I Have a Generosity ComplexPersonal
Kicking off with a video this week because it's worth your time:
And you should go watch the other three parts as well because they're all very interesting.
Onward then. I'm taking a break from writing to play Hotel Dusk: Room 215 because the story just got very interesting. I'll let you know when I feel like playing on dA again I tend to get rather wrapped up in my games, and visual novels are becoming something similar to cocaine for me. The last one I played, 9 Hours, 9 Persons, 9 Doors was fantastic and I spent several days trying to wrap my head around the ending. I'm hoping Hotel Dusk leaves me with similar feelings of satisfaction.
So I'm sure some of you noticed the poll, and I promised details I always give my room a good cleaning at the end of every semester (or at least I try to), and I finally got around to gathering all the various notebooks I have lying around here. One of the books I found is from about nine months ago and is but a
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.Superimpose4 years ago in Sketches More Like This
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
Foreign Words the English Language NeedsOh hello. I’m finally getting around to making this news article that I said I might do, like, a month ago. Sorry, I’m not used to writing news articles. Bear with me.Foreign Words the English Language Needs3 years ago in Art Features More Like This
Back in August, I started a series in my forums for cool foreign words. It went over extremely well and numerous people requested that I combine them into a handy-dandy news article for deviantART at large to enjoy. So, here you are: fifteen foreign words that the English language needs to
What it means: A feeling of longing associated with displacement, but not necessarily displacement from one’s original home. An intense yearning to be somewhere you are not. Hiraeth also expresses a sort of ache or longing for something of the past, somewhat similar to the notion of "golden" or "good old days," but with more ancient connotations.
Why it needs to be a thing in English: I speak as someone from a country
GreenwareGod took a pottery classGreenware2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and could have spun perfect
pots from the store-bought
clay the instructor found half
off with an expired coupon.
He could have thrown slender
vases on a rickety wheel
or molded leather-hard discards
into elegant tea cups.
The glaze on his biscuits
unblistered; His earthenware
free of crackle; no shivering
to be found on His mugs.
God took a pottery class
and made sure every piece was flawed,
and called them perfect.
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,He doesn't write poetry anymore.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,
elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore –
except when he does.
Old SoulsDoc says I’m an oldOld Souls2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
SurrogateI stopped using his full titleSurrogate3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I willHe only dates broken girls.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
make you love me
without even trying;
you’ll love the scabs
on my knees, the bruises
under my eyes, my
singed hair. You will love
the rush of holding
my hand as we cross
the bridge; you’ll feel
like a hero each time
I don’t jump. You will buy
me chocolates, the most
expensive, to guilt me
into eating. You will buy
me seeds instead of flowers,
to give me a reason to
get up in the morning. You
will make me dependent,
even as I feed your white
knight complex. I will destroy
myself, and so you,
and you will know why storms are named after people.
Correlation and CausationSad people are notCorrelation and Causation2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
poets; poets are poets,
and some poets are sad.
A Lesson in ForgivenessGod joined the KKKA Lesson in Forgiveness2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for about three hours,
long enough for a member
to spot the black flesh
under His sleeve and rip
off the hood to find a face
as white as a vampire.
While the Grand Master stammered
apologies, He smiled genially
and patted his shoulder,
because God forgives everyone.
The Problem with OmnipresenceGod went to the optometristThe Problem with Omnipresence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because His eyes were full of graveyards
and tombstone-shaped cataracts
clouding His vision.
Sometime around the eleventh
century, the lush green iris of His
eyes had faded to the color
of peeled paint; then, over the decades to
The eye doctor couldn’t find
anything wrong, but he prescribed
a pair of bifocals to make Him
Loving a WriterWhen you read their work –Loving a Writer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it is work,
and you will often come second to the job –
it’s best to know which pieces are fictions,
which ones are wishes,
and which parts are for you.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;Metaphorically Speaking2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
Escape VelocityF = G(m1m2)/r2Escape Velocity3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Black – true black – is the absence of light. Darkness is defined by what it is not, by the lack of something else. When we say a black hole, we truly mean that; black. Blacker than black. An absence of not only light, but of time, distance, anything.
The night was scary when I was little. I hated the dark, but couldn’t bear to sleep so long as the light was on, any light, burning on the other side of my eyelids. I used to have nightmares about dark things in dark corners, shadowy figures with shadowy fingers trailing along my spine. I always woke up cold and fumbling frantically for the lamp, but the aura of light just made the shadows deeper and I turned it off quickly.
