Back Againwhen you get there, they say "welcome back"
as they do on your return
we're always welcome
this is the incredible
fish symbol, and fishing rod
a net to sweep you off your feet
this play's the thing in which we catch the conscious of the Qing.
thelema end low easewhy knot?thelema end low ease7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why know it? who knew it?
why no it? aye, knew it.
yay! neigh. decide to say it.
decide who said it.
nuit? hadit? left it.
but I can't touch it yet. why? knot.
unravel, and be it.
PE Feedback: Why some people don't want Critique?WHAT IS CRITIQUE?PE Feedback: Why some people don't want Critique?2 years ago in Personal More Like This
Before I go ahead and discuss this subject, we must first understand what a critique is - as a definition.
Critique is a method of disciplined, systematic analysis of a written or oral discourse. Critique is commonly understood as fault finding and negative judgement, but it can also involve merit recognition, and in the philosophical tradition it also means a methodical practice of doubt. Critique is an accepted format of written and oral debate. [Wikipedia]
Critique is basically another form of feedback; the main difference being that critique will underline and focus mainly on the bad parts of your work.
Why do people fear and avoid critique? This is a good question and it must be well understood.
A community of artists as big as deviantART is, involves a lot of creativity and hard work.
We all know how much work can last behind a photomanipulation. How much research, how many ideas ch
On Deviating, and especially PhotomanipulatingHello all!On Deviating, and especially Photomanipulating2 years ago in Personal More Like This
Now that the title of my journal has your attention I hope I can spread a little bit of positivity. Ahh! Caught you unawares!
I was inspired to write this journal following a conversation I had tonight with a good friend. I wanna talk about . . . creativity. And originality. And not selling out.
Pull up a chair.
If you're not careful, dA can be like crack.
Yeah, I said it. You know it's true!
If you are not careful, you can become addicted to the rush of excitement you feel when lots of people add your work to their favorites. And making it to the front page, OMG, it's like sheer adrenaline coursing through your veins. When I did that, I just sat at my computer refreshing the screen, clearing out favorites, then refreshing and repeating for, like, hours, until the flood stopped.
Even if you've never made it to the front page, we all remember what it feels like the first time our work hit 100 faves. Or even 50 faves. Or hell, even that first fave mea
Photomanipulation: Voices of ExperienceHello, deviantART!Photomanipulation: Voices of Experience2 years ago in Personal More Like This
As the Community Volunteer for Photomanipulation, it will be my honor over the coming months to share the community I serve with you all and to show you the vast diversity, expertise, and creativity that defines us as artists.
Tonight I wanted to share some voices of experience with you all. The individuals I have chosen to interview for this piece have all been a part dA for at least five years. They have all been leaders in the photomanipulation community by setting high standards of quality through their exquisite works, by being involved in the community, and by setting a positive example for us all to admire.
These artists are:
EntenteProfessor Scudder's study was hot, dark, and crowded with memorabilia from his years in the tropics. Doctor Myron Handley sat and sweated in the uncomfortable plastic seat usually reserved for undergraduate backsides. He tried not to look at his colleague as the large elderly gentleman held a chocolate éclair in one hand, a glass of warm Cognac in the other, and alternately conveyed the two towards the general region of his mouth. Doctor Handley was all too conscious that he needed Scudder for the project to work at all, but that didn't mean he had to like it.Entente3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"And then, '46, we had a spot of bother," Professor Scudder spoke between swigs and chews but occasionally and disastrously mid-chew or mid-swig. "I saw some action, of course. Got wounded near Bombay. You a forces man?"
Myron Handley swallowed his revulsion. "Uh, no. All a bit before my time, really. I, uh, concentrated on more academic
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;The Problem With Elia.8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
born a week too late, she had
melancholy in her bones: doctor lizbet
took time out of her schedule to pluck her
newborn strings - calloused sanitation against
mottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.
in three more years, she will have
nothing in her bones at all: doctor estair
diagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel her
instinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquid
lobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellow
flesh against the thought of just getting over it all.
ten years after that, her mother will
find her face down and thrashing: her dust
bunny bones will flex as she retches up her memories
for display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawing
through them with clawed hands and heaving breathing until
one day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
The Library and the StarsIt was the oldest building in town. The amount of people usually would contradict the lack of noise. It was silent as a mausoleum, yet not as morbid. There were novels, comics and dictionaries filling rows of elderly wooden shelves. Today seemed to be especially marked by a dreaded presence, however. The townspeople would rarely leave their homes. Not because of the uncommon rain of summer on that day. But because there had always been a feeling of unmoved tension that lurked in the North.The Library and the Stars2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The boy was able to calm down by running through the collected pools of water residing in the dirt. He was running away. Going towards nowhere. He had entered, soaking, inside the pale and aged building, through the only door it had. All the way to the farthest corner, nobody was disturbed there. The boy thought as he finally slowed, satisfied amidst it all, for he at least found a good hideout.
The boy's deep panting scribbled on the blank sheet of silence. Outside the window was the painted portrai
the consequences of walking in circlesThe lady wore black and her eyes shone gold,the consequences of walking in circles1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
veiled face and veiled intentions, a smile
in her right hand, a dagger in her left.
Slicing with either in confident stride
like the sea-breeze slices across the morning air
and the ocean of her heart bled,
beckoning with wave after wave of depths untold.
When first I gazed upon lascivious lips, I pined
for the days of old, I dreamed of songbirds.
I spoke in languages forgotten. (or maybe never learned.)
I learned quickly the dark plays tricks on the mind.
She spoke, her voice was a shadow on the night's breeze
carried away on a landslide of eluvium. Her teeth were sharp,
and strangely intoxicating. Her scent, like gentlest whispers,
spoke to me of nurture and reminded me of death.
Her pupils were impossibly large. She smiled,
and I felt my will unfold like petals and fall away like leaves.
She stripped me of my outer bark, it fell away in clods of excuses.
I was adrift in an illusion of confusion. And her final wispy words
still echo in wha