Lest we forget
In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow,
and we who walk among them know
that here men fought, and bravely died
with equal courage, side by side;
the lark has overcome the crow.
We touch the Dead in memory –
embrace them through the century.
The earth enshrines their valiant hearts
in Flanders' fields.
The torch has guttered years ago;
the enemy has been laid low.
And though your names should slowly fade,
your blood a better world has made.
Rest you now where the poppies grow
in Flanders' fields.
larksongbirds and gracklesMore Like This
wringing meaning from white
fall to silence
Burn the Hypocrite! To the Reflection, CallEsteem is common,More Like This
some see it
So we break without it?
It may be crafted
based on perceived
from own view
of what is worthy of respect.
like with much
may be good
if in intense dose
it can be an unpleasant combo.
Self-deprecation it seems,
can be a defensive resort.
For what purpose is served to berate
one who berates themselves more than enough?
While in the depths, always a light is held
(so it would be hoped)
one chink of ego
an aspect which may be admitted
to be of value,
even should the rest crumble.
So criticise those
who flaunt exuberantly.
So what to expect when it seems
what one once raised and lauded
turns out worthless?
That is where the break occurs.
What may be certain?
Is there any truth at all?
Has one become
entirely what was hated?
To take up these pretty names
strut, in stanzas, garbed.
Competing BlindTake a stimuliMore Like This
toy and play
weave in joy.
Present in contest
that one may conceive
judgments of, of one’s own.
Await, in excitement;
await, with known friends praising;
await, until finally the result?
bar that the three chosen
are the better.
conflict and flaw.
Improvement must always be sought.
Nothing can be gained from void.
So draw one’s own conclusions.
A simple step
to take from void response
to void worth of subject presented.
judgment is made
it is an intrinsic aspect.
So there must have been thought.
Reason in regard.
Who am I to say
since none of the winners
would have been of my choosing.
Perhaps what should truly be taken
is to not try again
not in that way.
Moonlight and UmbraYou cannot see the moonMore Like This
without seeing his shadow.
One face shining;
one face darkened.
The shadow does
delight and cherish
in the hidden side
which he hides
from observer common.
Extending her reach
she seeks to pave his way,
aid how she may.
So he carries her with him
as she would in return.
Both faces smile,
as one looks up
the other down.
So entangle and entwine fate.
Let her follow him to whatever may come,
be it some shining dawn,
or a plummeting doom.
Let her bleed for him,
take the blow and enshroud it.
Theirs is a purpose shared,
one he raised gleaming,
that is what drew her
to lend her efforts
in aid of his will.
A time shall come
when he shall face her
and, openly, embrace.
Travellers through EternityOne shinesMore Like This
through every night,
not to waver between or settle
anywhere but the extremes,
sending the light of the moon
The other walks
through shadow and fire,
Holding quiet in his own way,
lest fool’s folly
earn his fury.
see past and future,
see honesty and hope.
A beauty, belying wisdom untold.
An intensity, as through silence, beholds.
Both are known for bonds
burning long and strong.
Then what may come
now, one another, they find?
In a worldIt can seem so alienMore Like This
to step amid the paths.
Finding a way,
amid noise and turmoil,
to quell it, as you so wish.
Echoes across space and time.
Darkness seeks Light,
and Light does so in kind.
in distance and distinction seen,
still two may hear.
From the first spark
to roaring crescendo,
rise in the search.
So each side
sights the other.
On the world’s waking,
so go forth
TogetherSee them soarMore Like This
obsidian and alabaster.
Each magnificent in their own right,
as they fly,
manner and form distinct.
Endowed in powers
of Light and Darkness,
so they travel long
through many lives.
They share a home,
far from this world they behold
a purpose unchanging
to bring balance where they go.
In directions three-fold
through time, is gaze sent.
In this quest so it is found
harmony, in one another.
No matter the life
in which they may rise,
they are again.
Marvellous as they may be
together, ‘tis beyond wondrous.
eternal in bond.
Glorious TlazolteotlGlorious TlazolteotlMore Like This
Glorious, glorious Tlazolteotl,
Your gem-covered hide, both cephalic and caudal,
Reveals the contagion pulsating within you,
A glowing green phage you will spread and continue.
To glory, to glory the blesséd Plaguemother,
Your dedicated calling before any other,
You loudly proclaim without hesitation
Her Love for the world, the Plague for All Nations.
And never shall you rest, unless you are tired,
Until her Holy Plague has infected each shire.
