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mindful coyote
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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
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
date haiku
on the pier three seagulls sharing bread sushi date salmon and salmon and more salmon road trip one hand on the steering wheel the other in yours king size bed for three summer furnace theme park date the happiest people at the happiest place autumn morning with a light breakfast of kisses
a reply
audience of one makes more meaningful applause
The End
    Toward the end, Taku was hardly there. Physically, he was present, but Tobias didn’t know the man in front of him beyond knowing who he once was.    Tobias could tell at a glance when Taku was there and when he wasn’t. The only part of him that remained consistent was the marble eye, the cloudy gray anchor that at times seemed dull in comparison to his large personality, and at others seemed to hold his head in the realm of the living as the rest of his body tried to revolt. He’d fall into fits of rage, periods where anything and everything he could keep hold of long enough would get thrown across the room and left wher
The Nomad
    When the nomad arrived, the building inhaled. It was a slow, shuddering gasp of a breath, wind passing into the shoddy boards the same way it passed through the tattered clothes hanging limp over the nomad's frame. In the breeze, both swayed. The nomad hesitated only once before breathing out. The building exhaled with him.    When the nomad sat, kneeled solemn at the foot of the barely standing bed, the building stilled. The very air held taut, lifeless, as the nomad pressed his hands to the dusty bedsheets, fingers tracing blotched stains dried out from years of atrophy. When he took his hat from the bed stand, tapping the dust from i
the fool tears paper from notebooks because he can't create and in the process creates art
    The only time Tobias saw Taku offer any sort of reverence was at the steps of the church. He made it a point to remove any traps set on the front steps and the door before crossing the threshold and entering the church, eyeing every wall and window more carefully than Tobias had ever seen him do before.     When Tobias asked if he was religious, Taku laughed.     “It’s not for me, kid. In a place like this where everything’s falling apart, people need somethin’ to believe in.”     “What do you believe in, then?”     “Myself, of course. What about you?”     Tobias, too shy to tell
moving haiku
moving in autumn: rain falls indifferent I want it but I can't keep it sunlight in fall moving boxes packed tight with memories cargo an open box with a cat inside precious memories shipped off to thrift stores
Stood back from the crowd slightly, a light face amidst the many in the acropolis, his gaze captures mine. Fine features alight, he is a flame bright in the summer sun, my greater half. The myriad ways the mind plays over the less than gentle grasp of his fingers entwined with mine consumes me. Days are lost to the pleasure of his presence, his body mapped and charted by my hands—not for conquest's sake, but to know the certainty of companionship at its core. The world is to be conquered, but the heart, a maze to rediscover again and again, a mutable space to explore the very breadth of closeness that inclines him to stay. Although I've
spring moon
under a spring moon lovers experience fireworks
When the parade arrives he is entranced, a child, fearless, with light shining in his eyes. At first, I am skeptical—embarrassed at the offbeat clapping, uneven dancing—but rhythm aside, his wonder comes alive, a smile bright after being buried under pursed lips for far too long a time. Hardly fearless, I dance too, starting uneven until I wonder why I worried to the point of wandering from happiness.
a trip to disneyland
pushing upstream against the current of people spring afternoon spent fishing for compliments waterfall on my shoulder spilled drink drowning at the water fountain to save money anticipation waiting 90 minutes for the ride to break shimmering bird takes flight— a child's balloon biathlon: long-distance walk to drive home
Focusing on the big picture is not one of my strengths, at least not at first. Everything is covered in dust. Dusting can't be done until surfaces are cleared. Surfaces can't be cleared until things get put away. Things can't get put away until older things are thrown out. Et cetera. Until there is a floor, there is no floor. With no floor, there is no room. No room means no guests. Et cetera. The first step to cleaning is accepting that the first step will almost always feel like the wrong step. The room will get more dirty before it gets clean, life will get more complicated before things get simple, the world will go on spinning even w
after the dam breaks the roaming river reflects sunlight a spring smile as it embraces freedom
a love song to the neighborhood evening breeze two dogs awake at nightfall video calling crows lurk on the power lines gossiping two cats skulk among shadows waiting for sunrise so they can slumber together
Crow Calling
Cold nights are experienced through the ears, the constant cricket chirping ceaselessly over rolling rumbles from rushing airplanes overhead, and the mirrored inhale, exhale of a car rolling up, and past. For suburbs, it's something resembling serene, silence— or as close to it as cities get—sitting soft on slanted shingles. When some solemn evening gets pierced by crow's calls, the cold sinks deep into the cracks of the night's foundation, a caterwauling that casts the night into cauterized stillness. Come morning, will the crows still call?
I work from my bed; that's not a metaphor. I have a desk and no drive to sit at it. Movement is impacted by various factors, not least being the comfort of you. Why should I work at a wooden desk when I can work from your warmth instead?
canyon renga
two leaves on the water slow dancing through the canyon the river runs home coyote creep in the canyon at night before going home. like them, I return to you
Echoic Memory
It's a coat with many pockets, each filled with a different time and place. It's standing outside the Lincoln Center realizing your parents won't make it to the concert you flew cross-country to perform in. It's going on stage and singing to them anyway. It's standing in a church, shivers running up your spine because for the first time you've created music, real music. It's crossing a two-lane street in a suit and tie after packing half a decade of a life into the family van. It's waking at nearly thirty years old to find yourself carrying the joy of a discovery made at sixteen years old. It's sticking your hands into these pockets as you
Red Light
The opposite of sleep is disrespect. The light is yellow; you ran it. If you're early, you're on time, if you're on time, you're late. If you're late, please break glass in case of emergency. Work starts at 9 am, which means you need to wake at 8:30 to have time to shower, 8 to make breakfast, 7:30 to wash dishes. 7 for good luck, 6 for the max amount of sleep you can get tonight. In a darkroom, people are left alone for hours. The light is red for a reason. Photographs are developing. You should be, too.
Gram's Hands
Each time I see her, more lines have manifested on her hands: one here, for New England, for another trip to her aging sister who doesn't fly and hardly remembers anything; one there, for Texas, for her youngest who got married late, had kids late, and moved soon after; one for her grandkids in California, and one for her grandkids across town;                     she treasures them, this map she's created of herself— she runs her fingers along the lines, tracing trails as she talks, re-reading the routes of her history, and at the end of the conversation creating another that extends just slightly past the one before.
rolling wind catches your hair and my heart
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Helea1's avatar
Helea1|Hobbyist Photographer
you have the talent to choose the right words
  I read your story "Eclipse" and was very impressed
good luck and many new stories!
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ikazon's avatar
Thank you! :)
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neondeluxe's avatar
neondeluxe|Hobbyist Digital Artist
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ikazon's avatar
I am very late to replying to this, but thank you!
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LEVlCAT's avatar
LEVlCAT|Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the llama! x3
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ikazon's avatar
No worries! :D
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DevilAngelVineLover's avatar
Your gallery is amazing and i luv your storys^^
If you want you can look at my gallery^^
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