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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

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 142 33
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 342 212
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 72 47
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?'
'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 105 52
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 159 41
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 229 37
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 133 14
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 77 58
There's a saying among my people. It was something about how you have nothing to fear from a pond full of leeches, how it's not the pond's fault. I used to remember it a lot more clearly, but that was before the loss of cohesion.
The elders say I was sent as a warning of things to come. The medicine man never said much of anything. He waved his bones and feathers and trinkets around, he lit his grasses and fanned his smokes, and after singing his songs he just stared at me with a deep pity shining out from under his skeleton make up.
I am subject to visions. They are sudden and striking and painful to the point of debilitation. When they come, my senses stagger and die off. There is always a great sound like a huge zipper being pulled, and as it unzips, all other noises fade into nothingness. Gray static envelopes the edges of my visual field and creeps slowly and deliberately in, turning my surroundings to an indistinct slate.
I discovered this gift when I was fourteen. A robber had b
:iconivannikolayevich:ivannikolayevich 187 49
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.
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.
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.
a thin reddish line splits the horizon;
I set my ribs on hinges
so they can get to my heart.
a damp wooden platform,
a rough rope necklace—
I am not a Spartan
carried home on his shield.
this is not an honourable death.
:icontoxic-nebulae:toxic-nebulae 184 102
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 anything of the kind, you really ought to be calling the authorities, not me."
"If you'll just let me explain Mrs. Appleby, please."
"Oh, very well."
"It's like this. I have a freezer in the cellar, where I keep frozen berries and mushrooms and things. It's quite roomy, although I usually manage to keep it filled to the brim. Anyway, I was going down there
:iconwolfrug:Wolfrug 88 66
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.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 130 84
"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 Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo
:icontheelectricmonk:TheElectricMonk 143 32
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Wow Thing

Tue Oct 2, 2018, 10:53 PM
Listening to:
Station X 0 - Wow Thing

Skin by ginkgografix

Not a meme title...
Though it sure reads like one, doesn't it? :P I haven't done a journal where I just share stuff from my inbox in a while, so I figure if I really want to get back into the swing of being around here, I oughta do it the way I used to do it best: journals. So, here's some stuff going around in the community right now! Feel free to share stuff with me, also.

:bulletblue: Lyricanna's cat needs surgery!
:bulletblue: All Hallow's Tales 2018: Sympathy For The Devil
:bulletblue: October's Deviousness Recipient is...
:bulletblue: September's Literature DDs
:bulletblue: A tribute to MagicalJoey
:bulletblue: New Lit group in the making: WeAreSoLit 

Recent art favorites:
The Daphne BushMother moved us often, baggage and boxes
jumbled in a truck, any number
of crying kids, and her daphne
in its Oriental pot. Even when we'd stay
to see the spring
flower-beds in bloom, long enough
to harvest vegetables grown from seed,
the daphne remained
in its place on the porch, cradled in clay
and whiskered Chinese dragons.
You can't transplant this,
she'd tell us, delicately
brushing the deep jade of its leaves,
ladling water onto its roots,
It won't thrive. And every year,
wherever we were,
the stunted thing returned her love
with perfume and a thousand pink hearts.
   Survivalist NewsletterDear Survivalists,
In light of the recent remission of people
we are writing you today.
You see, the exit plans are only provisions
for leaving a beautiful sort of language
of fossil records,
like entire rogue planets in red bloom,
as warnings between the architecture
of a fresh wreckage.
And the most romantic spin is that we've succeeded
but only briefly-
a re-imagination
of a scenario of beached whales;
the reckless communism of the sun.
To those who are receiving this:
God has been missing for several years
and a body was never found.
Our advice is to desecrate your atlases
as a sacrament to whatever it is
that we've pissed off this time.
Cut them down, cut them and spread them
across the lamp, the walls,
the threshold of your shitty apartment
and take drugs that remind you of the people
you once were
because everything is wonderful
but only on paper.
And on paper we must remain,
upright and angry. We must remain
with our music and stories. We must remain.
Our assurance is in your s
   Shaman by BEETLEBAINE

Music corner:


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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TheGalleryOfEve Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2018  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so kuch for the fave!!! :iconflyingheartsplz::iconkissingplz::tighthug::iconflyingheartsplz:
How’s it going, my dear??? :iconloveloveplz:
ikazon Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2018   Writer
No worries :hug: Life is busy as ever, lots to do on the work front but doing what I can. How are you? :D
Rigiroony Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
It there an account just for DA announcements? Like site update and that all? I can't find one...if there isn't ya'll should really consider it.
ikazon Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2018   Writer
Hi there! I haven't worked here for several years now :giggle: You might want to watch hq and communityrelations for more official updates from staff and the volunteer team. :)
Rigiroony Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
awesome, thanks
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