.when i look back at.6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the past, she looks
right back at me
she points at the
future, glint in her eye
PurgatoriosI have sat in the mouth of Satan and heard his words,Purgatorios4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tasted his fear.
You also were there and rushed headlong into the black hole.
The sand caught fire and we ran,
Naked, noble, slicked limbs and flashing eyes.
I rejoiced in my torment, and still I ran.
"Sorrow, not loathing has fixed itself so deep within my heart.
It will be long before it is stripped away."
Time slowed and we were forbidden to run.
They ran around us, but you grasped me from behind
And I could not kiss you.
Higher we climbed, past greedy and virtuous,
Lovers and killers and tyrants, all
I am not sure if lingered long in the place where sins are burned away,
What penance we made
Or if the time for making penance was long since passed.
But when we reached the peak of Purgatorios,
We drank of the river Lethe and forgot.
cure.01.cure.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We met at the singles' line at the amusement park.
"Looks like you have no one to ride with either, huh?" he asks.
I nod and back away shyly. He takes a step closer.
"Look! It's our turn!" he says, and before I can argue I'm led to the very front row of the roller coaster and buckled-in tightly. The straps feel like shackles and suddenly it's hard to breathe. He notices my anxiety and smiles. I notice that the right corner of his lip is raised slightly higher than the left.
"Don't be scared," he reassures me as the trains makes its slow climb up the metal rails. He smiles asymmetrically again. "Take a chance."
I want to tell him I take way too many chances already but before my lips can move the train has reached the top of its arc and it's going down, down, down so fast, fast, fast. I'm not surprised when his fingers intertwine with mine and I grasp his hand just as tightly and we both SCREAM.
When we get off the roller-coaster our fingers are still firmly interlocked.
Ata Interview Transcript.Ata Interview Transcript.2 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Interview with Endling
Welcome to ASKtheARTIST. My name is *thefluffyshrimp and today I have the great privilege to interview `Endling, an incredibly talented comic artist and creator of many of your favorite series on deviantART.
Thank you for presenting us with this opportunity to interview you, Endling.
Hey all you folks there in AtAChat! Go ahead and start posting questions now.
Thanks for having me Fluff!
I warn everyone I'm on my second triple espresso coffee of the day. If my answers are incoherent and/or jittery you'll know why. I'M WIRED TO GO.
*RedVenture asks "How did you get started doing art, Endling?"
When I was little, my dad would bring home paper from his job. He worked with computers and stuff and often had tons of it lying around, so I'd make use of it and draw. (With his permission. Occasionally.) After a while he noticed I had a habit of doing this. Usually robot caterpillars. I'm not kidding
Dogma: a sestinaDogma:Dogma: a sestina6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
So we began, as was the world, from air,
So too, in the beginning, was the word.
We met as strangers, as in some ancient idyll,
Caught among an unexpected course:
Lives lighted with those soft, celestial rays
Our eyes, our lips, our tongues a hymn of praise.
And what cannot be thought enough in praise,
Those words oft-said, but spoken with an air
With which the mountains crumble; angels raise
Their voices from the veil, or Holy Word
Echoes from its pages, lauds its course
Unstable though it be, but seldom idle.
Then falling from your grace, my love, my idol
To whom this lonely soul kneels down and prays,
My soul, my heart for which the vessels course:
Vanish; water droplets to the air
Glimmering to the sky without a word
Forever lost among Apollos rays.
Thus night becomes my temple, mine to raise
A sanctuary, my self-serving idyll
Kept hidden from the sun, and every word
Locked safe inside my vault, for who can praise
Or worship great enough to fill the air,
To take the sp
do you understand?Listen,do you understand?4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I hate starting sentences with I.
People are worse than monsters.
I should be doing something else.
I feel like everything is a waste.
Decisions are too hard to make.
There should be more hours in a day.
I'm sorry that I'm not sorry.
Fuck you, fuck them, fuck everybody.
I wish I could say I had time for this.
Don't take anything back.
I'm a coward.
RatsWhen I was a little girl, I went to church. Our church was an illegal one: the building was unregistered.Rats2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We would sit on the benches made from stolen floorboards and listen to a man dressed in black as he read us tales of angels coming to save righteous men from evil, their swords clean and their trumpets blaring.
The man dressed in black was old. He was sick. His Bible was missing pages.
One day in March, my mother turned to me and said clearly, "Masha, I want you to remember something for when you grow up." Maybe she knew she was dying. "God loves murderers."
I just looked up at her, thumb in my mouth. My mother was still a beautiful woman. She was young when a man at an after-riot party had given her a child inside of her, a bruise on her face, and a few kopeks for her trouble before running away forever.
So I watched the dirty gray sunlight washing through her sickly blonde hair, watched it illuminate the dark hollows of her eyes, watched her face, and asked, "Why, mama?"
The Big PretendPretending doesn't stop when you grow up.The Big Pretend1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Only one kind does.
There are two big kinds of pretending...
One is, pretending to be something when in your heart you're something else.
You could be a singer pretending to be a waitress.
Or a writer pretending to be a housepainter.
