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Lit. Daily Pick Volume 3: March 2013

Sun Mar 31, 2013, 5:22 AM
At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity to help lesser known deviants have their chance to shine. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.

:pointr:What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?

Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I have recently come across that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature are then featured in an art news journal together. The purpose of this daily feature is to help lesser known writers on the site get exposure for their well-written work, as well as promoting community spirit.  

* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had one suggestion from the lovely VFreie (thank you!). If you know of a deviation or writer that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Please Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.

And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:

:star: March 2013 Lit. Daily Picks :star:

Framed[ I met him at the county fair.
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh
:thumb279284157: A lion among sheep.There are ghosts in my bloodstream
kissing concrete cells &
the bedroom eyes of nerve endings.
( foreign words
engraved into my marrow, birds in my chest
& wars not yet fought between my hips. )
I've taken myself apart every night
since I learned how to swallow a pen
without gagging;
limb by steady limb.
Passed around by grabby hands,
a sold, & borrowed daughter;
I am a lion among sheep,
drunk on life & ink.

The Alchemist: Chapter oneHe sat alone in the dark, his face half hidden by his clammy, clasped hands. The gold wedding band on his ring finger gleaming in the flickering light of the candle beside him. The clouds below him roiled with rage, as the storm dragged ever on. They passed quickly as the thunder rolled, the mountains cutting through them like so many jagged knives. Were he not flying above them, he would have been even more on edge then he already was at this ungodly time of night. With his eyes closed against the terror in his heart, he did not see the stars as they twinkled merrily over the endless clouds. It would be quite a few hours before they landed in London. His task was a heavy one, and quite frankly, he didn't want to be burdened with it. But never the less it was his task, he made the mistake, and now he had to live with the choices he had made.
The candle beside him offered little comfort in the still all encompassing darkness of the room. The light seemed to flicker in time with the fran
Autumn AutopsyAs lovers,
we were reckless;
Children
chasing fireflies
in a field of mines.
We traded kisses
and carefree caresses
for shrapnel
and blackened skin.
Short moments
stolen pawned
at the cost
of darker afternoons,
the twilight
of the dying season;
We didn't ask,
we never questioned
the interest
of our expenditures.
I shed my skin
in the Autumn of youth,
peeled back
the viscera and
bared the bone --
Rising up,
a scarecrow of worms
and raw meat,
amongst the stalks
of reddened corn.
Tonight
she clings
to dusty artifacts,
shelved trinkets
and
wrinkled sheets
laden with memories
of decaying potency;
The wisps
rising from the cooling wick
will never be
as sweet as
when the flame
burned brightest.
The Divine InheritanceOver the years many a Divine girl had spent her time scrunched up in a corner, watching an older sister get all the attention.  Claire knew that she was no different to her aunts, her great-aunts, her great-great-aunts, and… well, on it went.
'You don't have to watch, dear,' Mother said, as she held another length of ribbon against Sally's face.
'If you must look on like that, Claire, do come and be useful,' said Grandmother.  'Which one of these ribbons best brings out Sally's eyes?'
'What does it matter about Sally's eyes?' said Claire.  'Even I've got eyes on the outside.'
'You're silly,' said Mother, 'being miserable on purpose.'
'I'm not miserable on purpose!'
'My sisters were the same,' said Grandmother.  'Silly, jealous little girls.'
'If this always happens,' said Claire, 'then why have more than one daughter?'
'To love them, silly.  Stop, Mother.'  Sally brushed away the length of ribbon, crossed the room and crouched down in front of Claire.  'The Sight may

Dear Boyfriend, In TheoryI would be such a good
love letter writer.
I would take each part of your body
like your eyes and lips, yes,
like the hard vertebrae of your spine,
like the soft curve from the crook of your knee
to your ankle,
apart one by one
color it with paint and crayons
name it
I would stitch it up
pin it down
with words you didn't know you wanted.
I would seal the envelope with a kiss and I
would make an honest metaphor out of you.

:thumb344449471::thumb356027668:
:thumb355701236::thumb354626703: Submerge, Emerge.All my life, wading, wading.
Shallow water spreads
Warmth between my toes.
Current sensed within.
All my life, waiting, waiting,
Waiting to go in.
All these years trying, trying
To show what flows through me.
Tantalizing lure..
Infinity innate..
All these years, dying, dying,
Dying to create.
All this time, filling, filling..
No way to release.
Skin cracks from tension
Of everything unshown.
All this time, feeling, feeling,
Feeling overflown.
Collect my thoughts.
Take steady steps.
Down down, until I am submerged.
What I see here,
Is crystal clear:
A way to let myself emerge.
What I see here,
Is crystal clear:
A way to let myself emerge.
All over, pouring, pouring.
Rain has set me free.
Finally I can share
What this world is to me.
All around, finding, finding
What this world is to me.

Part-Time HookerI inhale smoke and dirty thoughts
(sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat
 the volume of
smell increases as it's
getting hotter than a
 fever heat
 I don't mind her
cold hands around my --
 burned out lights form a
silhouette; film this on
screen like a dream
you can watch or hear.
but she doesn't scream;  
her bones suffocate me
as she's wrapped around
my body -
she's stiff, cold, dry.
sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat. )
Until I can't breathe.
The Ballad For Those Still MournedSail to seam, my apocalyptic dream.
Move onward to the dilated opium, breathe
in and taste hope in homeland heir.
Be bold - dare to defy finite odes.
Become the soldier, the suit - the armor;
garner of humanity and desolate earth.
Turn tidal-swells of warfare, silently
reprobate the crown, sing of homage, bring
peace with the sound of war burned down.
Sheath the slaying shore,
boast the bounding door.
Articulate the arts of war
and decimate the depths-adore.
Finish the dream, the ode, the chord
of men still mourned.
saltwater lullabyi am beside myself
and you are inside me -
water boarding my heart
and seeping into my lungs.
exit, please, with haste
before i'm laid to waste.
i'm already nothing at all,
aren't i?
aren't we?
a melody comes choking out of my
salt ridden throat
invoking fear in each ear
it falls deafly on.
they never remember me,
until i'm gone,
and neither will you.
chew,
baby chew,
on these verses, these words,
these curses -
they vex me
and i have foretold them all.
perhaps, i am a fatalist
after all.

