ikazon's avatar
mindful coyote
3.2K Watchers723.9K Page Views660 Deviations
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at night when the sea rushes in to meet the land I climb into the bathtub and make an island of myself
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Desk Birds
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Firebreather
When the beams finally gave way and the attic collapsed into the cloud of smoke that had threatened to billow through the roof, his eyes blazed the same orange-red that peeked through the smoke. He stared at it from the cover of a bush across the field behind the house, unmoving as it collapsed in on itself, bit by bit, board by board. Even as the last embers caught on the evening breeze before the fire ran out of things to burn, he remained, unmoving. When the last haze of light crept away over the horizon, he ran, eyes held shut until he cleared the first few trees that marked the edge of the forest. As he passed more trees—from memory, from practice—he slowly let his eyes creep open, the blazing orange-red illuminating the floor of dark forest in front of him as he ran. His guardians had taught him this. They’d practiced it over and over again, in case the day ever came. He was to run and not look back, to travel by darkness until he reached the bunker at the base of the far
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Protocol
It was far from the first time a dreamhopper tried to escape, and Dr. Markus Albrecht knew it would be far from the last. Hell, Reik had done it at least four times since discovering he could, and once his time in solitary was up, there was no doubt he’d do it again. The problem wasn’t that the dreamhoppers could bounce between dreams and potentially escape; every leap from one dream to the next left a trail of sorts, lingering magic that would lead to the next dream, and so on. No, the problem was more complex, and was one he should’ve expected that Belcott had figured out already. Once a dreaming person was pulled from their dream back into the waking world, their dreamscape would exist only in their subconscious, and it became much more difficult to find any trail to follow in the first place. “Sir, Reik has been locked down in simulated dream space. They recommend giving him about 6 hours to make sure his consciousness is still all there before speaking with him.” Markus sighed,
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A
A Simple Task
It was supposed to be a simple task. Deliver the pouch to the old lady who lived in the house up the hill, get paid, then be on her merry way. As soon as she arrived and saw that the front door of the dilapidated manor was wide open, hanging on one barely attached hinge, she took her phone out of her pocket and called him back. When it went to the man’s answering machine, she said in no uncertain terms that the pay rate would be double the original quote. Once sure the message had been left, she stepped inside the house, braced for something far less than simple. Upon seeing the remains of the old lady on the dining room table, carved out in a way that could only be described as grotesque, she called him back again, this time demanding triple the original quote. He still didn’t answer, so as she climbed the stairs to the second floor landing, she sent him a text as well. After she killed the first hired gun on the second floor, she called him once more, this time stating that she
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the Kamogawa flows from mountain to ocean— ritual routine like the sun rising and professing my love to you
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Giant
It had taken him a year to traverse the Desolate Continent, his rucksack getting smaller and smaller as his supplies ran out. He might have been able to get to his destination sooner with help, but he knew he had to make this journey alone. A clear map, a course plotted on paper, anything more concrete than the fleeting memories of the stories he'd been told as a child would have helped. But he had to make do. The world was at an impasse. No one was happy, but no one had an edge, either. His goal was to turn the tide in favor of his people. Of his history. Of the very power they once possessed. When he finally crossed the tundra and could see the skeletal remains of the giant—of the mythical force he'd spent his childhood dreaming of—even his shock that the being had been real couldn't overtake the awe of discovering an entire body. Though he was tired from his travels and exhaustion threatened to kick in, he was calculated. This one was stabbed clean through, both weapons present
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b
between two buildings
between two buildings on Hollywood Boulevard there is an abandoned plot of land where another once stood, and it is the only clear view of the Hollywood sign from the street. the most sought after view in Los Angeles caught, perfectly, in failure
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Give me a title.....?
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Do not wait for may
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Senja 13
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Golden
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Into the Light
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Clear Mind
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Salem
I. the bright scarlet egg of dawn nests in my head. when it is time, it will crack my skull like a shell and be born. II. I have a witch's fingers and a witch's eyes, rough pewter lenses through which I see the world. I have sabotaged their crops, I have plagued their children, I have eaten their livestock in the night   (so they say) and I hear the whispers in the streets. they will be willing to kill for their conviction, though I am not willing to die for it. III. I am no longer human. I've been branded with an ugly mark of fear and desperation, one terse syllable that cuts like a switch. IV. a thin reddish line
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No ocean
No one sleeps the night the army comes home, and memory storms the shore, bipolar and sexy. You always knew where to go and what to drink, where to find the crows that stalked the summers left lying wrinkled on shorn boardwalks, Augusts headless and Julys scuttling over hills. When you were gone I fucked Arthur Rimbaud in a Parisian basement. He hooked his eyelashes under mine and made waves on my skin.   Tolle, lege, like the parable tells me.
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B
Brackish
After the wet season, before the midsummer night's drought, I flight for the floodplains, where the northern downpour bleeds out and sweeps its love to the mouth of my lungs. I sleep in the crux of an oxbow, let my dreams flux and flow fractured, deltaic. For this is the way I piece myself apart, a resolution, my absolution in a new avulsion. During the day, I move south towards the river mouth, picking pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed. A loose tooth is a common truth in these parts. Bones are febrile, eyelashes are made of chalk, salt. Tears turn brackish. They cake and crack on the flats of my hands. This is my Pang
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B
Buford
"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door. I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the  bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit. My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily. His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bre
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FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower
"Dora speaking." "Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..." "Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice." "That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing." "You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is." "Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...." "Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or an
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exhibit.
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft to be my torturecage and the sofa and endtables are poor jailbars, but we are feline and we're too tough to care bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today baby lionesses, authentically, we even lap milk from ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from the orders we give: 'emily, you're the zookeeper. Get us more milk.' She hates serving us, she's only four but she's getting strong and someday she'll earn predator status. (give thanks that we do not consume you, emily, your fingers peek through the cagebars and they are white and young and blood is sweeter than breastmilk) Roar. We are learni
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Actinium Dreams
Y'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own? I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the wor
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Even Though
There will be no caged fingers, no tendons finely tuned to A from tension. There will be no clenched teeth, gritting rosin, to make the final singing note growl. There will be unwinding bed-sheets, hands slowly releasing the tuning pegs. There will be slowly sliding scales as the four limbs loosen past playing. There will be a simple, quiet exit, not to ovation, but to a hushed audience who anticipate an encore, even though it is uncertain.
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swimming, not drowning.
when you're waist-deep in a love you know you shouldn't have even dipped your toes into, you spend a lot of time cursing the current. you try to stamp your feet but find the sand's up to your ankles and seaweed is tied in bows around your calves. the waves begin to climb, breaking on your collarbones and splashing your face. breath seems to take up more space in your chest. you bring air into your body in the shortest bursts possible and it spills back out like machine gun fire. sometimes, though-- mostly in the first hours after sunrise, when you're alone with the space she inhabited on your couch and her perfume on the back of your knees--
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Housewarming
She opens windows in  their wintery home, hopes to let the cold out when it doesn't work she scratches matches to life and burns the house down.
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Deviant for 10 years
Badges
Show Your Heart: Participated in DeviantArt's 2019 Valentine's Day celebrations
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Birthday '19: Celebrated DeviantArt's 19th birthday
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Ninja Llama: Llamas are awesome! (4006)
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Fever
Hi everyone! I hope you're all doing well! It's been a pretty busy couple of weeks over here, for good reasons on the whole, but time flies when there's lots to do, haha. I'm going to visit some friends in a different state next week, and I while I am very excited to see them, I'm also a little worried about the travel to/from, just because of the political climate right now where said friends live. I'm trying to keep optimistic as best I can, though, and I'm preparing for it as much as possible as well. Assuming all goes well traveling to/from, it should be a good time. Around here, I'm very excited because seniority announcements are starting back up again. While I feel strongly about it being around and it being a means of recognizing people who go above and beyond to make our community a great place to be, it's also special to me just because it was a huge part of becoming a part of the community myself. I was first given seniority 11 years ago, in September 2008, and that
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Feel Special
Hey all! Hope you're doing well. Last Saturday marked 12 years of being on DA for me, which is crazy to think about, being honest. It definitely feels like that amount of time has passed, but it's really something to think about the fact that I've been here for 40% of my life. It's also weird because for a long time I felt like I was still a newer member to the site, even though at this point I've been around for more than half the site's lifetime. Time flies, I suppose :giggle: Part of the reason I didn't post about that on Saturday was because Saturday was a pretty hectic day for me. There were lots of various things I needed to do, including running a 5K in downtown LA! Well...I walked the majority of it with @PktPictures, @justonlyisawesome, and @Jocelyn1988, but there were a number of others who ran it, including @jezreeljay, who ran it backward! How's everyone doing? Recent Favourites Around the Community
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Found on Newest, Vol. 10
One of the most polarizing things about the Newest page is that there's no filter, and that it's literally just deviations right as they're submitted. The bright side to browsing Newest is that you have the chance to run into a variety of good art of...well, anything and everything, really! So, here are some more great works that I've found while browsing Newest!
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Deviousness Award