Or a ninja pretending to be a businessperson.
And you're only yourself on weekends, or late at night all alone.
And that can be very hard.
But there's another kind of pretending...
If you're a artist pretending to be an electrician, it can be easy to envy the successful artist. To think: "She's got it all together."
But if you were this excellent artist's friend...
her very best friend...
her very best, whisper-secrets-that-you'd-never-tell-anyone-else friend...
She might tell you, in a little scared voice,
"I don't know what I'm doing."
And she'd look away as she spoke.
"Because I'm not really a good artist...
I'm just pretending.
And what will happen when everyone finds out?"
And the only thing you could say to h
I Miss You So MuchMy heart still weeps,I Miss You So Much3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
While I'm sleeping,
I can never escape,
This pain in my chest,
And frog in my throat.
Why did you have
To leave so quick?
Replace your embrace.
Exploring ThoughtsLament about the past- digress,Exploring Thoughts5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Emotions flitting into sight,
Fury, pain and bitterness,
Such feelings plaguing me this night,
And all I want is to be free,
From all these hateful memories,
I want these moments to repair,
My heart from all the guilt I bear,
So forgiveness takes it place,
To mend each rip and frightful tear,
There's nothing in life I'd replace.
I breathe, I believe; I express,
Through every word I hereby write,
I release all I have suppressed,
But nothing happens overnight,
The darkness taints all that I see,
Making music cacophony,
And leaving all to seem unfair,
When I'm the one who chose despair,
As I have run from love's embrace,
Towards a victimized nightmare,
There's nothing in life I'd replace.
We learn to live, I must profess,
From every struggle, crucial fight,
As I am craving happiness,
I hold this anger very tight,
And in the process, steal from me,
The right to live life blissfully,
How will I fare? How will I fare?
If all within me is laid bare,
I pray for
my personal love triangle.i know that if i wanted to i could stop everything and fall apart, i could tell the ground to stop falling out from under me and the sky to stop sending clouds. i can hear the snoring of the minds around me and at times all i want to do is shout "wake up! pleasefortheloveofgod, wake up!"my personal love triangle.5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
but none of them will listen.
i try my best, but my best is not enough. i am not pure. i am not sure what i am. i not sure what i even want to be.
there is a boy twenty feet away from me that a year ago today i would have died for. thirty feet in another direction there is a boy that two years ago gave me my first dose of the drug known as "heartbreak". it is an addictive substance.
i cut the anklet off. i still instinctively cringe when i take off tight jeans, trying not to snag the string. then i think about how strange it is that the reason i'm so sad has nothing to do with you.
i hope that you're okay. i didn't have time to change things before i left to relive past glory, so i still get cl
even if the branch breaks,we spend our time with our infectionseven if the branch breaks,4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we waste our lives
take no action
if you and i bite off
more than we can chew
i'll be glad to have died
choking on you
Abandoning PreciousnessThe most important thing about creating art is to create. If you want to be at ease with creativity, you have to immerse yourself in it, and do a little bit every day. Even if that little bit is only to take five minutes while waiting for the bus to come and do a gesture drawing of a man reading his book across the street from you. Or to take the moment to scribble down a thumbnail rough sketch of a concept that occurs to you. Do a little bit each day. Train your brain to think visually.Abandoning Preciousness1 year ago in Editorial More Like This
It can be difficult at first, accustoming yourself to make this small bit of time, because you’ll think:
“I don’t have enough time for it.”
“Art is hard!”
“I’m not good enough yet for that piece I’ve always wanted to do.”
“I’m stuck. Artist’ block.”
These are all excuses. Yes art IS hard. Yes, you might not be good enough yet to do that masterwork that you’ve been dreaming of, but let me le
Childhood and AdolesenceSometimes I just feel like thinking in pixels and ugly font, so here goes.Childhood and Adolesence3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Today, I danced in the rain. It lasted all of five minutes, but that didn't matter. I ruined my hair and was soaked - everywhere. I had a broken umbrella, which was thrown to the wayside quickly enough. I could see all the rain bouncing around on the blacktop and dripping from the basketball hoop.
And it was cold and loud and beautiful. It wasn't even reliving the memories of being a little kid, it was
feeling likebeing that little kid again.
And I miss it. I have, this year, the freedom that summer always meant to me, but until today, I didn't feel like I was really making the most of it. In the past few years, I've been a lab rat, I've been a volunteer, I've been a nerd at camp, I've been tired and not a kid. This summer I vowed to do nothing, and that's great. But I have memories of summers where laughter was the main course and rain was the dessert and being reprimanded by grandparen
Blue HillMy feet tread the lonely roadBlue Hill5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to Blue Hill.
I kiss the gravestones
and breathe in the hands of ghosts
listening for the echo
of their voices in my bones.
Our tears fall for him
like the scales of fish;
the sweet taste of wax jambu
that lingers on the tongue.
and I love him for his words,
like so many others,
dripping poetry into his hands.
It's not his fading heart we feel,
it's the sound of his soul.
and we trace the empty pages
waiting helplessly for his pen
to bring us into the light.