The Best Part Of YouOur Memories could never be replaced
Pictures still hang above the fire place
Your warm heart always made each day worthwhile
The best part of you was always your smile
You never failed to lend us a shoulder
Or listening ears as we grew older
And you were always there right from the start  
The best part of you was your caring heart
Tough situations didn’t keep you down
You faced life without a tear or a frown
No matter how hard things were, you pushed on
The best part of you was what made you strong
Even though you aren’t here, you won’t fade away
I will think of you every single day
We’re alike, Mother, everyone can see
The best part of you always stays with me
A World of WordsThis written word strung together,
Played off in a cacophony of beauty,
Dancing around in a field of verses.
Visible to all with eyes in their heads,
Or ears sensitive and perked,
But only known to those who watch.
Those chosen few who sit in silence,
Listening to a mute orchestra,
Or watching an invisible ballet.
The truth behind what is visible,
Is seen and created by their worn minds,
Lips upturned with furrowed brows.
Broken hands feeling no pain when creating,
Their minds, hearts and souls filling the page,
In a cacophony of beauty, spilling across the world.

The Butterfly BoyI saw a boy playing in the dark.
He was small and frail, but his eyes had a spark.
In the hands of the child was a shimmer of light,
Matching that of a star in the night.


The shimmer glowed vivid and pink,
Rather cute, someone might think,
And a smile rose on my face,
As I watched his moves, full of grace.


As the shine grew bigger, it split,
Making shadows dance as it did.
Repeating his motions several times,
The boy was now swarmed with pink butterflies!


The boy stood and raised his hands,
Allowing me to see him entranced,
With a gaze in his eyes bright enough
To cover all in his days, that was rough.


I found myself watching for hours,
Wishing I had such magical powers...
So I let my eyes rest,
Letting darkness fill my chest...



***
Many years passed since then,
The boy's now a handsome young man.
And the spark in his eye
Reaping of the Wicked: Prologue by Anzelya The Virgin and the BullThe lions are holding you back, but you want to run with the bull.
Mercury rules your sky and you're swifted by every astrological pull.
The Sun is setting on the number eight,
Hurry now, before it becomes too late;
Venus is here, to take your breath away,
To save you from being the catch of the day.
You're going in opposite directions, and now may be your chance,
To give that Virgin of yours, a second glance.

:thumb356619698: Clockwork WhoreA gentle ticking was the only sound that night.
Paris is not as beautiful as they say – for the most part the city is dirty, dishevelled and infected. The tourists are constricted to the beautiful sections, the sections where the rich and powerful live and the money gets spent. Walk less than a mile from this small circle of wealth and you encounter the forgotten Parisians – the prostitutes and the beggars, the hungry and the homeless, the true citizens of Paris.
But on that night, it is through these back streets and alleyways that we must venture. Walking between two dilapidated buildings that sag dangerously is the Vicomte de Chagny - a gentleman well known to those in the backstreets, especially by the working girls. His presence here is not unusual, though many of the girls would agree that he is several hours past his time of usual visitation. But tonight he is not looking for a girl – if anything, he aims to be rid of one.
The Vicomte de Chagny walks slowly, an

:thumb339619474: Rose Scented Ashes III - SchoolFast forward a few years...
Daniel was now about four, five years old, and getting ready for his first day of school, of Kindergarten. His mother had recently suffered another bout of infuriation toward Valance, who had made one remark about "What happens if the other children find out Daniel's partly plant?" Apparently, she had assumed he meant to reveal it to the other kids, and instantly snapped, chucking a vase at his head, and - thankfully - missing.
Suppose she really didn't want me to have any part in his life, Valance thought as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, reading by the sunlight, slate-violet eyes not really seeing the words on the page in front of him. Not beyond giving him a name - which she has probably already claimed as something she thought of anyway. No, not probably, he already knew as much from the whisperings he tuned in on.
As he listened to the tumult outside of his door, of the babysitter attempting to get the rowdy young c
:: More Than You'll Ever Know ::Does it make you proud
When you're the cause of someone's tears?
Does it bring you joy
Every time you insult the innocent?
Do you know what you do
When you speak with your vicious tongue?
Do you realize what happens
Every time you laugh at another's sorrow?
You see a woman with male friends
And you accuse her of craving sexual attention.
You notice a boy wearing glasses
And you tease him with the name "four-eyes."
There's a group of peace lovers;
You proclaim they're annoying hipsters.
The teenage boys who love each other;
You tear them asunder by calling them abominations.
Do you find pleasure
In being the source of a poor soul's agony?
Do you even think
Of what the consequences could be?
Does it satisfy you
To make someone feel inferior to you?
Does it quench your thirst
Whenever you rule over the oppressed?
If a young man loves writing poetry,
Immediately you dismiss him as a lonely loser.
Sho

OsteoperosisWords and bones
are sticks and stones
and they will surely kill me


Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!

:star: Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles: :star:

:bulletpink: Volume 1: January 2013
:bulletpink: Volume 2: February 2013

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Lit. Daily Pick Volume 4: April 2013

Tue Apr 30, 2013, 5:34 AM
At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity to help lesser known deviants have their chance to shine. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.

:pointr:What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?

Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I have recently come across that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature are then featured in an art news journal together. The purpose of this daily feature is to help lesser known writers on the site get exposure for their well-written work, as well as promoting community spirit.  

* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had two suggestions from the lovely Caffeinated-Bunny and shehrozeameen (who suggested multiple deviations!). Thank you both! If you know of a deviation or writer that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Please Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.

And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:

:star: April 2013 Lit. Daily Picks :star:

Why I Can't Love a PoetHe said you're beautiful like
black birds on a gray sky or
a tree that's recently died but
holds its last green leaves until
they wither and crack, swept away
by a northern wind bearing his name.
:thumb362920804: why stars don't sleep& stars they never sleep
cradled in the gentle limbs of the moon
the sky in ocean's blood
how they love their dawn
never wake to twilight nights
breathe life into mountains
caress sky's limit
& painting life in yellow dots
falling out soundlessly.

Sonnet #58Sonnet #58
Take not the endless sky for granted, boy
for birds reign free o'er thy own smallish head
and gracefully meet their own gracious joy
to prepare each other before their bed.
Let not the boundless forest deceive you
the leaves only wish to soothe worried souls
and when weary travelers call out, “Who goes
there?” soundless words makes empty seem whole.
May the seamless grasp of the ocean's great reach
calm nervous persons and shout out “Behold!”
The new lesson is beginning to teach
as mysteries quite deep remain untold.
The beauty of the nature surround us
and brings peace and harmony to the just.
The Truth Behind Love Affairsoh weary sky,                                    
Wrap your lightning bolts 
around my neck and
finish what I started.
Haunt me until you forgive me -
Kiss me so I can forget
Smile as if you were never broken.
I finally understand those haunting love
songs that I would sing along too
and wish it could happen to me.
"Never thought we'd have a last kiss..."


Make it stop - - please -
Rewind it to when i only wanted you,
but these voices trapped me in a cage 
of doubt where lust dressed as love.


Save me from myself before I kill us.


We're all smiles and grins until you
throw a rock of battles at our
mirror of false hope.


And now he's cooking my innocence
with betrayal, draining my purity with
his lips like a

:thumb361228357: autoflowerreorganize the body
my artillery is a hall full of dancers
because to avoid death the ocean divides itself
and divides itself
until she's a shadow full of rooms
or eventually even the acid and the earthquake
But we've imagined this backwards.
the elephant's battered radiation talks all prophets from the building
Upon the stockpile mouths flood dry
and so many cardinals
of that hollow universe
pour on
And so what, auction the wind
she says.
After, no one will be left to speak
and I laugh because the same parts divide us
For the machine:
I hang these plane crashes from your clotheslines

If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
My Despairing RavenMy eyes fluttered.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll see you tomorrow," I heard them sing.
The darkness thinned.
My eyes opened. I couldn't see myself. I was inside, surrounded by blinding lights. I was mad with fever. My body was burning up, and yet I was shuddering violently; only straps kept me from falling into the endless abyss. I felt the sweat pour down my sticky body and soak the bed. I was dressed in white linens…
Then faces appeared, speaking in a deep language I could not comprehend. Their voices were assuring and warm. But I could not see their faces.
I was shivering with fever, cold, and fear.
Was I dying?
Where was I?
Please, don't put the lights out!
I went mad with furious fever forfeiting reason. I snarled like a beast who could tolerate its cage no longer. My forehead and hair rained upon them. Spite and spit: My veins filled with it. I thought I'd burst.
"NO! NO! NO!" I cried in delirium whilst I thrashed back and forth. "I'm afraid of the Dark! Please, don't
Foxlocks of hair, caught in branches,
woodland creatures watching her missteps,
              but she is quick:
                     a fox ensnared by a contemptuous bird
buried deep behind her white-coffin ribcage,
       singing mutilated songs of endless sorrows.
              and she,
                     a broken thing,
                               with eyes, cold like a frozen ocean,
is fixated on moving forward,
       instead of moving slow
              and feeding the wolves her warm flesh.

:thumb364772078::thumb364955284: Melancholic TendenciesAs she danced away to the fine symphony
She felt nothing but an enchanting ecstasy
Her connective rhythm, her fire breath majesty
A deified sight for the broken heart to see
As she held her stride and moved to and fro
Her heart filled with joy, her mind free of woe
Her grace as she laughed; her happiness so pristine
Her being held sway, no words could define
She moved and moved, her smile more pure
As she danced in the darkness, a divine allure
As the circle drew near, she made a cheerful sound,
An operatic discourse, vibrations spreading round
As she danced and sang, the court was reborn
As ghosts danced to the music, of a satisfied voice borne
Through sorrow and sadness; such hopeless melancholy
Brightness from the moonlight, shining in harmony
A wizard's dream, such a brilliant display;
The dancer in her sonnet, with lost souls who sailed away
While she didn't care, as she flowed with her song
Her lost partner in her arms, her grip held strong
In his eyes she looked, seeing what she

NarcissusThe cardinal at the side window
went to war this morning.
I woke to the sound of his tapping
on the glass, a steady rhythm of
red beak against window
as he went in for the kill.
Every few moments,
between the jabs against his reflection,
he would chirp at himself,
a high metallic chip to ward off
the intruder in his territory.
I watched inside from under the ceiling fans
as he struck the window,
as if the red-breasted bird he saw
had uttered some unspoken travesty upon him.
My sister said he found himself handsome,
had fallen in love with himself years before
and kept coming to see his reflection one more time.
He came back each March to knock against the window,
and I knew even then his black eyes held no attraction
for the bird that looked back.
I put my finger against the glass,
tapping at him with stubby digits,
and thought that surely some damage would come
from knocking your head against a pane of glass.
Or perhaps what started as a war against his blurred twin
had twisted into h
Star-writHear me read it!
It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.
It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;
and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.
Moon LightIn a whisper the world ends
In  darkness the day descends
All the fun the games we play
Are caged in time and fade away
In this gloomy moon lit night
Are memories of sorrow and delight
The world is dead is how it seems
Without virtue and joyous dreams
I wonder when this night will end
And bring to life a merry trend