And then you'll rejoice, with pride and celebration,
And hopefully, too, learn the art of procreation.
(© 2013 Cassander)
(Tlazolteotl © NeoGeen)
Dawn and DuskTwo sisters are bornMore Like This
to the light.
The young one stays quiet
distancing himself from
the air aflame with bickering,
keeping to his lessons
amid the lost.
Deep beneath wave
the once new member knew welcome
now knows not if he’ll ever see day.
The dancing lights of the south
captivate the sapling-green eyes,
of the youth anticipating his wanderings.
satisfied and snug,
the daughter of dark leaves
shall know her first games.
In times that come
the cascading heavens
is where the dayblind Fae
turns her gaze.
So the Light sisters glimpse
the world from beneath
Learning what they may.
Learning, too of those whose wings
brought them shelter.
bring friendship lasting
and one forgotten when they, again, meet.
Tidal roar, whispers in forest,
The borders grant sight of all.
Such a wondrous world,
who’s to hold the young
from their gambol
in mind and matter?
One sister went
NothingI used to be lightning.More Like This
Power surged beneath my skin,
and in the silence, I heard myself thrum.
I used to be fire.
I burned bright inside, stellar lungs,
and in the cold, I sang myself warm.
Still and dark.
My stone sinews crack.
I am vacuum, deep void of space.
Asteroid dust, floating.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attritionMore Like This
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
Father Jake's Garden (excerpt)I went around the back of the house to Father Jake's garden to sit and think. I was greeted by the clucking of sleepy chickens. There was a hutch as tall as I was and a good five feet wide. Most of the chickens were hidden up in the covered top, but a couple strutted around on the sawdust bedding. They had mostly white feathers, speckled with black. In the dark, the black looked like a sprinkle of shadows. It was chilly, but the birds didn't seem to mind.More Like This
There weren't any benches, so I wandered. Even at this time of year, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were getting colder, Father Jake's garden was lush. Pumpkins grew along the chain-link fence at the back of the yard, some as big as my head, one the width of my torso. Dead sunflower stalks stood sentinel behind them. Squash took up a neat row closer to the house; broccoli and lettuce were in the bed after that. The darkness made everything soft and uniform,
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.More Like This
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
And the Clock Ticked On3:24:34More Like This
An Orderly finishes looping thread through flesh.
He goes about his business with a sigh and ties a futile knot.
Once he’s tied the catgut sutures and wrapped the paper crepe bandages, the Orderly moves onto the next man because the next man had a chance to keep breathing.
More orderlies take the bedding from the cot because there are men with a chance to keep warm and alive. A Nurse in a grey uniform that might have once been white almost leaves the sheet underneath his limp heaving body because a dead man should at least have a burial shroud. But she takes it anyway.
His face takes on the waxen quality that blood loss brings.
His temperature rises. Its been days since he was fished from a taken trench, but there are no anti-tetanus shots for a boy-prisoner with flak in his lungs so liquid fills them oh-so slowly. There is no healing from this. There is no point in propping up a man already lying in his grave.
standing at the edge of the sea.And so,More Like This
I, in all my feeling, spread
my fingers like felt, barren,
harmonious comment to touch and take
such pleasures. We do trip off the tongue
and ride the darkness through
tunnels of sun, pebbled with radiation
like speckled eggs, or Orion's freckled belt
as it lounges along your arms,
caresses your neck and chest.
I, in turn, will breathe the North Wind,
let it come sailing across the scenery of our souls,
blue like electricity in a lightning storm,
gold like joyful sunrise;
raindrops like crystallised manna
fall in our hands and kiss our hair.
Washed up in our own wonder
at mysteries of wasteland deserts, of romance
in smiling river mouths, twining tongues with the ocean.
Meanwhile our fingers blend,
holding the tides at bay,
till sunburst enters quietly and
leaves its breath upon our lips.
How to Insult PoeticallyOnce I happened upon a callow young lass,More Like This
Who apparently thought that it was cool to be crass.
And she turned her tongue upon the profession of writing;
Apparently she felt that it was in need of a smiting.
Though her raving and ranting made very little sense,
She seemed to be taking a rather harsh stance.
Apparently her pain was too great to be understood,
Far beyond the comprehension of this man from the hood.
So I stood there in swagger, clad in my bling.
While she behaved like 'Moon-Moon', in search of a thing.
She spouted some nonsense, some far fetched line,
About never idolizing the keen writer's mind...
If that is the case, then why ape my technique?
Why submit to several galleries; is your brain on the leak?
