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Deviant for 9 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
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Random from Inspire.

Pier by Rizone Pier :iconrizone:Rizone 81 10 Beach and Birds by TanyaSimpson Beach and Birds :icontanyasimpson:TanyaSimpson 40 19
Literature
Lodgepole
Most Western towns were built around something.  Some were built around gold and silver mines.  Others were built around trade posts and lumber mills.  And some were built around crossroads or railway stations.  But the town of Lodgepole was built around Nothing.  
“No, really.  Lodgepole was built around Nothing,” says Coyote.  
“How can it be built around nothing?”  I continue to brood in the back seat as the car slips into the town-turned-county seat.  Sagebrush and cottonwood start to share space with grass lawn and flowerbed.  Buildings cease to be occasional shacks and some gain a second story.  Rounded foothills big enough to be called mountains in other places presage granite up-thrusts to the southwest.  A frantic creek big enough to be called a river in some places breaks and rolls and jounces northeast over rocks big enough to be called boulders in still other places.  The road and the r
:iconShaudawn:Shaudawn
:iconshaudawn:Shaudawn 2 1
The Blue Moment #24 by romainjl The Blue Moment #24 :iconromainjl:romainjl 154 12 The Blue Moment #19 by romainjl The Blue Moment #19 :iconromainjl:romainjl 177 9 The Blue Moment #5 by romainjl The Blue Moment #5 :iconromainjl:romainjl 115 7
Mature content
Of Anger and Beauty :iconsrsmith:SRSmith 5 25
Tokyo Back Alley by burningmonk Tokyo Back Alley :iconburningmonk:burningmonk 461 18 The Blue Moment #8 by romainjl The Blue Moment #8 :iconromainjl:romainjl 209 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
:iconarbitrarynamechange:arbitrarynamechange
:iconarbitrarynamechange:arbitrarynamechange 31 15
...bled XLVI... by roblfc1892 ...bled XLVI... :iconroblfc1892:roblfc1892 237 19