My DA Thanks and WishesDA WishMy DA Thanks and Wishes5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Inspiring artworks to delight and fill our hearts with awe
Thoughtful words of amazement, images in our minds do draw
From paintings to poems, sculptures to stock, talent immeasureable
Makes our time here on DA truly our most pleasurable
And though we may not have the time to comment or to fave
Our regular DA visual fix we constantly do crave
And so I'd like to take the time to thank you one and all
Your awesome! incredible! creations truly do enthral
They fill my life with amazement and inspiration too
And to special friendships that have formed I'd like to say thank you
My wish for you this season is that your lives are blessed
With love, joy and happiness and a well-deserved rest
I'm really looking forward to seeing more of your fine art
For throughout the year its creative force has truly touched my heart.
reasons for dying - twotwo.reasons for dying - two5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
to look me in the eye is to understand that there is nothing to fear, nothing to remember, nothing to forget. i will carry you beyond emotion, beyond help; these notions are only important to the living. i am waiting for you. i am a friend, a lover, a child. i am everything you have lost. i am your history, your hunger, your hopes and dreams. i am the flightless bird you nursed when you were five. i am the undeserved blow against your wifes cheek. i am your playground swing, your stepwise curb, your barreling car. i am your blood, your brain, your blinking reluctance. i am everything except what i inspire; fear.
and i am as alive as you are.
Steady Retreat?What is real in a world where reality eats?Steady Retreat?5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Away at the soul and what's innocent left,
In the violence infested and darkening streets.
Every corner consumed and yet also bereft,
Of the kindness that many can't bother to show,
Amongst poverty, shadows and meaningless death.
So where is the love that each being should know?
Is it hiding in actions, in thoughts and in dreams?
Where it can listen, can learn and can grow?
Why is our laughter masked by our screams?
Surely success can make up for defeat?
Perhaps all in life is not as it seems,
And the desolate times are in steady retreat.
illusionists and wanderers.she sets her cold cup of coffee down and leans back into the beige couch that smells of rain and spilt wine and frames the blank wall of her loungeroom. she lets the noise from the television wash over her as she breathes slowly and heavily, trying not to take anything in.illusionists and wanderers.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she lays out her clothes for the night; setting them down on the edge of her lonely double bed, that reminds her of men and lonliness. she doesn't mind too much; the smell keeps her company on week nights when nothing else will. she falls from her weak knees onto the bed and as she lays back into the musty blankets she wonders why she even bothers any more.
she pulls dark eyeliner from an open cupboard, and as she closes it, the mirror relfects a golden, honey face that she doesn't recognise. her hair isn't blonde enough; it's never, ever blonde enough. and her eyes, oh her eyes are small and tired, and have lost their shine. who the fuck will ever love this mess? she lines her eyes and has two shots o
maybe in the morning,-maybe in the morning,5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright.
when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.
she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting silence and the dark that accompanies it. feeling like you're nowhere, that nothing exists. on the outside, everything will be like a sunset but on the inside of death you'll be alone, but you'll be safe and nothing will hurt you.
then a new sun will rise in your place as you watch the colors of the sunrise that you ever so often forgot about. this new sun will warm the hearts of your mourners
if you weredeadif you were5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would cry and kiss your lips and tell you i'm sorry i didn't love you the way you loved me
i don't think i could look you in the eyes
i don't think i could listen right now
i don't care what i keep telling myself, i don't think i would fix you
requiem to remember the roses.there are these roses and they grow outside my window in the spring;requiem to remember the roses.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
in the summer the sun burns their petals and they die.
i curl into a ball on my bed on the hottest summer days and sing to them -
its like my requiem for the roses.
you're a gin soaked barroom queen, spilling your thoughts to a stranger. you've abandoned reason and hope and you've forgotten love and dreaming.
all thats left in your alcoholic little mind are tales of better years and ability to hum yourself to sleep - even on the loneliest of nights.
you're close to a tragedy, but you're breathing and you've still got a few smiles left behind that sore face of yours.
it's the 5am cold sweats and cigarettes, and the attempts to find a teenage jesus that make me think i'm lost. its the screaming in my sleep and the inability to walk that make me believe i'm not going anywhere.
its the wanting to wake up staring at the sky that keeps me alive.
because there's something about the sky that reminds me of a self portrai
trick candle emotions_collabthere are faces that don't existtrick candle emotions_collab4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and love letters never written
down and we will shout until
tree tops crumble and branches
sway, until spines snap and
there are hearts dissolving
in the atmosphere, and ribcages
rusting down on main street,
and hearts were never meant
to breathe on their own, but
we never did learn how to love.
we are people in two separate
worlds with two different
definitions of the same words
and screaming is like killing
to me and laughing is like
drowning to you and we compute
on a daily occasion, through
error messages at least.
we're breaking the world between
our palms to watch the life spill
out of the fault lines and if we don't
know what we're doing, then neither do you.
we're just haphazard at best,
mechanical emotions crossing wires
and calling the misfires beautiful.
make me laugh until my lungs burst,
bleeding four leaf clovers spilling
out through my nostrils and tear ducts,
i'm smoking trick candles at our properly