You are writing to be seen; you seek attention as I do,
What are we if not performers, is that not true?
Did you believe that you could use your past as a shield?
It counts, I'm afraid, for nothing, I feel;
For you see, I'm a killer, as bold a
OCDI count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.More Like This
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Always a goal; always a pull. It's getting stronger, so I'm getting close. I have to hurry, I have to lose the person behind me. They kept walking straight. Good.
It's raining again. It's been raining every three days for the past week. Three and Seven. Not good, but not the worst numbers. They add up to ten. Even. Safe. I duck into an alley, and stop sho
Don't Talk To Me "I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.More Like This
She nodded, her expression unfathomable. "Me too."
There was a long pause.
"Just two days ago," I said quietly, avoiding her eyes, "we couldn't even be in the same room without going for each other's throats."
She turned away. "Yeah," she admitted. "But look at us now."
I continued, "And just two months ago we were the best of friends. But look at us now." This time I looked directly at her, smiling mirthlessly.
"But look at us now," she repeated. Her voice was bitter.
I didn't know what to say. We both stood in silence for a while, pretending to listen to the babble of subdued voices from the graduation party.
"You know," she spoke suddenly, "there's nothing about how life is today that I'd have predicted during our last years there." She
Age 16 Page 1Every day of your life up until this pointMore Like This
Has been a prologue to the tale of you
Those mistakes that you have made in your childhood
They may be many or they may be few
But please don’t allow them to shape or to shift
The person that you were born to become
Keep in mind that the night is at its darkest
In the moments before we see the sun
I see pure potential run through your being
In your soul, deep beneath your callow skin
A unique story is waiting to be told
That the world will never see again
And though it begins with ‘once upon a time’
This is not a sugar spun fairytale
Each chapter and verse now lies in your hands
And is waiting for your dreams to prevail
Seek not perfection as mistakes will be made
It is repeating them that is a sin
Learn from others but don’t let their views smother
As hindsight in such a wonderful thing
Fear no one, fear nothing, never hestitate
Don’t let them measure your wisdom by age
Now you’ve gazed upon that cover long
I'm Such An Insecure Diaperbaby That I Passive-AggI always wanted to be that girl.More Like This
Pretty, clever, friendly.
Everywhere she goes, she has a big smile.
Everyone loves her.
Clear white skin.
Sporty, long blonde curls,
And flawless blue eyes.
She's a princess.
Confident, loves her true love.
Everything is easy for her.
And I remember when I was young,
With darkening hair,
Tripping on the stair,
I can remember dressing in pink,
Trying to please everyone.
Because I needed to be that girl.
The devil refused my soul.
I would cry at night and say,
'Princess, princess, deep inside.'
'Come to me on a turning tide,'
'And let me be you.'
Wasted days trying to be that cool kid.
Chase the ball,
Chase the ball,
Try and do it all.
Hang around in the sun.
It'll turn that hair blonde.
Wear make-up. Your skin will be Snow White.
Take every chance you get,
Be the Princess.
Buy the fancy dress.
Chase the ball,
Chase the ball,
Try and do it all.
Be a princess by birth.
Be a success.
Wear the pink dress.
Talk through your nose.
Never read prose.
Chase the b
Bathroom StoryOkay, I normally don't post things about my personal life anymore, but since it's going to be a slow day, I thought I'd share this.More Like This
I was minding my own business when my dad messaged me on the computer saying "There's a leek in the bathroom."
Naturally, I asked him which bathroom had the leak since there are three bathrooms in my house.
My dad said it was mine. (I have an entire bathroom to myself.)
I was a little bothered since I'll be going home in a week so coming home to a leaking bathroom didn't sound too enticing.
Then my dad asked if I wanted to see a picture.
Of course, I said yes.
Here's the picture.
Do you see the leak? Because I sure don't.
Wait! Wh-Whazzat on the toilet paper? Why it's...it's a...
That's right! It's a freaking leek! I looked back at the original text, and sure enough, my dad said "There is a leek in the bathroom!"
leek (n): a plant related to the onion
leak (n): a hole in a container
I thought that was a typo!
Needless to say, sp
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thinMore Like This
You're not? Then you're obese.
If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.
If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.
If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.
If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.
If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.
If you're you, you're wrong.
Then you must be perfect.
Confession I: VehnasMore Like This
So you want to know why do I hesitate in taking something I seem to crave so much.
The question is: what makes you think you know what it is that I crave? Because really, I can't figure out how you're supposed to have even the faintest idea.
