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About Literature / Artist Senior Member mohawk menaceUnknown Group :icontransliterations: transliterations
from one world to another
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Deviant for 9 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
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Random from Inspire.

Tokyo Back Alley by burningmonk Tokyo Back Alley :iconburningmonk:burningmonk 467 18 The Blue Moment #8 by romainjl The Blue Moment #8 :iconromainjl:romainjl 207 11 Schlern Panorama by TobiasRoetsch Schlern Panorama :icontobiasroetsch:TobiasRoetsch 184 17
Literature
Trigger Warning (Cento)
i. (HELP ME, MY HATE, SISTER OF MY LONGING)
The Rose of Heaven,
the rumbling Black Maria
queen, mistress, crucified at the gates
of the furthest city
like a god in a wafer
in dusty shoes--
always the same shoes without laces,
pitch-black queen of heaven and earth,
the rumbling Black Maria,
speak to me.
You are the honey of courtly hypocrisy
crowned in chrysanthemums
in the bed of some drunk, some tramp,
some fool,
waiting-room eyes
with tears all smeared
like dead birds,
the firm big breasts,
and this fish for sale
like an oyster perhaps,
too wide now.
Was it a Chinaman? A negro?
ii. (IT DIDN'T GRATE, IT DIDN'T CLANK, IT DIDN'T EXPLODE)
Jesus Christ in a wafer sleeps
like some awful instant photo,
very, very dull,
and the night clouds drink.
The apartment was his.
They are so naked, you imagine,
are moaning in Eden,
under the sacristies, red crypts,
the roofs, the cries, the steps, the hundred lights,
the fire of the robbers' camp
while she is berrying.
It is only a single drop of dew
:iconinprotest:inprotest
:iconinprotest:inprotest 32 15
...bled XLVI... by roblfc1892 ...bled XLVI... :iconroblfc1892:roblfc1892 238 19 The Middle Of Eternity by alexandreev The Middle Of Eternity :iconalexandreev:alexandreev 736 22
Literature
1.
The aisles bled together. Cereal, cold medicine, diapers, canned food - all things he didn't exactly need but somehow sounded appealing, just because it'd fill the cart, just because it'd get him out of the store. Gabriel grabbed a jug of orange juice, marked down fifty cents in one place and ten in the other. Someone had gotten a little happy with the label maker, it seemed. Whatever. It he made eight dollars an hour to put up with everything, he’d make mistakes too.
Hell, Gabriel made mistakes anyway.
"That'll be two fifty seven and sixty-three cents."
Gabriel squeezed a few crumpled bills in one hand, coins burning cold against his palm. A blank-faced cashier held the paper bags back, like Gabriel was expected to grab them and run at any moment. Did he look that bad? He'd seen himself in the mirror that morning, after all, between brushing his teeth and rubbing stubble with a tired hand.
Yes, he did look that bad.
"Did the - " Gabriel gestured
:iconwrensghost:wrensghost
:iconwrensghost:wrensghost 5 0
Literature
Packing For Homelessness in Phoenix, AZ
Everything you pack will be wrong.
You will take too much -
over the years your mind has adapted to an amazing list of non-
essentials;
bite the bullet: Unpack everything,
leave it somewhere safe. No sundresses,
wisps of cool for long hot days,
no air conditioning;
your body will adapt faster than
your sensibilities.
You will go rough & feral
in the heat, feet callusing over shards of glass, freckles
on top of freckles,
body whipcord lean, with a cocky strut: a claim of dust
& streets
& secrets,
leave your things behind,  
there will be enough to tend,
your husband,
reputation,
rolled cigarettes,
cactus thorns in a dog paw,
you cannot carry anything else –
not when the police horns will
evict you from the parking lot
& sleep
at 5 AM;
the monsoons storming the eastern sky,
whiplashing bodies & buildings, rugged, ragged,
emerging into one tomorrow after another,
you bend & bend & tumble with the fall,
but when your husband dances with you at 7 AM
in an alley, the dog ta
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy 76 50
Literature
The Receptionist
I found out her name was Jody the same day I found out she had cancer and then she was something like a goddess to me because since she got the news she had remained the same smiling receptionist that I saw every day and night and her laugh never changed and her morning wave never changed and I knew I was in the presence of someone very strong and very special.
I found out she was 24 and I imagined that she would lie in bed at night and stare straight up or do strange sums in her head on how things had to work out the way they did and she probably asked if she was really in control of anything anymore or if all of life was decided by some other fate at some other time and no virtue could be found in the tiny pleas of the living.
She was a goddess to me because she never wallowed even though at 24, she had to ask the big questions about who she really was and about hard things like souls, and what was over the edge -  in the blackness and if there was any way to prepare for that bl
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth 14 23