LighthouseSailing through darkness.
There was little I could see.
I was lost,
trying desperately to find something.
Anything.
A flash of light brought hope.
It pierced the black velvet night,
gave me a sweet breath of life.
Brought me out of the depths of despair.
Then it was gone.
My eyes can see even less now.
The flower of hope withers away.
I don't search anymore.
I don't want light if it brings that much pain.
At least the darkness won't lie to me.
Death Song.
Singing to me a symphony of death
The strain in my body with every last breath
Draining my life a soul torn apart
Needing only time with this slow beating heart
The tune of my soul is dying within
This aging carcass is wearing so thin
Notes of life will soon lose their tune
As I'm sitting here so empty in this prison, my room
This song is now reaching the end of it's time
Nothing to leave for you but this poorly writ rhyme
But hope goes out for the one who does care
Because in your heart my music is there...

Diagnosis IIThe diagnosis:
 Metereological maladies, the bad taste in your mouth
 From the presence of my doorframe.
 The words that burn my irises cold
 And the residual sentiments of self-loathing
 Brought on by a secondhand hemorrhaging
 Of compassion and selflessness.
 Her hand broke my wrist,
 The dawn broke on her cluttered room.
 I've faced my demons on a daily basis,
 Possible allergic reaction
 Resulting in unstable perception of existence.
 Buried word asphyxiation.
The cure:
 The door's always been open,
 But not for me to step through,
 For me to point the way.
 A little less poison in my coffee,
 A little less venom in my evening.
 A crack in the night left swinging the hall light
 No more unasked for observations hurled in my direction,
 My heart set on a new era.
 The sun set on her empty room.
I am meI look in the mirror and see my on reflection
I start to wonder, am I not only a projection?
But if I would be one, my life would be a lie
"But I'm not a lie! I'm not!" that's what I sigh
I remember all the happy moments in life
I remember the sadness and the strife
This though is a proove that I'm me
And accepting that is the only key
To get stronger and to walk along
the lonely road to where I belong
I'm proud, that I am me
And I am also proud to be
A living being, the person that I am
I will show everyone, I will show them
I am me and I'm proud of that
And not only some kind of brat
:thumb363026894:
Creepypasta: Laughing JackLAUGHING JACK
         It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.
         When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey sandwich. “James. Who were you talking to out t
:thumb367830809: Song of the pirates.We sail the seven seas as we please.
We only stop for gold.
We plunder and pillage through every village,
We're not afraid, we're bold!
The wind and the rain only bring us more gain.
We're not afraid to die.
Barely sleeping at night, our wits are alive
And the sea is our own earthly sky.
Fear not my mates , we will meet at the gates,
No matter how we go.
We'll keep on sailing till our souls are a wailing
And how that is we'll know.
So raise your swords and steady the oars,
Don't be afraid to die.
Shout with all your might, "The sea is our life"
And never question why. 
                                      ~M.E.B.~
                                     04-10-13

I Like To Play With SkinI Like To Play With Skin:
Breathe -
My dear friends and watch,
As the feeling of life itself
Crumbles beneath each ounce of pain.
Needles slowly piercing into the body,
Paralyzing nerves and expressions.
A mask of pure horror; living terror,
Kept alive on the barest limit of the border.
Such tempting features,
Leave me eager to slip a knife beneath flesh.
Ripping soft layers of epidermal mache,
Tanned and dried, woven slowly into a loving mask.
And with my latest acquisition complete,
Only twenty spaces remain...

-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2013
:thumb368369581: AcceptanceGreen.
The course iron bars of a prison.
The creaking doors,
Lock you in the building of torture.
The wet flaking paint smelt stale
And made it clear:
The weird were not welcome here.
The door shudders loudly as
Someone enters, nervously.
You can foresee the taste of blood:
100 vipers wait, poised
Ready to attack
Until there is nothing left
But an empty shell of one who once existed
Everyone was the same.
Same clothes, same attitude, same prejudice.
Like clones, unable to accept different.
Like sheep, afraid of new.
A metal barrier shading them
From the real world
Where the weird were accepted.
Shunted to the back,
Of a classroom alone.
Even the teacher can’t face it.
Touching other people’s emotions
Are painful
Touching thorns
Thorns of hatred
A light breaks through
It’s near the end
Of a hard year of war
The soldiers lined up to kill the enemy
The teachers the generals
The children the soldiers
If you were the enemy
You would know
You were outnumbered
No chance of v


Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!

:star: Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles: :star:

:bulletpink: Volume 1: January 2013
:bulletpink: Volume 2: February 2013
:bulletpink: Volume 3: March 2013

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The sound of colours III

Journal Entry: Sun Jul 7, 2013, 11:58 AM



 Hey!
This month's topic is scapes.
I hope you like it!
Enjoy!

