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About Varied / Artist Erynn N. Wiggins28/Female/United States Recent Activity
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Boyfriends at the Park by Dracowulf Boyfriends at the Park :icondracowulf:Dracowulf 3 1 2014.09.07-WindowShopping by Dracowulf 2014.09.07-WindowShopping :icondracowulf:Dracowulf 0 0 Saturdays by Dracowulf Saturdays :icondracowulf:Dracowulf 2 0
Literature
2nd.2.047
How do we learn to live with ourselves?  How do we
learn how to stop trying to be someone else?  How
much of who we are is invested in what we do?
Finding strength and finding voice are not easy
things to do.  I am trying and searching,
but I am so afraid that if I finally find
and speak, I will discover I have nothing to
say.  Then, in panic and bitter agony, I fall
silent and still.  Depression is there, waiting,
with open arms.  But I don't want to go there.
But I don't want to be here either,
accompanied by so much doubt and abject
uncertainty.  Am I a fraud?  Am I trying
too hard?  Where am I on the page?
02.16.2012
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Literature
2nd.2.046
I want to weave a story like a
tangled ball of yarn.  something
with many fibers all twisted together
and wound tightly
into one
braided strand of woolen complexity.
I don't want to make
some fancy pair of socks,
or a cliched sweater that no one will ever wear
and will always lie
and say that they do.
I want to create a
story that will be
wondrous.  I want there
to be tangles and knots
that don't seem to
make any sense on
the first time through,
and maybe not even the third.
But it will make meaning to at least one person
at some point.
I will make a story that is more than just another kind
of entertainment.
It will be hard and long and frustrating.  But -
It will be worth it in the end
because when a skein of yarn unravels,
we always find that it was a single strand.
02.15.2012
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Literature
2nd.2.045
They are in the process of cutting down one of the trees on
the "island"
at school.
Somehow, I feel a lot like that tree: just cut
suddenly
and left wondering
what just happened to me, and
was it something
real
or
just one more thing that
I have
Somehow
Imagined into a
Halfway existence that, for some unknown reason, still torments me.
02.14.2012
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Literature
2nd.2.044
I am so genuinely small.  I feel like a mouse that has been
asked to cross an eight lane highway, but I haven't been
given a real reason to do it, and none of the speeding
cars know or care that I am down here, shaking,
cowering in fear between lanes, buffeted by the wind.
I find myself terrified of nothing and stricken helpless
by the smallest of uncertainties.  Sometimes I can't even
bear my own company, but I can't escape myself.  I am
stuck here, screaming without sound at phantoms I
can neither see nor describe.  I can rationalize it all
away - compare the ease of my life to the challenges
others face, remind myself that I am not alone, tell myself
that there is nothing to fear.  But I still feel.  Uneasy,
unsure, afraid, anxious, paranoid, sad, desperate, lonely,
exhausted, unfocused, despairing.  I know what this is
now, because I've been here before.  Or maybe I never
really left.  I can smile and nod and laugh, but it
feels so false
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Literature
2nd.2.043
    Sometimes
    there isn't really time.
    So simply try to live
embrace a little silence
         and let go.
02.12.2012
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Literature
2nd.2.042
Sometimes it seems so amazing to me that any of us human beings ever manage to find
a place in or our way through this world.  Most days I wake up and have to fight my own
emotional terror and defeatism just to make it to the night and the relief of dreams.
The world and so much of what it holds scares me in a deep way that I
can't describe or explain or reason away.  I find myself considering uncertainties
and my mind shuts down in paralyzing fear.  No one sees it.  Almost no one
knows.  The most frightening part is the fact that I know it makes no sense
at all.  I know how irrational phobias are.  I don't know why I fear
people, the future, failure, the unknown... so very, very much.  I don't know
why things can affect me so deeply sometimes.  I don't know why I feel
as if I have to struggle and fight so hard when it is so obvious
that I have been blessed with so very much.  If this is what
humanity is, how did we make it this far?
02
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Literature
2nd.2041
Where do our nightmares come from?  Where do
they go in the daylight?  Do dreams slumber?  Do
terrors sleep?  Our imaginations leap into
overdrive when the sun goes down and our
eyes flutter reluctantly closed.  Our minds
cleverly blur the lines of reality and make us
wonder, doubt, and question.  The real and the
impossible merge to a symphony of confusion,
and all the while, we slumber.  Are the hands
that fashion our fancies our own?  Do we
mold our own monsters?  Are we the only
architects of our private nighttime hells?  Or
is there more of the hand of chance in our
dreams?  Deus ex machina?  Perhaps we do live
in a world constructed by happenstance.  Maybe
this life is all there is.  But maybe there is
something higher - a force and source beyond
any logic or reasoning we could fabricate.
Maybe it drives meaning into every moment,
dream, nightmare, and atom.  Maybe it is only
waiting for us to open our eye
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Literature
2nd.2.040
Who are we - as a nation, as a people, as a species?
Where do we stand in that fourth dimension, in
that maze and finite resource we fondly
call "time"?  Have we finally risen from
the ashes of our failures, or have we
fallen into depravity and tragedy?
Do we still have heroes, or have
all their legends become the
myths of impossibility?  Have
we completely lost our
conscience?  Are there any
morals left to hold?  Are
we on a path of no
return?  Is there
a hope for good
and right to
return, this
side of
Heaven?
Who
are
we?
02.09.2012
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Literature
I THINK. 336
Hear the voices in the fallen leaves?
    The embrace of chilled air - can you feel it?
         Stare across the field, into the haze of the
              growing fog of night, the diffused glow -
              soft and orange - of the street lamps; you
              just might see a dream.
    Does it live only in your mind?
    Will whispering it to the stars
                                  make it real?
Can you save it in pixels or ink or sound?
    Can a memory breathe?
              Do fallen leaves despise the feet
                                  that trample them?
Walk the paths of night, wander in your mi
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Literature
I THINK. 334
Struggle on through, despite it all, in the wee
hours of the morning.  Leaves on the ground
like discarded dreams and dew on the window
obscuring the view - it's all just decoration
on the canvas of the earth.  You can't
expect a thing on the road, because it all
just comes and comes until it's here and
then it just goes and goes until it's gone - and
little more than a memory.  I have no shortage
of stories or dreams or things I should be
doing with my life.  But sometimes all the
accumulating somethings add up to a collection
of nothing.  Todays and yesterdays and no
tomorrows are ever guaranteed - but life is
still lived years in advance.  I don't want to
think about next year or month or even tomorrow.
I want today to be all I have and all
I need.  Everything found in a moment.
12.08.2010
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Literature
I THINK. 332
Is there a limit
on grace?  An expiration
date on mercy?  A termination
clause on salvation?  Higher ways
cannot be comprehended.  I suppose my
only wish is that I could accept it always.
Worthiness and the urge to earn it undermine what it
really means, and awareness does not always help to solve
the problem.  There is always the sparkle and glitter and sirensong
of the rest of the world to fall back on - especially when it is the
world that I am trying so desperately to escape.  Perhaps it is not really
an escape that I am looking for, but rather transcendence - understanding
of what it is I am supposed to be doing and who it is I am supposed
to be.  It is no simple puzzle, and a question I have asked
too many times before.  But here I am still.
Still and waiting.  But I don't know
what for.
12.06.2010
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Literature
I THINK. 331
Can I tryst myself?
Can I trust you?               these pages...
         These pages keep my secrets -
the secrets I have to tell, but cannot speak.
I have to trust my pen to speak for me, and
the eyes of some Reader to listen.
              Is it so hard to imagine?
                   So difficult to understand?
Some things have to come to the outside.  Some things
have to be known.  Some things have to be shared
with strangers - but in such a way that the truth is
discoverable, not apparent.
    I do not always trust myself.
         Chances are good I will not always
                                  trust you.
         But if you think that is the end of it,
       
