now" and "things I do need to focus on" go. That being said, I'm not a fan of unnecessary compliments. If it's a beginner, I will do my best to give some positive points too because it's important to encourage their improvement and art, but the more advanced the writer is, the more honest I will be. Never cruel, because that's not the point of a critique, and I'll probably still look for something good to comment on, but I will embellish and "pad" both my negatives and positives less because I'll be assuming that they don't need as much protection from the truth. - TheMaidenInBlack

To me, it is all about the fine line between offering tactful insights vs insulting the writer's work. - LadyLincoln, summing it up better than the rest of us while also using the fewest words

Parks and Recreation. - pica-ae

Over To You

Are you the Simon or the Paula when you critique? Which do you prefer when people critique your work? Leave us your opinions in the comments!

Skin by SimplySilent

DeviantArt Timeline Updates

Wed Jul 1, 2015, 6:03 PM by Heidi:iconheidi:

Weird Cloud Formation by GorosArt
Earlier this year, we introduced the DeviantArt Timeline, which highlights the work we’ve accomplished in the past, and lays the groundwork for the work that is to come. As we progress, we’ll update the Timeline with additions to show what’s in store for the near future on DeviantArt. This journal outlines items that have been added to the timeline today, and what you can expect to see soon.

Upcoming Events

July 8: View Your Own Poll Results Without Voting
A seemingly small and very specific change, but a huge community request.

July 13: Watch Recommendations
We’re kickstarting the experience of joining DeviantArt by suggesting deviants to watch.

July 22: Profile Discussion
DeviantArt’s User Experience and User Interface team leads a discussion about the future of profile pages.

August 3: New Thumbnails (Phase 1)
Our new thumbnail grid launches on browse and search pages.

August 7: DeviantArt’s 15th Birthday
┌( ಠ‿ಠ)┘  

August 12: Notes and Improved Notifications in App
Notes come to the DeviantArt Mobile App, along with improved notifications.

Coming Soon: Notes Search
The ability to search Notes has been a long-standing community request.

View the DeviantArt Timeline.

Please note:  These projects and their scheduled launch dates may change.  If that occurs, the Timeline will be updated accordingly.

CRLiterature Journal Header by inknalcohol

It's July!

That means it's both Camp NaNoWriMo and Flash Fiction Month! Huzzah! I, personally, am hoping to complete a revision on a past NaNo novel. We all have goals, and there are lots of ways to go about achieving them. But when it comes to first drafts with deadlines, there are some things you might want to consider, or remember, or just paste on a wall above your desk. Because it's HARD to keep up. There are totally points at which you want to quit, and points where you have no idea what is supposed to happen next, where you feel like you've run out of ideas. BUT. You signed up for this. And I'm holding you to it!

So. Here you go. Pinky's Top Five Survival Tips for Writing Challenges!

1. First drafts suck. 

AndyTheShowMustGoWrong by PinkyMcCoversong

They suck a lot. All of them. Whether you're Nooby McNoobwriter or Stephen King. So give yourself permission to suck. It's okay. You can fix it later.


RonNeverHalfAssTwoThings by PinkyMcCoversong
That's for later. Your goal right now is to crank out some words. You have limited time, so you'd better use that time to make more words instead of going back and fixing, deleting, rewriting. Revision is ESSENTIAL. But you have to get that first draft finished first.

3. Find some folks to hold you accountable. 

LeslieTextMeEvery30Seconds by PinkyMcCoversong

Right here on dA, there are tons of writers participating in Camp NaNo and FFM. So find some buddies. Check in with each other. Challenge each other. and keep each other accountable for these goals you set at the beginning of the month.

4. If you get stuck, try something outrageous.

DonnaTommySurpriseFace by PinkyMcCoversong

Sometimes when I get stuck writing a first draft, I write in a bear attack or an explosion or something. Maybe you could try a crazy prompt that you thought you'd never even touch, write something out of your wheelhouse, or have someone walk into the room with a gun. Surprise yourself! Be fearless!

5. Treat yo' self!

Treatyoselftommy by PinkyMcCoversong

Or...write now fun later. Set daily goals (like your one FFM piece for the day, or your x amount of words for the day), and play afterward. You could also set up something with yourself like "after I meet my goal, I get to binge watch Netflix things for two hours" or "no ice cream until after I finish this FFM piece!" 

There you go. Now get out there and get writing. Because that's how we do at CRLiterature

AndyBurtMacklin by PinkyMcCoversong

Skin by Dan Leveille

The Unseen Stock - June (II)

Journal Entry: Tue Jun 30, 2015, 10:27 AM
:heart: If you like this feature please add it to your :+fav:s ! :heart:

Supplication by eleutheria-stock Ghoul 1 by CathleenTarawhiti Stock by La-Catalina 2014-10-03 Behind the Camera 25 by skydancer-stock
snow III by Dageeling007
The Conjuring by TheGhostSiren in red and black 03 by Anna-LovelyMonster Post Apoc Warrior 73 Mizzd-stock by mizzd-stock fortuneteller girl stock female model by Laternamagica-studio
2015-06-14 Sunday Afternoon Browse 08 by skydancer-stock Marilyn Stock 17 by Tris-Marie Major demoness (stock) (2015) by QueenWerandra Soldiers 3 by eleutheria-stock
Summer Swim 4 by Tris-Marie
Aleida pink dress 3 by CathleenTarawhiti Back turn by justmeina On flowered field 9 by anastasiya-landa Cut-out stock PNG 125 -  US NASA astronaut by Momotte2stocks
Le trone de Morgane2 by MelieMelusine Mountain landscape stock by Aqua-Stock Clouds over snowy mountains aerial by magpienerd
Beach sunset by midodellouche Red sunset stock by Aqua-Stock River Side by Olgola
Dartmoor 2 by OghamMoon
Colorado 14 by PirateLotus-Stock Cool Clouds by JewelsStock Smoke #2 by CrateboySTOCK
Iguazu waterfall stock by Aqua-Stock Sunset over ocean stock by Aqua-Stock Dirt road stock 6 by Aqua-Stock
Milky way, cygnus by alkhor
Mountain - streamy-stock by streamy-stock Sandhills Stock 1 by Cassy-Blue Kirna waterscapes 71 by MASYON Stock1 - River by urbania13
Stock image 16maj2015 (35) by Euselia Stock image 16maj2015 (19) by Euselia Coral and starfish by Mattlis
Mountain - streamy-stock by streamy-stock
Stony Creek 46 April 12 2015 by analillithbar Parnu seaside 123 by MASYON River 2 by CalliRain
Background 20 by suntwirl Fallen Lebanon Cedar Tree (Reference) by LucanPern Forest Smoke #1 by CrateboySTOCK
Colorado 1 by PirateLotus-Stock
Haapsalu nature 60 by MASYON IMG 100 3974 by nudagimo Cliff top by TinaLouiseUk
Gorgeous Mountain Landscape by DamselStock Large Boulder in the Animas River by DamselStock Stock 86 (Stormy Landscape) by Einheit00
DSC6553_eligodesignstock by eligodesignstock
STOCK Frame house by Inilein Fishing village by imargarita old barn stock #1 by RazorbackMoth-Stock
DSC 0082 West Kennet. Avenue Avebury by wintersmagicstock Stock 101 by EvilHateYouAllStock Ruins of Castel Dubuc 7 by A1Z2E3R Garden 02 by Ylliny
Village Life 4 by fuguestock
Stock 4  Route Africa by pranile Old wooden portal by A1Z2E3R Stone Wall 1 by Jeni-Sue
FactorySite 09 by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK Farmhouse by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK FactorySite 03 by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK
Stock6 - Stone wall by urbania13 Kloster 4 by Civetta70 Castle Door 2 by eleutheria-stock
PreMade BackGrounds by CrossProcessor 0030 by CrossProcessor
Grand Mansion 10 - Back of house by fuguestock cute vintage church New Zealand by Laternamagica-studio Villa 01 by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK
Prison of slaves of Castel Dubuc by A1Z2E3R Lanhydrock 9 OghamMoon by OghamMoon Dartmoor 10 by OghamMoon Beelitz 59 treatment Room by DarkMysty-Stock
butterfly 05 by Pagan-Stock Starfish 3 Stock by Aqua-Stock antelope at water by Nexu4
Grevy's zebra by Mangalarga-Stock Butterfly by Mangalarga-Stock Lioness stock 8 by Aqua-Stock
free stock link back by carolinesphotos
DSC_0453-eligodesignstock by eligodesignstock She Wolf by Ylliny Lemur 02 by pythos-stock
Grey Parrot by imargarita Eagle 01 by MelieMelusine Brown Horse Stock 3 by jojo22
Border Collie 2 by fallen-cherubim IWC 131 by CastleGraphics Very cute the other side by Mattlis
Takoda - full body 15 by Livinja-Stock
Leopard I by silver80 Pig by ArtistStock Kitten Looking Up by ArtistStock
Barn Owl 04 by MelieMelusine Flying Fox 01 by NellyGrace3103 Stock: Playful Malamute 3/5 by Oniendra Oriental small-clawed Otter 10 by blackkurai
Pygmy Owl by Ylliny Takoda - Full body 04 by Livinja-Stock Black Bear 2 by xxsimplicity-stock
Fairground 50 by OghamMoon
Blue Blossom - Flower Stock2688 by Jassy2012 Free Stock 150623 by RaccontoUrahara Jessamine 3 by jesterrysources
Fairground 29 by OghamMoon Gravestone by fuguestock Glamdring 3 by eleutheria-stock Fairground 25 by OghamMoon
Stock image 16maj2015 (38) by Euselia Bulldozer 01 by fuguestock Pumpkin Stock by AzureWindProductions
Rose 01 by XiuLanStock
Fairground 64 by OghamMoon Stock 14 Route Africa by pranile mushroom on carpet by imargarita
rose white stock 2 by Alena-48 Land Rover cutout by pranile Garden Swans by Elsapret
structured wood texture by WingsOfKaviel Damage62715 by carlyartdaily rain texture 003 by koko-stock
Texture 165 by AsiaAndEric-Stock
Captain060915 by carlyartdaily Rust 49 by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK Trzebiatow Tex by CD-STOCK by CD-STOCK
Minty62515 by carlyartdaily woo by mistyt-stock Rusty62315 by carlyartdaily
Sage62215 by carlyartdaily Cookie41 by jojo22 Texture 5 by b-no