Mont Blanc in the Mirror by RobertoBertero The Sleepy Mountains by MaximeDaviron
Canadian Rockies Reflection by porbital Mt. Blanc Sunset by cwaddell
Last Colors by vally5 ...magical winterview... by FelixInden
Image From A Stolen Time by Ardak Endurance by Dani-Lefrancois
...morning blues... by FelixInden Patience - Moraine Lake by LukeAustin
Reaching the Ice Fortress... by XavierJamonet Chamonix Needles ID by alexandre-deschaumes
badwater pattern by porbital Rise of a new day by Aphantopus
icy beach by mescamesh When The Moon Shines by torivarn
sky-high by CaveCanem42 A breath of Hope by iNeedChemicalX
Aurora and the Milky way by erezmarom Maloti Pass : Reprocessed by hougaard
Spring Evening by TobiasRichter - There is a House - by ldinami7e
Fields of gold by emmanueldautriche First light by emmanueldautriche
High Pressure by DrewHopper <da:bigthumb id="378276735"/>
Winter Wonderland 28 by doruoprisan Impart by IvanAndreevich
Sheep and Volcanoes by FlorentCourty Long Reef Red by Glenn-Crouch
Like a painting by Philippe-Albanel
Phoenix Rising by simonebyrne Violent Clouds by karthikvj
Mirror by Annabelle-Chabert Les larmes ardentes d'un jour naissant .. by alexandre-deschaumes
Fiery Sunrise by papatheo Set the fire to the third bar by juanwernecke666
<da:bigthumb id="308395064"/>
5 minutes from the life of planet Earth by white-white Lupins Sunset by XavierJamonet


I hope you found the sound of these beautiful colourful pictures!  


:iconstudioloftmedia:

Photography feature in #PhotographLove
Show
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At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.

:pointr:What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?

Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I had come across in the last day that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature will then be featured in an art news journal together.

* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had one suggestion from the lovely ssensory (thank you!). If you know of a deviation that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.

And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:

:star: February 2013 Lit. Daily Picks :star:

:thumb351423465::thumb351466874: Into the PlungeBuild me a sandcastle on the edge of the sea,
where the cliffs are sprayed with the salty tears of the tide,
and sirens cry into the night for the arms of a lover
to whisk them away into a dry night free of brine;
Where we shall dance the sunset's furtive sigh of redemption
on the edge of saline bluffs, and kiss with the gunpowder
of forgotten cannons high on the waves of an abandoned ocean;
Teetering the edge of the world, where the Kraken and Leviathan lay in wait
for lost-lorn victims of broken hearts and brackish undertows
coursing through their veins.
            D
                 r
                     o
                        w
                            n
                 w
                      i
                          t
                              h
                                    m
                                         e

:thumb351703829: Poor OpheliaOh, you breathed tragedy.
It filled your lungs
Like water and sediment.
Insane enough to love the insane,
you threw yourself into
that dark puddle with the same abandon
as you threw yourself into him.
And you laughed the same way
when you fell into water,
when you dove into lust,
drowning with hopes
as broken as your mind.
You gave them flowers
as a parting shot,
because you were there once.
Tearing out petals
like you would your hair,
panicking over "he-loves-me-not."
When you last saw the sun
from under the surface,
did you think it was hellfire,
or swear it was God?
Fade into Written WordFade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.
Disappear from harsh reality,
seeking lettered escape.
Twisting lines into melodies,
leaving the long lost agape.
Whispering wishes of wanderlust,
daring dreams of dancing,
gushes of grace's grandeur
with the beauty blushing brings.
Let's fade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.

The Ravens of ValhallaO’er desolate shores wept the fate of immortal flames
And into a Winter sun I bleed my dreams,
as a thousand years of love & war dressed the sky
Long-ships sailed to the otherworld upon Odin’s breath
Betwixt night and day I wandered, shimmering, peering
— Till my chalice of Dragons blood flowed but no more
I became a warrior lost in the stars, drifting, ever falling,
Until the shadows entombed my soul in Raven-lore
Lo the tempest eerie; ‘magick entwining spirit and flesh
Upon snow I awoke dreary, beneath winged-silhouettes
‘Couldst be, my Princess adored; — last of the Valkyrie!
I recall — myriad of black feathers in leisured-dance,
And our love soared ravenous unto darkness befallen
From the frosts of creation I wrought gloom and desire,
Bore the tongue of fevered winds thru oceans of time
Here thy whispers feasting, I linger, clad in mists of fire
O’ we have lived, in the arms of shadow and vapors
We have sung, in fields of night
You Say That I Am MadYour eyes totter through your dreams.
Dreams that are...
...unexplainable.
Dreams that are...
...unimaginable.
And you say that I am mad.
You fall,
Though you feel motionless.
Falling...
Falling...
But, my dear,
The time is ticking.
Tick.
       Tick.
          Tick.

And you say that I am mad.
My mind starts to ponder with this thought,
And I realize,
Who isn't mad?
I laugh.
HA!!
       HA HA HA!!

How could such a thing
Escape from my mind?
My eyes flickered violently.
I grinned wickedly.
Am I mad?
I ask.
I cackled with delirium.
HA HA HA HA!!
We are all mad!!
The clock is ticking, my dear.
Tick.
       Tick.
          Tick.

It is almost time.....
....for Tea
The Ward: Chapter 1 - AloneChapter 1 - Alone
When most people start a story, such as this one, they’ll start with something like ‘my name is and I’m such and such years old’. Seriously, nearly every time I ever opened a first person book, it was there, as though everyone could think of no better way to start their stories.
But am I going to be different? Maybe. But this tale seems a little too grim for a gentle start such as that. So, I guess I’ll just let you work out who am I. Here, I’ll start from the beginning, the very beginning.
8888
It was 1992, and typically for a British day, it was dark, and rainy, if not a little cold. But that wasn’t much of a bother to me at the time.
I was three months old and restless. The nurses in the orphanage wanted me to nap, but I just couldn’t, as though I knew something important was about to happen. Babies are weird that way. So with my legs in the air, my young eyes focused on the window next to my crib. The r