Random from DDs I Featured

Mature content
Angels with Dirty Faces :iconfyoot:fyoot 115 33
Literature
Annie
There was this old woman who used to live under the bridge across the street from my building. She smoked like a chimney, and spent all of the money she got on cigarettes, so we'd all take turns bringing her coffee and bagels, or a sandwich, or spaghetti or something. She never talked to anyone. I think she was mute. I think she had Tourette's, too, because she had this funny little twitchy thing going on all the time, and she would make weird noises that weren't actually words.
And she was an artist. She made these fun sculptures out of clothes hangers and things she found in the dumpster. She would build them overnight, then after a couple of days they'd disappear. I don't know whether the city came and picked them up, or she took them somewhere or what.
And then she died. I wasn't the one who found her. It was Shane From Upstairs who was taking her a plate of leftover barbecue and saw that fuck, she's not moving. And he put down the plate and rolled her over, and sure enough, she wa
:iconQuiEstInLiteris:QuiEstInLiteris
:iconquiestinliteris:QuiEstInLiteris 317 215
Literature
One Last Star
   no moon to be found
in the predawn twilight,
   but one last star —
somewhere in the distance
a robin's lilting call
:iconsaiun:saiun
:iconsaiun:saiun 113 8
The World is Made of Stories by julietcaesar The World is Made of Stories :iconjulietcaesar:julietcaesar 327 129
Literature
Rooibos Tea
Breathe deep the chai haze—
Picasso's djinn,
a muse of eggshells and grandma's lace tablecloths,
cradles the tea kettle to her chest
and abandons Latin words and names—
flotsam and jetsam dribbling
irrelevant among the little red tea leaves;
the driftwood of genus and species bumping
against the shores of the South African scrublands.
She hovers orange and indigo,
a quavering flame of dreams
and drained tea dregs—
divination with a soft-spiced voice
at the bottom of the mug,
never quite gone—
a flock of Van Gogh crows
frozen in their hayfields.
:iconAzizrianDaoXrak:AzizrianDaoXrak
:iconazizriandaoxrak:AzizrianDaoXrak 105 67
Literature
Les Petits Princes
"James is dying," Nefertiti said, her voice a whisper and barely audible from the balcony. The gray stone was cool beneath her hands, smooth from generations before her, and comforting to support herself on as she stared down to the gardens and gates of their palace below.
Queen Nefertiti was dark haired and tan, with wide eyes and a thin smile. It was her husband their children took after. Both young men with blond hair and blue eyes, both growing tall and strong and moving towards becoming the rulers of their odd-named nation.
Her husband's, Arthur's, breath caught. A short little gasp and snarl as his fists clenched by his side. His curses were so soft that it was difficult to catch them between the night-things and lazy breeze.
"Oswald cannot lead."
"He will have to."
Footsteps, and Arthur was pacing. "Could we find an excuse to appoint a Regent?"
"He is already seventeen," Nefertiti said. "When you die, he will be king."
Arthur cursed again, louder, as Nefertiti left her perch at
:iconBeaBae:BeaBae
:iconbeabae:BeaBae 76 81
Literature
Hubris
The world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:
Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.
The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.
I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.
A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm
:iconSolarune:Solarune
:iconsolarune:Solarune 200 147
Literature
31:12N, 121:30E
my Dear i just noticed
my balcony is shaped
like wings
and the wind is billowing
the moon up, up to-night
in her dusty purple garb
and i think
no Dear i do not want
to leave here: where men
build bridges over oceans
and live inside of mountains
like river dragons
where the sun shines
not at all at noon but gleams
like an orange at sundown
where the moon walks home
surefooted to where my neck
cannot crane
:iconVigilo:Vigilo
:iconvigilo:Vigilo 134 116
Literature
In summer we all burn
The summer is coming,
I hear the beach roaring from here,
can see shirts hung over shoulders,
sunglasses, arms round waists,
can feel the earth's purrs,
breaking hibernation,
pollens tossed up at us in fanfare.
Ants are walking over me
because we're sharing a tree together.
Back to back, we're trying to
make our winter's pallour a warmer shade.
Is it some sort of personal sign
when you let your shoe-tongues fill with tan bark,
when it's driven you mad your whole life?
Or when you eat ice-cream in public (the sticky
fingers a mere afterthought)?
These trees though, they're not changing.
I can't help thinking they're
often doing better than we are.
Summer is coming; they sit still and burn.
Some go out with a bang!
Others fall to dust.
But us, we fuss and flail.
Still we burn.
But hey!
Summer is for beaches and getting laid.
Summer is for stretching,
for sticking your proboscis into
the rivers and guzzling.
No, I can't help thinking about
the skeletons at the waterholes in the Mallee.
I
:iconLimbs-of-Osiris:Limbs-of-Osiris
:iconlimbs-of-osiris:Limbs-of-Osiris 83 6
Literature
city drowned clean
birds fly bluer before a hurricane,
wings sharper, the bricks neater.
one train is always longer than the
other. i cried about it. the saturated
city, droplets of colour caught on
tape & rewinding, cups me in its
palms, i am a bug on its window,
imagining all of it underwater &
people clapping in a silent film,
the last dying bubbles curtsying
on their lips, for their marble town
the white skied & terrible atlantis.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 137 41
Literature
Tea for Two
I observed her fragile corpse upon the cemetery seat, looking to and fro like a lost pigeon. She blinked her watery green eyes at me just once as I approached, then let them oggle wide.
"Madam," said I, "have you any need of assistance?"
A soft moan echoed back across the dying rhododendrons.
"Are you tired? Lost?" A quick glance at her spittle-slathered chops. "Hungry?"
She nodded vigorously and a bit of froth flew loose to stick upon a nearby leaf. I watched as it slowly slid its way to the very tip and plopped with a light "thwack" upon the freshly upturned soil.
"Er, there ought to be a dead squirrel or two out back by the fence. I imagine Mortimer left something, he's always forgetting what he's doing and scampering off, you know how those crazy groundskeepers can be . . ."
She made a sound a bit like the braying of a hound.
"Perhaps you don't. Anyhow, come along."
When dealing with the dead, it's best to be polite. I suppose I would be anyhow, though, I can't help it. It's simply
:iconorphicfiddler:orphicfiddler
:iconorphicfiddler:orphicfiddler 256 146
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
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

deviantID

ikazon

Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a storyteller of sorts, and a Community Moderator here on DeviantArt! Feel free to say hi, and if you need help with something, let me know and I'll be happy to help as much as I can.

Deviousness Award

Deviousness Award
A deviant for nine years, ikazon is a monumentally influential member of DeviantArt. A champion of DeviantArtís literature community, heís 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 Valentineís Day Exchange!

However, ikazonís 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, ikazonís supporting presence has been felt all across DeviantArt.

Weíre proud to name ikazon as the Deviousness Award recipient for March 2016!
-awarded March 2016

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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for collecting a gift of breadcrumbs, friendo.
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(1 Reply)
:iconuoughterknow:
uOughterKnow Featured By Owner 3 days ago  New Deviant
miss you, and happy birthday <3
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:iconselflessdevotions:
SelflessDevotions Featured By Owner 5 days ago   Digital Artist
:wave:
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:iconkoushoku-jin:
Koushoku-jin Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconsupertighthugplz:   Senpai~:heart: Just dropping by with a Random Weekend Huggie™
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:iconsilentmemoria:
silentmemoria Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2019  Student Photographer
Hey
Wanna hear a joke? The Beast In Cage 
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(1 Reply)
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