Random from DDs I Featured

Literature
My Other Name
My Other Name
Sometimes it is to set out forks
           beside each plate,
                                       or folding shirts first,
                         dryer hot in the A.M.
                                half-dark.
Less often, thirsty from cutting trees
    back away from the roof edge,
                       
:iconb1gfan:b1gfan
:iconb1gfan:b1gfan 166 95
Literature
Levitation
Observe.
This is how women walk away.
In broken heels
and secondhand jackets,
cigarette smoke in their hair
and no kiss goodbye.
Do not mock.
It is what it should be.
A girl in a car,
hanging a u-turn
on a glistening, empty street.
Her body is a road to be traveled.
A shipwreck to be plundered.
She does not know how she got here,
and she does not care.
And it does not matter.
This is how women smile.
Knowing, secretive,
though her cheeks are sore.
Though the wind
is blowing right through her clothes.
Though there is no good music
on the radio, and no food
in the refrigerator.
This is just an impression.
An idea of nirvana.
A slice of real, live ecstasy.
But do not give it a name.
Just show it, wear it like
designer jeans.
Tight against the skin.
She is ivory, she is easy,
and it is not love.
It is something better,
fermenting at the
backs of her knees.
Flooring her.
Bleeding from her fingerprints.
It is a devastation,
seven ways from Sunday,
but that is how she likes it.
It cannot hurt
:iconBlood-Lace:Blood-Lace
:iconblood-lace:Blood-Lace 348 166
Literature
l'hiver.
(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
the grand church of dizzying space - )
and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the sky
to the ground and around and around.
listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of the
churches i'd never attend.
and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardice
of the ground. never frown, never frown.
listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snow
burning up on silk and splendor.
and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of the
ground, and they drown and drown.
(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
a grand church of dizzying space will reply. why. why.
would my white birds die.)
:iconnighttimebeautiful:nighttimebeautiful
:iconnighttimebeautiful:nighttimebeautiful 190 89
Literature
a memory
I remembered the afternoon I called you,
curled on my bed with someone's good book
in my palm, nestled softly in the waning light
and under my gently roaming fingers
the baby moved – not to my hand-touch,
but inside, an insistent flutter,
not like the swiftly beating heart
on the doctor's monitor, not like the slow
appearance of a plus-sign on a drugstore test.
I called you, my gently rolling daughter's
mother's mother. I called you like the woman
standing at my back while I held the kite string
on a pushy spring day, the diagonal shape so
far above us I could only feel the jerk of the
cord around my fingers, holding us to earth.
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy 210 96
Literature
I Guess We'll Live To See It
You should start looking
for a place we can make our last stand.
The dawn is breaking:
Every morning, a little less light,
and the end
is not as close as you think.
Love is not enough,
and wanting
is not enough.
The desert is coming.
The sea is coming.
God forbid
they find us holding our thirst
in both hands.
Instead,
instead;
No,
There is no
rescue.
You should start looking for a place
we can make our last
stand.
Take my frenzy for resignation, put your boots
on. I have a lantern. I have a little
knife. We have so much still
to survive. Open
your hands
and let the thirst out.
Build. We will stand
until the dawn breaks- and you do not believe
in ecstasy, so we will know,
at the end.
:iconcompleteaccident:completeaccident
:iconcompleteaccident:completeaccident 198 65
Literature
how lilies weep
obstacles
are a kind of faith, 
bleeding through
intention
as if through some
amorphous skin,
red silk,
a bruised clock 
covered in 
veins and cloaked
with skin,
timed to burst.
i am nothing
if i am not a dream
of yours, waking
from the geometric light
of my window
into a shimmering cup,
poured full of your words
my hips dripping
their tiny mechanisms,
whirring impatiently
