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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 DDs I Featured

Literature
To shore
I think back to pulling your hair
from your face,
sticky strands in nut brown,
your lips like the frothy head
in a pint glass,
untouchable, disappearing.
You cried in bed, neck twisted
like a giraffe looking
for the opposite side of a baobab tree,
and I told you that you were beautiful
even though no one
thought so, anymore.
It didn't matter then whether
I was holding your
greasy heart in my hands,
or my own,
they were the same fragments,
wracked with guilt and
blood vessels,
weak sutures in their stems.
We lay in your bed for five minutes
before you choked
on your own salt water seasoning,
blew your nose into the white
eyelet comforter
like it was tissue and you
really couldn't be bothered to care.
And I remember thinking that
my whole world was a sea,
and I, a boat,
floating listlessly,
toward land.
:iconejectionletter:ejectionletter
:iconejectionletter:ejectionletter 152 47
Literature
for her.
it's midnight and I'm writing love letters
on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight
and every limb has a story. all
my collarbone remembers is the frantic
hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight
of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my
broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows
remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery
store. my cheeks remember your makeup and
my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck
remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember
when you were young again and wearing
red and holding cups of tea in hands
that didn't shake yet and I remember hands that knew how
to peel apples, curling skins like red ribbons over
the edge of the blade, confident
in motion, and I remember your voice and I remember
your songs and I remember.
it's midnight and the water is cold and I
am somewhere beyond feeling. but
my love letters are only ink and they are washing
away and I watch them swirl at my feet and I
want you
:iconthis-epiphany:this-epiphany
:iconthis-epiphany:this-epiphany 496 166
Literature
nowhere else
it rains hard enough
that i can finally sit quietly,
as if lighting candles.
maybe there is
nowhere else to be.
a cup of water trembles
on the table as if afraid,
kept too long
from the useful yearning of roots,
from the anonymous way rain falls.
i light one candle
then another,
quietly,
as if lighting candles.
the rain keeps pressing damp invisible flowers
against the window,
reminding me how long the near-dark lasts,
how the woods at the edge of the yard
never see,
but thirst enough to catch fire.
each candle moves like the rain,
each quieting life
from lives of their own.
in the half-light coming in,
i can pretend it's morning.
i can sit back,
pool on the chair like water,
somehow assured--
the rain will take all night,
beginning.
outside, the trees seem to look around
through the rain,
swaying
as if trying to see around each other.
their lives are as quiet and long
as the beginning of a rain.
this is the way life is,
filling with other lives:
just feeling water
enter the gro
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 129 33
Literature
Morning - for Carl Sandburg
The morning erupts
          on little cat feet
A flick of the tail
          a breath exhaled
               too fast at the end of a leap
and then
A paw,
     placed on lid's soft fan of lash
breath whirring, throaty, warm
          nose
             to
          nose
eyes still closed
Then          open
Thwack –
A stunning velvet attack
     innocent lids           unwarned
     warm sheets      no safe haven
The morning erupts
 