Do you really think that my biggest, unfulfilled desire is to take her virtue? Do I look so shallow and trivial to you?
If I really wanted to violate her, I could have done it so many time since I first had the chance to lay my hands on her...
But again, why should I brutally take something that already belongs to me? Why should I deliberately spoil my own possession?
Let me clarify this, once for all:
She is mine.
Her beauty is mine.
Every breath she takes is mine.
Her pride and her contempt are mine.
Everything that belongs to her is mine.
All she cares about is mine.
And so is her virtue.
I don't need to rip it off to prove that I own her, and I'm not going to take her against her will just because I can.
She cherishes her chastity, and so do I.
The stuff you have to do as an artist sometimes...I get a lot of questions about being a full time artist from youngsters and one thing I've learnt over the past 2 years that I cannot emphasize enough is - PAY ATTENTION IN MATHS. Or if you have to take a business class and you really hate it because its not creative, trust me, you're gonna need and use that shit years later. I'm kind of running around like a headless chicken because I did neither of those things and am having to find out the hard way in artist survival by jumping each fence as it hits me in the knees, lol. If you want to live as an artist that means paying the bills as an artist, doing tax as an artist and buying things as an artist. You become your business.More Like This
I started Spectramis Arts in 2013 and this is the first year of full self assessment I have to get sorted for the january deadline. A self Assessment is when youre self employed and have to tell the HMRC or IRS (or whatever your equiv is) what you've earned in the tax year and then you can claim money back for th
ALL ARTISTS ONLINE READ THIS- NOW. PLEASE SHARE.EDIT: Confused as hell about all this? Don't understand big scary business words and laws and shit? (Don't worry, me neither) READ THIS. It's the best way to explain EXACTLY what is going on right now if you don't understand business. If you sell certain types of art online this concerns YOU (nomatter where you live). Even if the art you sell through a marketplace is only worth $1 and it ends up being bought by someone in the EU.More Like This
It -seriously- concerns me why very few people on DA are not freaking out about the new EU VAT law that is starting on Jan 1st. I'm an artist, not particularly biz minded but I do make my living from selling my art as a freelancer/sole trader of creative services and goods. Many of you here will do so too. Some of you sell prints through DA. Some of you sell PSD templates. Stock. Photography liscences. Brushes. Textures. Webcomics on your websites or through plat
10 Random Facts about my OC's (tag)Augh I just remembered my sub expired D: ANYWAY, I was tagged by the infinitely talented :icondansyron: to say 10 things about a bunch of my OC's. I'm gonna keep it short but choose 5 characters. Engelstuff is always fun to know and you might even learn something new.More Like This
1. Her toes are pointy like her fingers. They used to be regular toes but someone pointed out to me ages ago that'd be weird so i changed it.
2. One of Imagni's proto names was Prince Lumo. I'm still using the name Lumo in there somewhere but where you'll have to wait and see.
3. Imagni used to use male pronouns in 2008's issue 0. Then it switched to female pronouns in the edit. If you own the original first print of the comic then you own something crazy rare.
4. Imagni loves tea. All Creators do, but her especially. Teafreak.
5. When Imagni sleeps she dreams about our world instead. She can't interact with it though.
6. Imagni's hair is pale neon yellow, not blonde.
Boldly Facing The FutureMore Like This
Artist Credit DanielaUhlig
Many of you have been in this community for a long time, but whether you’ve just joined or you’ve been a member since day one, this is your first impression of the new DeviantArt.
Change is not something that we take lightly, because it affects our collective identity. It was important for us to define who we are and what we’re made of at our core before we changed anything. We all have our own understanding of what that means, but the process of getting that core story down on paper took almost a year.