Light in the Darkness
The books were piled high on the desk, tucked deep in the recesses of the Archive's library. There were no candles allowed this close to such precious works, so the words had to be revealed with a special light. It was a small glass ball, emanating a honeyed glow like that of a candle. Muted, small, and unobtrusive.  This light didn't flicker.
One of the students, an Apprentice, dropped another arm-load of books on his desk. The impact sent up a plume of dust that had settled on the shelf nearby. He destroyed the sanctum silence with a fit of coughing. A murmured curse and he claimed a seat, pulling open a weathered book. Strangely, the cover retained some of its former glory. White leather, as supple as the day it was made, had been torn and stained in some places. Still soft but tarnished. Bruised and abused. Like many old tomes, this one had made quite a journey until it was in the care of the Archivists.
This student eyed the cover, then the spine. Another curse. There wa
A Note on DrowningI am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]
[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]
In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.
I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted my many steps and Mother’s few. When I stretched my legs, I could make it so my path went over only her footprints.
The sand was soft where she had stepped. Elsewhere was gritty, and unclean.
I was young for all of Mother’s stories. Here I will write the relevant one as best I remember.
“A sailor was on a ship. This ship was far of

ValentineI know the ancient words and I speak the newest talk -
my pantry's full of pie and my front door has a lock.
You can be my fiddle and I can be your bow -
I can play the high notes so soft and sweet and slow.
I know you need a quiet place where you can mend your dreams -
my daddy was a tailor, I can sew those ragged seams.
I've heard that there are angels who are jealous when we kiss -
they look at us and think about all the things they miss.
There is something to be said for not rocking any boat -
but if you rock with me I know we can stay afloat.
I asked the higher powers if our love would be okay -
they said love is always risky but do it anyway.
I used to know just what to do, I had a master plan -
the only thing I know now is I want to be your man.
This is no brief love affair and this is no mistake -
this love is mine to give and my heart is yours to take.
The warrior's call"I saw the breeze of midsummer's bloom;
the leaves aloft, kissing the autumn goodbye;
Like them I embraced my impending doom
wrought in sorrow... tears dropping from the sky..."
The warrior uttered his last words
And embraced his fate - the unheard
demise bound the army; for he was a conscript
embracing his fate, aloft, the autumnal leaves slipped...

Never Going Back.Little boy, little boy.
Won't you come here.
Little boy, little boy.
Won't you stay here.
He cries in the dark.
Stands strong in the world.
Fears that old monster.
Slowly learns to push back.
Young man, young man.
Won't you come back.
Young man, young man.
Won't you ever return.
He catches the strap.
Shatters the firewater.
Freeing himself.
Sheds not a tear.
Old man, old man.
Won't you help them.
Old man, old man.
Will you ever go back?
SlowSo little left to hold on to
I'm falling deep
Deeper deepening.
But it's calming
And my heart beats slow
Slowly slower.
I feel my eyes slide shut
And my vision goes black
Blacker blackest.
My senses fade
And I become empty
Emptier emptiness.
old and time-weathered soul.Emily liked to imagine that she was from a different time.
She’d sit on her bed and smooth out the covers, fold the sheets with crisp lines and perfect, symmetrical shapes. She’d place the chipped tea cup on the bookshelf and push back the linen curtains. But she would never open her eyes. No, you see, because if she did, she would have to see the traffic that buzzed like summer bees below her and the water stain dripping down the side of her window. She’d have to admit that outside, reality was not what she wished, and, frankly, she wasn’t ready to stop pretending.
So, instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She imagined that beyond the four walls she called home, there were open moors and grass that swept against ankle and calf and then inner knee. She imagined that trees draped over the sides of a porch and that her Labrador was free to run amongst the unfenced wild yonder. She imagined gentle whickering coming from the n

Requiem for a dreamThere lies the bewilderness.
I am lost to it.
Lost in it.
Wandering the merging passageways
The trapezium maze of synaptic firing.
Under the over and between the middle
I fall out of the world.
inhale.
Lilac rains on effervescent tin rooves
Turn to remnants of forgotten tears.
The pearly rivulet,
Of moonbeam kisses.
And so the dead bury their dead,
As the living meander by.
For we all feed on death.
exhale.
A sibilating breath speaks,
And in my auspicious solitude
I urge it
To tell me how fine it's all going to be,
As I listen to the restive oracle
That distracts me from myself.
inhale.
Falling. Flying. Missing the Ground.
As conscious is forgotten
To the arms of Morpheus,
And the wonders of attritional time
Rip the skies open
Drenching the earth in diamond webs
And Pandora's secrets
Ignite in scintillating opal fire.
exhale.
So the anachronism of our yesterdays,
And every present we know,
Feeds the gluttony of today
From the revenue of tomorrow
In conscious spaces
where augurs define
:thumb353109197:
91. DrownThe dark water caresses my feet
Its cold takes away my body heat
All the feelings it washes away
So they won't bother me another day.
In the dark water I will be save
Protected from harm by every wave.
I heard your siren-like song
Calling me home where I belong
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
The dark water is surrounding me
As I succumb to the endless sea.
As the waves close over my head
I started floating, gravity's dead.
Don't cry for me, don't shed a tear
For I just went home, it's all so clear.
I followed the siren-like song
Leading me home where I belong
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
My hurting lungs want to gasp for air,
With fading vision, I see my last breath
Rising to the surface of my watery grave.
Blood desperatly pounds im my ears,
Beating the rythm to the song I hear
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
The song of death waiting for me
:thumb312165053: Writer's OathAs a writer, I swear on my word and my honor to do my best,
To always strive for the unobtainable;
To not only reach for, but to walk among the stars;
To never lose the awe and wonderment of life,
And to see the world, if only for a moment, with the simple faith and wonder of a child;
To kindle the flame of imagination within the hearts of all whom I come into contact with;
To never scoff at the whimsical;
To keep a hearty belief in dragons and fairies burning strong in my heart;
To believe that giants can be slain, and evils vanquished;
To not merely search for a hero in dark times, but to seek to be one;
To look ever to my friends for inspiration, and also to seek to be that inspiring light;
To remember that the darkest hour of night is when the promise of coming dawn is the brightest;
To stand up for truth and right, regarding not the opposition;
To be ever open to new possibilities,
And yet to always say what must be said in the way it ought to be said;
To remember that the pen is