:iconLlyrentheShrew:LlyrentheShrew
:iconllyrentheshrew:LlyrentheShrew 110 22
Literature
Untitled
When we went to Norway we killed slugs.
We ate dinner at midnight as the sun revolved overhead, spinning in slow concentric circles, never dipping beyond the horizon.  There was no night.  
We looked up at the clouds, and she asked us if we wanted to do her a favor-to justify spending the night in her garage apartment at no cost.  We weren't freeloaders, so we said O.K.  She told us about the slugs.
There were hundreds of them crawling around the garden area-small families leaving slime trails on rock walls.  We collected them one at a time, placing each of them in a huge plastic bag.  We saw them pile on top of each other, felt their collective weight tugging on the plastic.  Watched them squirm around, looking for any signal of familiarity, their antennae moving this way and that, trying to make sense of their situation.
We went in front of the garage and found some little guys crawling in cracks of asphalt. &
:iconNotoday:Notoday
:iconnotoday:Notoday 142 33
Literature
To Dream of Falling
I dream of falling.
It's not a dream common to angels.  After all, we have a pair of wings--or two or three--and we can use them.  We float upon the air, dance among the stars, shape the clouds with our breath, and so on.  All that lovely wordplay to describe an indescribable.  A joy, a graceless power.  Flight.
Humans dream of it often, I am told.  It makes sense.  They have no wings save for what they create with their hands.  Airplanes, hang gliders, helicopters.  Kites.  They are obsessed with the sky, more so than the angels themselves, many of whom will fly three thousand miles rather than walk across the street.
And yet I dream of falling.
And in my dreams, I always start out as what I am--a bookish secretary pushed into a role never intended for him--and I always end as a human.
And the first thing I feel is falling.
Sometimes I jump off the edge of one of the Heavens. 
:iconMoreaGaara:MoreaGaara
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 344 212
Literature
The Phillipians to St. Paul
When light flooded your eyelids
& permanently blinded you
that was Jesus'
love, covering your skin
like the palm of a hand.
It was then you found you were as zealous
in persecuting trash
& the gods we make of our stomachs
as ever you were
in persecuting Christians
with the brand. How they
recoiled from you when you
began effusing to them
in fires & gibberish tongues! For the light
that filled you was eruptive
& though
you speak of your own life
as if it could be a drink offering,
you are a fire work
& we are attending the fuse.
:iconashellessmind:ashellessmind
:iconashellessmind:ashellessmind 72 47
Literature
Victory Keep: Chapter 1
Edgar stepped into a clearing and found a centaur suckling her child.  He threw his hands over his eyes.
'I am terribly sorry, madam!'
'It's all right.'
Her tone was scornful, but with better things to worry about, Edgar did not take it to heart.  He uncovered his eyes.  She was feeding the child like a mare, not a woman, so he felt no need for embarrassment.  He stooped down a little, trying to determine the gender of the young one.  As with foals, it was easy enough to tell.
'What a delightful little boy,' he said.
The mother smiled.  'Thank you.'
'Do you mind if I sit down here for a few minutes?'
'No.'
'I am very tired.'
The centaur made no reply.  She stood with arms folded and her back legs slightly apart, gazing out into the forest.  Edgar was disappointed.  The significance of the situation had not escaped him, and he hoped she would talk to him.
The first thing to do was find somewhere to
:iconThornyEnglishRose:ThornyEnglishRose
:iconthornyenglishrose:ThornyEnglishRose 105 52
Literature
Suspended
Suspended
I like the palms of your hands-
dry and static.  I like the palms
your mother planted in the front yard
when you were five.  They grew more
quickly, but you grew healthier- less green.
Good thing we planned this
exodus into the Dead Sea.  
Lucky we cannot help but to float.  
Something from the sea, the land-
they were mockingbirds, weren’t they?
This cannot be healthy.  
How the hell did my mother manage
to sink here like a fish
after death?  She claims to have exhaled
hard, but my lungs will not compress
enough; I cannot let go
enough.  Let me tell you something-
We should grow gills,
individually, I mean;
we could launch into rivers,
not be afraid to lose
each other like old pennies.
Do you secretly have gills?
Aren’t you curious?
Aren’t you nervous still?
I am unsure of the weight of a dozen people
who really believe in something.
Let’s start going to church for nothing
more than adm
:iconMGBarrera:MGBarrera
:iconmgbarrera:MGBarrera 159 41
Literature
Yesterday.
You used to show me your
skeleton, the secrets inside
of you, your marrow. You
run, you shut your eyes, now.
You shut your eyes at the color
of the flowers, the leaves, everything
is orange. I am gathering
acorns. I am wearing your mask.
:iconohfever:ohfever
:iconohfever:ohfever 228 37
Literature
BIRD
If I regret anything, it is the reticence of birds--
my reticence, the uncertainty of the word "today,"
which rusts like the flute before Judith one.
If there is a time to undress, it is now,
but my thoughts close in on me, like a tunnel,
and I lose sight of everything except the wind.
Beneath it all, my hollow bones
are icy blue, each joy expunged--
I feel it keenly, here, and there.
:icondeadend-zenith:deadend-zenith
:icondeadend-zenith:deadend-zenith 133 14
Literature
Transdimensional Super Team
Notice: The full length version of this tale, which is far more palatable, is available right here.
The magical computer pool glowed.  We stood around it like gods.
"Place your palms upon the unimetriscope," said the man in the top hat.  "Validate your identities to Her Majesty, the Queen of the Multiverse."
It all seemed a bit hoity-toity to me, but there's a lot to be said for peer pressure when some extra-dimensional fancypants tells you your "peers" are a lady with wings, a James Bond looking guy, a giant robot, and a little girl and her psychic-bondmate, a white pony.  
The guy in the top hat called himself Jeremy Flavius Beedle, and he twirled his mustache when he spoke.  
He'd found me in San Francisco.  I wasn't even working.  I was sitting outside the ferry building munching down on a pastry from the shop there when he approached me.
Top hat and cane, fancy suit, and a giant
:iconLunaticStar:LunaticStar
:iconlunaticstar:LunaticStar 77 58
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

A Veil Of Clouds

Time keeps flying whenever I'm trying to keep track of all the things that I've got going on in my life, and whenever I look away from one thing for more than a few minutes, it's like dozens of other things happen and suddenly days have gone by. This is a long-winded way of saying that stuff's been happening in my life, some good things and some less good things, but I think it's all par for the course for 2018, considering how all over the place this year has been.

I don't have a whole lot to say at the moment, so this will be short, but I've been browsing art a bit more in the wake of Eclipse going to beta, so I wanted to feature a few of the things I've seen and liked in the past month-ish. (Plus, it's an excuse to try the editor again. Feels great to use now that I'm used to it.)

Street

Morning Sea

Surface Breaks

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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:iconneurotype:
neurotype Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
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:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2018   Writer
Eesh. I get the sentiment behind it, but that has to be a pain in the ass to deal with for the employees. :V
Reply
:iconneurotype:
neurotype Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
I mean, sure, but you'd think people could stop and think about the part where they're basically trying to get millions of people to tromp around in their dearly beloved's remains P:
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2018   Writer
I mean, that too, but good luck getting people going to Disneyland to think. :P
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(1 Reply)
:iconbrennennn:
brennennn Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2018
Hi! :glomp:
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