The result is “Bleed and Breed Art.” This is our center of gravity and our reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
It is the guide and the justification for everything, including our business partnerships, the development of the new app and the design of our new ide
My dA StoryIt's a niftey lil thing everyone's doin sooo... *aggressively jumps into bandwagon* LET'S DO THIS!!More Like This
Uhhhh not too sure where to start lol I guess a good place to start will be when I first found out about Deviantart. I was in 5th or 6th grade and dA was still young site [only about uhh 5 years old more or less]. I've been drawing since I was 3 years old, but never thought about posting them online [back then I mainly used the internet for playing games on like AddictingGames and such]. I discovered dA via google but never joined until late my 8th grade year when I found out through my then-newfound friend Kiirosan96:iconkiirosan96: that it was actually free to make a Dev profile. So I joined and posted some of my art, which was mostly just fanart and bad fan characters :icontongueblush:. *goes to look for an example to show you* Oh yeah, I forgot I deleted them.... oh well I'm preeeeeeeeetty sure you wouldn't wanna se
Painting the Roses RedMore Like This
I would be the only one awake
Excited to visit Wonderland
Where everything is the opposite of reality
I would hug my stuffed rabbit so he can keep me company
As I walk to the end of the hall to the old grandfather clock
I'd sprawl on the ground before it
Next to the tray of cookies and milk
That had started being left there
After the first time I fell asleep in this very spot
I ate the treat and sipped the milk in the teacup
As I waited for midnight
Tick tock, tick tock
Tickety tock, tickety tock
The sounds gave me lyrics and I softly sang the words
The words that lead me to a world of wonder
"Tick tock, tick tock,
Time is lost, time is lost
Tick, tock, tick tock
Forever lost, forever lost
Tick tock, tick tock,
My mind is lost "
And I repeat it until my eyes closed
Then I fell and fell
Down into the realm of my mind
Where anything is possible
It is a dream, but it seems so real
I'm tempted to stay,
Tired.I, am tired.More Like This
Tired of feeling.
Tired of all the hard work of healing.
Tired of failing.
Tired of falling.
I am tired of things,
People, and notions.
Tired of people,
And tired of their motions.
Tired of their talk
Tired of their commotion.
Tired of everything
Inside and out
Tired of hating
Too tired to pout
I just wish,
Wish I could live,
Some place to forgive
Some place to wish
And wish I shall do
Wish to not be tired
Oh, please wish,
The Monster in The MirrorWatch depthRADIUSMore Like This
A Pop Culture Interpretation of The Supernatural
Every culture around the world created gods and other mythical beings by mixing and matching fanged and taloned animal parts—e.g., enormous eagle heads on lions’ bodies—human beings have always seemed to need to believe there are powerful and usually quite vengeful supernatural beings lurking just beyond the candlelight.
Supernatural beings come to serve several purposes:
They kept people on the lighted path of truth and goodness, fearful of exploring beyond;
They were a reminder of the punishment we deser
Slender ManWatch depthRADIUSMore Like This
The Slender Man
In this season of deceits deceptions & witcheries
I am wary of my following message not being received with the full gravity it deserves. It is not my intention to unduly alarm the deviantART community, but... LaurenKitsune is at this time unaccounted for. All attempts on our part to contact her have failed. It is my hope that she has simply taken a much deserved unscheduled pre-Halloween “vacation” and will be back in online communication soon.
Before going dark, LaurenKitsune was good enough to write and transmit a report on the Slender Man phenomenon sweeping the Internet. That report is published here fo
'Why Are We Even Talking About This?'I get that phrase a lot, that and "over react much?" whenever I bring up ANY issue, be it from a video game, politics, or whatever. There seems to be a lot of people who just don't wanna talk about anything at all, and would much rather these discussions just not exist so they can get on with their lives.More Like This
You'll be unsurprised to learn that I don't agree with that wisdom. In my books, if you don't do anything, nothing is going to happen. If there's an injustice in the world somewhere and you stay silent, that injustice isn't going to fix itself. It will just keep happening. That, my friends, is complacency.
Then of course there are those people who don't believe that the world will ever change, therefor there's no reason to try, and actively try to stop anyone who dares to stand up for something. I can't begin to describe how annoying that mindset is to me. It's almost sadistic in it's very nature, by actively trying to stop people from making the world a better place by being dismissi
lest we forget95 years ago today, an armistice was signed between the Allied and Central powers, effectively ending the conflict of the First World War. Then believed to be the "war to end all wars," human nature sadly continues to prove this statement wrong. Please take some time today to remember and honor our veterans of today and yesteryear. It would be naive to state that our military is perfect, but those who have served honorably and dutifully deserve to be recognized.More Like This
IllnessOn an achingly bright morning, white lilies rooted onto my spine and the bird of visions pierced my forehead. From underneath my nails gushed salty white sea mist and from the corners of my eyes sprouted sparking weeds. From my hairline dripped streams of glass beads that turned into mother-of-pearl on my arms.More Like This
My words rose to the skies in purple flames, turned into cold ashes and rained all over me. My glass lungs began to resonate as the blue fish within started to fight. From my hair, glowing ghosts fled onto the branches of trees to eat the dead leaves. My tears melted lace patterns on the icy ground.