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Literature
I THINK. 330
Uncountable billions of stars in the heavens, limitless life on the face of the earth - each one of us just a tiny piece of the marvelously broken world.
Some people are swallowed whole by it, lost in a kind of loathsome self-pity disguised as selfishness and greed.
Then there are those who do not let themselves be defined by what appears to others as insignificance.
I met such a man today - no, not even met.  No names were shared.
But he was an undaunted man.
Who knows how he came to work at a Christmas tree lot?
No one of us could know how high or low he had been born, what strife or success he had known -
yet he had nothing but smiles and kind words for all the customers who came in search of a tree on this December evening.
Perhaps a kind smile and helpful nature are simply good skills in a Christmas tree salesman on a lot carpeted with a crunchy layer of nut shells.
Perhaps, like a car salesman, his job was simply to ensure that another evergreen left the lot in the bed of a
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My sicknesse chiefly in conceit doth lye,
What I imagine, that's my malady.
Strange Chymeras are in my phantasie,
And things that never were, nor shal I see.
  ~ Anne Bradstreet



Not dead, just... not really living either.

deviantID

Dracowulf
Erynn N. Wiggins
Artist | Varied
United States
Say it with me... dray...coh...wolf...

"The truth is supposed to hurt -
that's how it lets you know you don't got it."
- Brad Stine

"She's not a prude," Gretchen objected. "Just naive. And very smart.
It's an unexpected combination so nobody knows what to make of it.
And, of course, men don't care about smart anyway."

- Karen Joy Fowler, "The View from Venus"


I'd rather be a real someone who nobody notices, than a nobody who's noticed by everyone.
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:iconbloodbandit:
BloodBandit Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015
Happy Birthday Draco! :heart: Hope you're doing well c:
Reply
:iconscorchedfang:
scorchedfang Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2015  Student General Artist
Hey, Ender, it is me, Scorched.

Didn't know you had dA.
Reply
:iconaccord2:
Accord2 Featured By Owner May 17, 2014
You are amazing. You are a fantastic writer.  I like really, really, really much your texts. I can feel the feelings and then I get sad. Your texts make me thinking too and reflect about myself. Thank you very much for sharing. I wish you a very long a full life. 
Reply
:icondracowulf:
Dracowulf Featured By Owner May 18, 2014   General Artist
Thank you very much.  :)  Making someone feel something is always one of the goals (if not the goal) of writing.  I appreciate you taking the time to read some of what I've written.
All the best to you as well, mate.
Reply
:iconredianwolff:
RedianWolff Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconhappybirthdaysignplz:
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