The ShadowHe is the creature who comes in the night
to clean the kitchen and return
that sock you lost in the laundry last week. He is
the hooded figure who stalks by you
in a darkly lit alleyway with his hood up
when you're dead drunk at 3 in the morning and
you just know he's
going to mug you or worse
but he doesn't, just
turns a corner and disappears. (He is
going that way to gently chastise
the man who had an entirely different idea. The man
runs home, cries, remembers nothing
the next morning. He goes
to his parole officer and confesses
several violations.)
He is the one who whispers
into your ear in the middle of the night
terrible things
but only so that you will turn over
and hold your lover closer, tighter
than you have for months. He
is one of many who moves things around,
puts them where you're sure you didn't leave them
(and you didn't)
but he alone puts them where they
should have been in the first place.
He sets a floorboard creaking
in the middle of the night; you
deadbolt the doo
i write bad poetry.You are made of bone, sinew, gristle, synapse, skin, keratin
not inkwells and Hemingway, galaxy-cuttings and star-trimmings
or dream, Edgar Allen Poe, absinthe, reflections and sin.
You know a hundred words to describe every pockmark that dots
your face and the way your pens fit into arrow-quivers by that
ricketty old desk of yours but
Words will not
fall
from your mother-of-pearl lips
(willingly.)
Apply cleverly-done descending letters here
and sprinkle one jaunty hyphen across the page
because after all, punctuation is a hitchhiker
and you're speeding down the word count like a cargo truck
till you crash into an abrupt ending or more likely
a lack of poetic inspiration.
Today and yesterday and seven days before, you might have
prostituted your muses, a penny for your thoughts, looked with
cross-eyes at your empty lined pad of paper and then
wrote seven pages about a cloud you saw that eventually scattered
into dreamy folds and smoke.
The sky is blue.
The sky is big.
Apply 'the sky is

The GuardianAs told by Daniel Valentine
Panic.
The archeologist ran as fast as his long overworked legs could go. The terrible shadow was catching up quickly, running him down like so many fox hunting hounds in spring. There was only so much the young man could deal with, and as the sweat poured down his face with the exertion, he found, this was not one of them. He’d already reached the outer halls of the sanctum, how much longer would the creature follow him!?
He could see a door ahead, but as the beast behind him roared, the ground shook, nearly throwing him off balance and caused large chunks of the ceiling to collapse in his path. Soon he was dodging debris as it fell from its rightful place. He was terror struck, if this door was locked, that was all there was to his tale, he would die, and no one would ever stop the baron, in whatever plan he had.  There fell in front of him a very large chunk of the floor above, a few barrels and boxes fell to the ground with a crash that was as


Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!

:star: Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles: :star:

:bulletpink: Volume 1: January 2013

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Write words below..

Journal Entry: Mon Mar 18, 2013, 9:03 AM
.

















PLEASE CONSIDER NOT WRITING ANYTHING BELOW, THANK YOU ; - ;



And I shall:

1. Tell you something I learned about you by looking at your page for 10 seconds.
2. Tell you a color you remind me of.
3. Tell you what element I believe you belong to (water, fire, air, etc.).
4. Tell you what OC(s) of yours is/are my favorite(s).
5. Ask you a question, that you must answer.
6. Tell you something I like about you.
7. Give you a nickname.
8. Tell you what am I doing right now.
9. Tell you what food/flavor/smell you remind me of.
*selfishly ignores the 10th point*

I was dared, so there's no going around this :I
I promise not to spam you with journals from now on.
I was actually contemplating whether to post this or not for over 30 minutes... Forgive me.

Characters belong to Keiichi Satou
Coding SlashGod
  • Listening to: Opeth - The Lotus Eater
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Response to I Need FeminismI need feminism because
It’s acceptable to call me a slut.
I need feminism because
It’s okay for a guy to slap my butt.
I need feminism because
It’s my own fault if a man rapes me.
I need feminism because
I should look good for men to see.
I need feminism because
People think it means ‘anti-man’.
I need feminism because
I can’t do things that men can.
I need feminism because
Girls think it’s cool to shame each other.
I need feminism because
The world has higher hopes for my brother.
I need feminism because
My femininity makes me ‘weak’.
I need feminism because
If I act masculine I’m a ‘freak’.
I need feminism because
My boobs are my ‘best quality’.
I need feminism because
I believe in equality.
 by CorporateRockWhore
I need feminism because
It’s acceptable to call me a slut.
You do realize that you are calling prostitutes inferior? If there is nothing wrong with being a prostitute, there is nothing wrong with being called one. I don't think there is anything wrong with being a prostitute, personally, so long as no coercion is involved.