The doctor let dragonflies sew stars between my ribs. He wrote a recipe on my palm and it followed my veins into my heart. He pointed out the thousand-meter deep abysses in my soul from a chart and showed a cross-section of the amethyst caves of my brain, attached an object made of metal onto my chest and left it to speak to my cells.
The gauze-winged nurses chained me by the ankle t
MagicianOne day, a magician conjured flames from his sleeve and accidentally burned his silk shirt, then lamented his burns while glitter was scattered from a hatch above the stage. No matter how often he washed his hair, there was always glitter near the roots, like divine dandruff bestowed upon the pot-bellied wizard by a god that loves drama as much as he does.More Like This
"Lighting firecrackers is exciting as long as you are still young enough to be afraid that they blow up in your face." That is what the magician had written in a note left to his kid, with enough money to buy a happy New Year. The boy did not shed tears on a faded family portrait where everyone wore fake smiles; he had already burned it last year for two minutes of bitter entertainment, while his father was lighting three rockets at a time in an attempt to keep his mother from crying.
Earlier that morning, the sticky sweet smell of candy floss had mingled with the pungent smell of liquor on the magician's purple jacket, but he put it
The First BlastTim left his home in a daze. He wandered across his lawn freely, like someone who knew he had to get somewhere but who had no idea where that was. He looked up at the cloudless sky, staring right into the sun. He shut his eyes, then opened them and turned them down the row identical, brightly coloured two story houses that made up his neighbourhood. Still somewhat in shock, but slightly more confident in his movements, he began to walk down the row, just skirting the edges of the bright green lawns and paved driveways.More Like This
Almost everywhere he went, families were gathering on their yards. The same shock and awed loss of direction was apparent in everyone’s faces, as if they had all woken up from a strange dream. He nodded politely to those he passed, waving hello to a few. They returned the favour, though their friendly smiles carried even less genuine feeling than normal.
The cause for their shock and awed expressions was clear. No one questioned it, everyone understood as soon as t
EwesThere is a story from the Ultonian Cycle.More Like This
“But when Deirdre mounted the chariot behind Owen she kept her eyes on the ground, for she would not look on those who thus tormented her; and Conor said, taunting her: 'Deirdre, the glance of thee between me and Owen is the glance of a ewe between two rams.' Then Deirdre started up, and, flinging herself head foremost from the chariot, she dashed her head against a rock and fell dead.”
Ewe between rams.
There are two men talking in the break room. He's saying he was in a bad part of town and for the first time he was scared walking out to his car from the hotel. For the first time. It was surreal. Like this wasn't his life, like it wasn't him. I stand there, stock-still, unable to move my feet from the numb exhaustion of the conversation. The bewilderment in their voices. Like a weight I'd finally realized I was carrying, nailing my feet to the floor.
Who is scared walking through a p
A Feast Of The CrowsCrows, black origami kites,More Like This
circle the twin infinity
of copper lines,
stretching out into hungry miles,
and so the birds squabble
like avian chefs,
eating a feast of their own feathers
a feast of the crows.
If they take that train,
the train to go backwards in time,
do they wonder if their wings once held
MomHer voice won't waver overMore Like This
the runs I tear in her tights
or the wrinkles I chisel in her brow.
and hers is wider;
and she cries.
For me she gave up
her hopes and dreams.
For that I can never forgive her
so all I can do is thank her.
If I Don't AskStay out of itMore Like This
It's not your business
Don't ask about it
Don't make it worse
Nothing is worse
Than being told to
Stay out of it
I want to
I need to
Be part of it
I want to know what happened
And if you don't tell me
But I need to ask
I need to at least ask
So don't tell me to stay out of it
Don't tell me it's not my business
It happened to you
I care about you
And if I don't ask...
Doesn't that mean I don't care?
Their Blood Runs BlueMore Like This
Blue. Dark, almost black, but still blue. So much of it, just spattered everywhere. His chest tightened as the heavy stench of fresh blood forced its way down his throat and nose. So much. So much. If this much blood had come from humans, then it would've had to come from several people, but that wasn't the case. Human blood didn't run blue.
But theirs did. Her blood ran blue, and thick, and oh god there's so much.
A sharp trumpeting scream tore through Bastien Lynn's ears, muddled by the the sound of combat medics yelling to each other. The people around him moved in blurs, a frenzy of motion determined to keep her alive. There were half a dozen other people in the evac shuttle who were just sitting off to the side, tense and horrified. They all had injuries, but they were minor.
Bastien could barely feel his own fractured hands. There were things embedded in his skin, sharp things, but small. His fingers wouldn't st