my mouth
made raw,
swirling in incense,
growing new teeth,
finding ulcers
to bleed through.
i drip and cough
and sleep and bleed
and hope
that i am strong enough
for someone like you.
i am taped
and bandaged
and covered up
blindfolded
but you can still see
the endless flaws.
i watch the trees break,
embryos shivering,
wolves chewing,
the elastic stretch between moments as
one thing lives and another dies,
as each day i create my chances,
i hold my deck of cards and slice two in half,
i eat one, i rip another,
and i still win the game.
you are the card i never play,
the one i hold on to,
the lucky coin
:iconsilklilies:silklilies
:iconsilklilies:silklilies 193 84
Mature content
Detergent and Deterrence :iconillicit-illusion:Illicit-Illusion 128 24
Literature
for a friend
The sky is captured in his eyes, clear and blue.
The weather etched smile is honest.
The slender face says sixty; it lies.
It is that and half again.
Knobby hands sun baked and brown
peek out from ragged gloves.
They seem part of the old split locust post
where they are resting;
one of the row of soldiers
that keep watch on their field and its occupants.
The smile broadens as I approach.
I help stretch the wire.
His archaic dialect fills the road
with cows and snow and the yankees
that his grandparents saw marching.
The hours pass pulled by the mule
he plowed with as a boy.
He mentions his wife
they'd been married almost 60 years.
She "took sick" and died (at her own hand)
some 15 years ago.
(it is sad what people must do to escape pain)
But he only remembers the little things
she did so often to help him
they are bittersweet candy.
I know he misses her.
I smile as we finish.
He offers to pay me,
but I refuse it.
:icon135711cal:135711cal
:icon135711cal:135711cal 166 33
Literature
Convenience
  Ducky Short usually avoided using 'convenience' stores. The floors were always grimy, the lighting was too dim for his tired veiny eyes, and the cashiers never spoke more than five words of English. But the thing that irked him most was how every one of them put the Ho-Hos on the very bottom shelf, and every time he would have to find a way to maneuver his long body and old rusty joints into a crouch just so he could reach them.
  He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
  But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
  The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
  "Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
:iconcemetarypolka:cemetarypolka
:iconcemetarypolka:cemetarypolka 108 62
Literature
i have you bookmarked -
vii. Sometimes breakfast, lunch and dinner were like art; food was flung from each corner, creating a futile canvas on every wall. I played a scale of musical doors as they slammed one by one. I'm sure I broke a few vocal chords too. He was always right beside me, yet so far.
But we mingled together. When his hand gripped mine with his feathery touch, it seemed okay to pretend. Maybe my mind still needed to develop, needed watering. Or maybe together we just made feelings obsolete.
iv. And we did.
We sat on park benches blowing smoke kisses and watched movies, that only seemed good because everything else on TV was crap.
Bubblegum. Pot. Gallons of ice-cream. We fed two pigeons and named them Ben and Jerry. We danced to Genesis, even though we both knew that they were possibly the most overplayed band in the world-universe-all-shopping-centers-in-London-ever.
At night we slipped between the park gates and sat by the lake. It felt like the moon was right ne
:iconbowie-loon123:bowie-loon123
:iconbowie-loon123:bowie-loon123 221 55
Literature
Wyrmling Ghostwrite
new millennium toothache
w feeder hand, aluminum
bubblegum knuckle muncher bumpin' phoenix plumage...
   & I rock the Rings, now!
supernova falcon flipper -
was-a-real-boy chicken shitter -
fist-fuck photon vision sifter -
  soullost, anon forgetter -
  so lost, rewind protector -
  dead princess bone collector
-
  hopelessly tethered to the Ghosts, remember?
    Nah, man, I don't know any of the Ghosts by name
   but I've been following the will'o'wisps
    chasin' knowledge, speed & blame
    tryin' to play that Martyr's game
    LOOP/LOOP/LOOP/LOOP/LOOP---FAINT
Inhale, exhale, cause & effect
momentum, inertia, stardust & breath