My own new stock

Deer Stock 26 by Malleni-Stock Ruegen island Stock 78 by Malleni-Stock Ruegen island Stock 73 by Malleni-Stock

A Great Stock Provider - SpecialHow to be a Perfect Stock Provider
When I was writing the Tips for Beginners Members - part 2 (stock) I would add a part with tips about how to be a perfect stock provider, but I was talking to some providers and decide to make a special journal with the reply from CD-STOCK and EveLivesey as are sufficient for a special journal :happybounce:
First, you need a good camera, basic photography skills, imagination and creativity.Take a look at some of the popular photos on stock photo websites like DeviantArt, Fotolia, Shutterstock, Dreamstime etc.
You can learn a lot from these photos.Photography literarily means "drawing with light".
Learn the basics : what is good composition, lighting, exposure, white balance etc. Look for emotion and gesture if you are photographing models. CD-STOCK
  Dinomania - Challenge                                               
Ahhhh, it´s time for my this year summer challenge :D
Theme :"Dinomania". 
You can create what you want (you have to use 2 of my stocks below- see the rules), you can make a summer-fun-work with the dinos, you can create a dark and bloody one. Maybe you are inspired by "Jurassic Park" or the new film "Jurassic World". Below there are some examples for what I´m looking for (please no fairies, this is not a fairytale-contest). I had so much fun arranging my Dino-Stocks and the plants for this challenge. Please be very creative and read the rules carefully.
  Sunken mysteries - new contest ! great prizes ! Hey guys!
Occie Dance I think it's time for a new contest ! Occie Dance
The theme is:
 Gem Sapphire SUNKEN MYSTERIES Gem Sapphire 
To date, we have explored less than five percent of the ocean.
95% have never been seen by a human being.
So, what is down there, in the deep ocean? What mysteries could we find?
Mermaid cities, shipwrecks full of treasures, ruins of ancient kingdoms, unknown creatures ?
Dark secrets that may never be revealed ?
Let your imagination run wild !

The rules
Blue Square Bullet your entry must be a photomanipulation
Blue Square Bullet your entry must be created exclusively for this contest
Blue Square Bullet all used stocks must be from legitimate resources

This Journal Skin was designed by Night-Beast
CRLiterature Book Club Journal Header by inknalcohol

Welcome back, everyone. I hope you enjoyed reading June's Book! If you read it and haven't participated yet, we would love it if you would. You could win awesome prizes!

How This Works

This month, we're reading ORYX AND CRAKE by Margaret Atwood! You'll have until July 15th to read the first half of the book (to the end of Section 8), when the mid month discussion will be posted. At the end of the month, we'll discuss the entire book, so be warned of spoilers!

Who We're Reading

Margaret Atwood is a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist. While she is best known for her work as a novelist, she has also published fifteen books of poetry. Many of her poems have been inspired by myths and fairy tales, which have been interests of hers from an early age. Atwood has published short stories in Tamarack Review, Alphabet, Harper's, and many other magazines. She has also published four collections of stories and three collections of unclassifiable short prose works.


margaret atwood by a-s-u Glooming Sea by shadowgirl The Handmaid's Tale by karinelips Squatting Sirens by Rakil


This month our prize comes courtesy of St. Martin's/Thomas Dunne Books! Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits by David Wong!

All you have to do to win is participate in the discussions in the middle and end of the month, reply to other people's comments, write reviews or fan fiction, or draw fan art! I'll be tallying up points and the person who contributes the most will win this month's prize!

Please take a look at the CRLiterature BOOK CLUB Schedule to see if anything catches your eye!

Skin by Dan Leveille

Hello! :wave: rvmp Welcome to the sixth edition of 'Teach Me, Senpai!' here at fella. If you're unfamiliar with what this is, it's essentially a monthly feature of tutorials, made by deviants, explaining individual tasks, which then come together into one whole project. This month, we'll be painting with watercolours! La la la la

Basics + Materials

Watercolour 1: Material by Gold-SevenWatercolour Basics - Materials by the-artists-cubbyWatercolour 2: Painting Basics by Gold-SevenWatercolor tutorial: Part One-Materials and Prep by ArienSmith


+Watercolors Tutorial-Layers+ by larienneWatercolor Tutorial by VassanthaWatercolor Tutorial by JannaFairyArtWatercolor Tutorial by kalicothekatWatercolour Tutorial by bleuphoria

Textures + Tricks

Watercolour Texture Techniques by hatefueledTextures in Ink and Watercolor by hibbaryWatercolour 3: Tricks by Gold-SevenWatercolor Stretching Tutorial by blix-itPractical Colors Tutorial by KelliRoos

As always, suggestions for future projects are appreciated, and I'd love to see your results! La la la la