If we consider the meaning "
Slut is a term applied to an individual who is considered to have loose sexual morals or who is sexually promiscuous" then the problem is even less obvious. Stop treating it as an insult and just say "Yeah. So what, Mother Theresa?"
I need feminism because
It’s okay for a guy to slap my butt.
You are talking about frivolous sexual harassment lawsuits, rights? I've had my butt slapped by girls. If they are crossing the line, I tell them. 
I need feminism because
It’s my own fault if a man rapes me.
Of course. We don't do stuff like put the person in jail if the guilt can be established, right? 
I need feminism because
I should look good for men to see.
Based on what most girls tell me, they look good for themselves. You aren't in Saudi Arabia where women are forced to wear head scarves. If you feel pressured by someone to look good, just say no to peer pressure. 
I need feminism because
People think it means ‘anti-man’.
Do you have an argument to prove the statement is false, or are you just dismissing the criticism that feminism mostly focuses on the problems facing only one gender without addressing it? 
I need feminism because 
I can’t do things that men can.
I need feminism because I can't do things that women can. I can't give birth. So what? 
I need feminism because
Girls think it’s cool to shame each other.
As you just did with prostitutes above, and I guess feminism didn't help you. Alternatively, it didn't give you the self-esteem to look past mere connotations.
I need feminism because
The world has higher hopes for my brother.
You have Internet access. You are far more privileged when it comes to access to information than Isaac Newton or Albert Einstein. You have a computer. You are far more privileged than Leonardo da Vinci or Ansel Adams when it comes to art tools. Stop bitching and do something. 

If Marie Curie spent her time complaining about how the cards are stacked against her, she wouldn't have become an inspiration to millions. 
I need feminism because 
My femininity makes me ‘weak’.
Being female makes you physically weak due to less testosterone. Having menstrual cycles makes you occasionally slightly mentally unstable, or at the very least physically uncomfortable. Being susceptible to pregnancy potentially makes you very weak and unfit for a long period of time. Feminism isn't going to change that.
I need feminism because
If I act masculine I’m a ‘freak’.
Could this be the first valid point? Depending on where you live, I suppose. 
I need feminism because
My boobs are my ‘best quality’.
What you probably need is self esteem. Either that, or your boobs are world-class. Just poking fun.
I need feminism because 
I believe in equality.
You didn't mention any ways in which men are discriminated against, so I suspect not. 
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Don't you love when people text the wrong number and accidently message you instead? Im not being sarcastic, I actually love it so long as its not a phone call.

So I just got this text from someone named Sigi. He or she asked about how this Daniel person was doing and informing me that they were going to go to some breakfast thing. I couldn't think of anything mean to do to joke with this people today, though I would have if I didn't get a bad nights sleep last night.

So I send them a picture.

A picture of a majestic creature.

A Dorse.

Just a photoshopped picture of a horse with a duck head. Looks weird, found it on Reddit. Hope that confused them a little. Made my morning.
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If you don't care: stop reading
If you'd come to my funeral: fave this.
If you'd miss me: comment a heart.
If your not scared: re-post and see
who cares
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Thank you all!

:thumb334380627:   Hello Sun by NikNikonov   Fall 2012 by nudagimo   Lucid Dream_02 by caddman   :thumb334845607:   Ginger II by msfowle   Nightly Dreams by FallenAngelArmy   bear by vanesagarkova   I Ching 05 - Xu (Waiting) by annewipf   oO by confuzzledMia   Firestarter by msfowle   Ira by malkavian30504   Temple Of The Holy Grapes by shiny-shadows-Art   New Spells by maiarcita   She Who Runs With Wolves by Brallaya-Rya-Xhyti   Another Quiet Day by MoodyBlue   Mr. Hyde by Musicman30141   Enchanted Forest by virgolinedancer   :thumb335955808:   Little Forest Lake by malkavian30504   The sunrise by vm0572   Almost Home by BloodMoonEquinox   surreal landscape by confuzzledMia   MONARCHS Premade Cover by msfowle   Macaw 2 by matildarose   Winter-Impressions 2012 by nudagimo   Autumn Queen by SilkenHowl   The Horned God by Thy-Darkest-Hour   Arrivals by NikNikonov   FIGHT! by Gamekiller48   :thumb336747351:
  • Mood: Nervous
  • Listening to: filthy halls- apple horse
  • Reading: fragile things- neil gaiman
EDIT: alright, that was quick, but i have to close commissions for now! hopefully, i'll be able to take mroe soon!

since Etsy fell through for me recently, i decided to get my hands dirty and go back to what i used to do- taking commissions! these are going to be simpler than what i've done in the past, more focused.

i'll ask just a few things of you, if you'd like to order a drawing from me.
(if i've missed anything crucial, please let me know in a comment or email!)

-please know what you want before sending me a request.
-please be able to pay.
-email me at bvaughn@udallas.edu with your detailed order! NOT here on dA!
-remember: i typically draw in pencil and pen, traditional materials.
-all pieces will be completed on 8x12, acid-free sketchbook paper.
-i'd prefer to be paid through paypal.
-i will begin your drawing as soon as it's paid for.
-oh, and try to be patient with me! i'll be swamped with sorting through orders and completing and packaging them. more complicated pieces WILL take a longer amount of time to complete and ship!
speaking of shipping/packaging: as a standard, i always slip your order into a transparent slip to protect it from water damage. i also place a piece of cardboard in the envelope, in order to protect the paper from folding or bending.
-the cost of insuring and shipping is not included in these prices! we can discuss the details of that when information is being exchanged through email. it can be paid at a later date.

-one character bust in pencil- $12
faces by burdge
-one character bust in ink- $15
somebody call for a doctor? by burdge
-one character bust colored and inked- $20
in a dream. by burdge
-a pencil sketch of one to two (full body) characters on a white background- $25
Korra by burdge
-an inked drawing of one to two characters (full body) on a white background- $30
Partners by burdge
-a colored and inked drawing of one to two characters (full body) on a white background- $40
a girl worth fighting for by burdge
-any added characters/animals/backgrounds will include an additional price, determined upon request.
go together by burdge

WELP. i'm prepared for the craziness that is about to flood into my email... i will close commissions when i believe i've taken as many orders as i can handle. this means i'll be open for A LIMITED TIME.

and if i can complete them all in good time, perhaps i'll open up commissions again this summer! thanks for your time! <3
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