A deviant for nine years, ikazon is a monumentally influential member of DeviantArt. A champion of DeviantArt’s literature community, he’s contributed his own writing and journal skins to the community since he first joined DeviantArt. In 2011, ikazon became a Community Volunteer, shining a light on undiscovered pieces in both the DeviantArt related and literature galleries. His dedication to the community quickly made him a beloved figure on DeviantArt. Soon after, in 2012, he was hired as a full-time staff member, where he ran multiple community projects, such as the 2014 and 2015 Valentine’s Day Exchange!

However, ikazon’s contributions to the community extended past his time as a community volunteer and a staff member. From contributing journal skins to the CalendarProject to leaving encouraging comments for his fellow community members, ikazon’s supporting presence has been felt all across DeviantArt.

We’re proud to name ikazon as the Deviousness Award recipient for March 2016!
Awarded Mar 2016

This is my box to test things.

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Comments5K

anonymous's avatar
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bubble-fan's avatar
bubble-fanHobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the llama ^^
ikazon's avatar
ikazon Writer

No worries :la:

bubble-fan's avatar
bubble-fanHobbyist Traditional Artist
^^
JACAC's avatar
:handshake: . m y . f r i e n d
MarioHernandezDA's avatar
MarioHernandezDANew Deviant
Thank you for the Llama! Recieving one from the Staff is awesome! I am a dummy!