Black holes are dead stars. Graves. Tombs that bury light, bury it so deep, swallow entire suns, planets, galaxies. Dead stars take all the light with them like rich men spending fortunes on alabaster monuments and marble headstones.
There are four unmarked graves
TheotokosGod attended a Lamaze classTheotokos2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with a teenager too afraid
of the judgmental looks to go alone,
and quietly smiled at the instructor eyeballing
the strange pair – a barely-there slip
of a girl and a gentleman with kind
hands. He led her to a woman named
Mary, who had her first child
at thirteen in a less accepting
time, when the condemnation
was worse than the morning sickness.
Finales and PreludesPersonalFinales and Preludes2 years ago in Personal More Like This
I spent the first few hours of my new year with literature and Pokemon X. We'll get to the literature later. Right now, I've been enjoying the latest entry in the Pokemon franchise. I don't know if I've gotten better, or the games have gotten easier, but I'm not having as much trouble catching the stupid things as I used to. Then again, it sure is nice of the developers to put someone near the beginning that gives you False Swipe
I've heard from Doc that he has to wear a brace on his arm for another month before he can start therapy. He is getting better, but it's slow going. Nothing I can do about it, though I'd least like to help keep him entertained while he's incapacitated. Hence a basket full of movies and stuff.
Last time we talked, I spent most of the conversation explaining dA to him Among some other Internet stuff. I'll probably end up linking this feature to him; I told him what I was working on and he was interested and that c
GenerousThere’s this pressure buildingGenerous2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my chest that I don’t know
what to do with so I cram mason
jars with cookies, craft mix
tapes full of Americana punk, leaf
through used bookstores, looking
for a taste you never savored, songs you never
heard, books you never read and maybe
I can give you that instead of my feelings.
Missed CallSometimes the dial toneMissed Call2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
jostles when I call, as though
the other side was disrupted
in the ringing. When you don't
answer, I like to pretend it was
you, phone clattering on the tiles
in your haste to connect.
Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.Recycled Dreams5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.
It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupial martial arts masters in Atlantis. In space. You would think putting dreams to canvas is an easy job, and you'd be right - but truly I wonder about humanity at times. Subconscious wanderings are laid bare to my paintbrush - they get their dreams, and I don't fall apart entirely.
Morpheus is upstairs. I know because I can see the color runn
Holographic ResonanceAll things will be in everything;Holographic Resonance2 years ago in Personal More Like This
nor is it possible for them to be apart,
but all things have a portion of everything.
— Anaxagoras c. 500 bce
When a holographic plate is cut several times, each fragment contains the entire image. In other words, the whole can be found in every part and the notion of separation becomes impossible. Even the idea of separation is contained in the all.
To make a hologram, a laser light is split into two beams. The first beam bounces off the object and is reflected onto the holographic plate, or recording medium. A second projected beam creates an interference pattern that contains the information of the object spread throughout
Sudden ImpactGod gets a pain in HisSudden Impact2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
funnybone, but He doesn't think
it's funny at all. He bumped His elbow
on a continent once and accidentally
killed all the dinosaurs. He liked those.
Recap Episode and 100 Pieces of Lit.First Things FirstRecap Episode and 100 Pieces of Lit.3 years ago in Personal More Like This
Namely, what the hell was that last journal update about?
Well, a metric ton of snow came barreling the hell out of nowhere and buried everyone alive for a few days. Let me tell you, you don't know what cold is until you've had to go without heat and light for a few days. Everything appears to be going back to normal, slowly, but there are still a lot of people without power. I actually packed up and went to my parents place last night because I couldn't deal with another day with no electricity. Couldn't even play with my new toys on Christmas
That said, from the looks of things I'm back to normal, if behind on dA. I will probably get further behind because Pokemon Black/White 2, but I digress. Planning to see The Hobbit sometime next week with the movie gift card I got this year and spent last night watching Brave for the second time. I think it grew on me a little more the second viewing, but I still don't think it's Pixar's best.
As for ot
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.Tangential Asymptotes5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
BenedictionsGod joined a monasteryBenedictions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
somewhere in Europe, where
the churches are old
but the people are older
still, overlaid hands sodden
with faith and speckled with dust.
He rose before the sun and prayed
to Himself nine times a day
among his brothers of the cloth,
who mumbled psalms into their palms
and knew they were heard.