Sleep becomes Death...
I can only fathom three modes of the Dream:
get fucked; feign sleep; & cheat Doctor King -
the triumvirate stains Red, White, and Green,
all for Tide bleach and Amerik
:iconAPrattle:APrattle
:iconaprattle:APrattle 104 21
Literature
Of Half-Filled Words
She is not a flutterbird.
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
necessary.
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder to catch it.
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 269 201
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Heavy, California

Sat Sep 22, 2018, 1:39 AM
Listening to:
Jungle - Casio

Skin by ginkgografix


Life, huh?
I keep trying to evaluate this year and how I feel like it's going, but I think the one fundamental truth that I'm holding onto is that whenever life outside of myself is crazy, the internal stuff seems to ease up, which I'm pretty grateful for at this stage. For how hectic and wild this year has been re: politics, current events, etc., my personal life has been...pretty great as of late, actually. I hope in saying that I'm not jinxing anything, but all in all I've been pretty happy in recent months.

Having said that, I am still working two jobs and it is keeping me very occupied, but while I've felt burnt out on straight up writing for ages because of it, I'm trying to put my creativity to other things in recent months. The D&D campaign I'm in is still going strong, I was in a Pathfinder campaign for a while as well, and I'm in the process of working on something for a new D&D campaign, which will be my first time serving as dungeon master for a campaign, so I'm a bit excited, a bit nervous, and more than a little bit overloaded with things to do, hah.

I've made a conscious decision in recent months to scale down the time I spend on social media, and I think in having done that, I stress out a lot less about many things. I still keep up with news, of course, but it's been nice to refocus my time and how I spend it outside of work. I'm slowly trying to build habits. Some of them are sticking better than others, but I figure as long as I can get some to stick now, I can keep trying at the harder ones once the easier ones become second nature.

My goal for this year has been to be more mindful of what I say to people and why, and what my goal is in saying things before I say them. The end result was supposed to be to make sure I was being kind whenever possible, but in the process I think I made my life easier simply by way of not getting myself into as many situations that were avoidable.

I'm learning that lots of negative life situations are avoidable. It's been nice.

I got a new mattress and bed frame this week. When we dismantled my old frame, we discovered that the sideboard of the frame on the side I sleep on had begun to split down the middle from both ends simultaneously. On the one hand, I kept wondering whether or not I should have been spending hundreds of dollars on a new bed and frame when I had something that for all intents and purposes still worked, and on the other hand, discovering that crack explained a lot about why I haven't slept well in recent months.

Some negative life situations aren't avoidable, but at least this one happened at a point where my head was afloat. :P

I can't promise I'll be around more in the near future, given that balancing my time is a constant struggle. But, this is to say that I'd like to be around, at least some of the time. Building habits, and all that. I hope you're all well, and that the rest of this year brings you all good news and happiness. 

Music corner:


deviantID

ikazon
mohawk menace
Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a storyteller of sorts. Here on DA, I was a gallery moderator from 2010 to 2011, a community volunteer from 2011 to 2012, and a staff member from 2012 to 2015. Feel free to say hi, I don't bite!

Deviousness Award

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 March 2016

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:iconqueen-kitty:
Queen-Kitty Featured By Owner May 14, 2018   Photographer
Thanks for giving my account a watch, looking forward to seeing you around :wave:
Reply
:icontentonparasol:
TenTonParasol Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2018  Student Filmographer
Hey! It's Gena, the former itzjusdrama. Wow, I've been AWOL for a long time, six years, and sometimes just made me want to log back in and take a look around. Things look very different these days, and I'm not overly sure where one hangs out here, but it's nice to see someone from the old days still around. And with a familiar icon, no less!
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2018   Writer
Ahhhhhh, long time no see! I hope you're doing well, wherever you may be! :hug: What have you been up to? And yes, I'm just a little too fond of this icon to not keep it, at this stage. I've had it on for a long time now :D
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:iconmemnalar:
Memnalar Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2018
:heart:
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:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
:hug:

Hope things are well down there for you and yours, Jay. :)
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