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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
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
Literature
2nd person fiction and You
You like fiction written in the second person. You may not admit it to yourself, but deep down, you really do. It teases you with its confrontational otherness, its flamboyantly displayed post-modernism, its teeth.
Do not look at its teeth. You do not want to look at its teeth.
Fiction written in the second person and you have a long history of denial. At first, you were sure it couldn't be done. Then it was done, and it was done to you, and you liked it, too, but it was only the one time and you were kind of drunk. It was an experiment, and it was interesting as an experiment, but that was all it was.
Only, of course, it wasn't.
Fiction written in the second person has invaded your dreams, and what's worse, your sexual fantasies. You'd be picturing a luscious blonde, rubbing her rubbables, yearning for your touch, when suddenly a voice would pop into your head, calmly narrating what you were doing: "You are picturing a luscious blonde," the voice would say, "rubbing her rubbables. Hey
:icondanielzklein:danielzklein
:icondanielzklein:danielzklein 420 128
Literature
You Slept Through The Alarm Again - Little Aubade
If, perhaps, you had turned at that moment
and your hair had caught in your fingers,
the straw being fed into the spindle, struck
by the high, thin light of first waking, the whorl
of a single line descendent from the sun, born
watery from the gap below one velveteen curtain,
all of it staining over gold and dusty and slow,
the edge of your mouth might have met the edge
of my mouth, narrow gaps both without attention
opening—if, perhaps you had turned again,
your hand could have met the curve of my neck,
your canvas rough fingers tying knots of my hair
and I would have sighed, thick spreading in your ear
like the light itself learning to speak in tongues
you might understand—if perhaps you had
opened your eyes, squinting, eyelashes caged
together, it all would have been edgeless and bright.
:iconsarehptar:sarehptar
:iconsarehptar:sarehptar 151 58
Literature
dives and lazarus
the last time i saw you
i made sure to
keep my dress
on, kept
my distance as
we spoke from
across the room, land
locked and
the air discerning
and smelling
of vomit
" you don't have to be
so caustic
about this "
i am raw, in the
least
and it became winter
in the summer streaked room
we bathed in,
your mattress bare
and sullen
stains of hurt
and nights with other
women,
aging
in wild abandon, i left.
in fear of bearing your surname, i stayed.
:iconhypnicjerks:hypnicjerks
:iconhypnicjerks:hypnicjerks 204 132
Literature
Evangelos and that film from 1986
Evangelos and that film from 1986
I am not a fish.
My mother is a fish.
You should know, my great-uncle Peter
From Hungary has a daughter
With whom I fell in love when once
I was there
That time I braided her ashen grey hair
In braids
Two
My mother's best friend only spoke Italian
He did taekwondo, jiujitsu
And played Santa every year
He was Portuguese
I want to enchant you with my secret code
Once again it has to be said:
There is no story
The hedgehog is sleeping in the garden, his father and
The squirrel:
Today they are wearing
Winter scarfs
Instead of ties
They will hold session until deep in the night
About money of course
Maybe you should listen better
To the people
Their eyes
Because everybody has lied
to themselves some time in their lives
(original Dutch version: )
Evangelos en die film uit 1986
Ik ben geen vis.
Mijn moeder is een vis.
Je moet weten, mijn oudoom Peter
Uit Hongarije heeft een dochter
Op wie ik verliefd ben sinds die ene keer
Dat ik daar was
Toen heb ik haar asg
:icontrynke:trynke
:icontrynke:trynke 100 47
Literature
avalanche.
The Ogre rises up among its brother and sister peaks, the Monk and the Virgin, a craggy limestone buttress looming above most of the north-eastern part of the Bernese Alps.
The Eiger: 13,042 feet of sheer rock, cracks and treacherous ice-fields.
Many attempts to scale this uncompromising weather-battered mountain have been made over the years, but successful attempts didn't begin until 1938, with the brave perseverance of a team of four German climbers. As a twenty-year-old eager climber myself, I knew all the facts. The windswept North Face (Nordwand) was the height of all climbing careers when I'd been growing up. 1952 - the great year of the Eiger. In that year, twenty men made attempts on just the Mordwand - 'murderous wall' - alone, with eighteen of them making it to the triumphant peak. It was the year in which it seemed the hoodoo of the mighty Ogre was broken.
To a young Viennese piano-tuner, whose precise and delicate profession gave way to an intense, vigorous h
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 53 33
Literature
The Business
     Wolf stopped gnawing on his third plate of Lapin Bleu d'Auvergne and pointed at Deer with his fork. "The problem," he said, "is that you've got a bum deal going on with your agent. You're paying him far too much if all he was able to get you was public affection. I mean, there's what-- thirteen million white-tailed deer in the United States alone, right?"
     Deer looked down at his glass, which was half-full of some white wine. He was a little unsure whether or not he liked it, as he didn't really know what made wine good or bad or even what type of wine it happened to be. He'd looked at the menu, become flummoxed by the French, and had simply asked the waiter (in English) for something vegetarian with a suitable wine. This was his second glass or maybe his third; he'd already forgotten.  He swished it around a little.
     "Thirty million, actually," said Deer. "Not thirteen."
  
:iconfackeltanz:fackeltanz
:iconfackeltanz:fackeltanz 204 115
Literature
stefan
she stood on your dock
in black pearls,
and nothing more -
wet feet
and the asian dream.
you loved her
but
when the snow fell
on the dock,
the following winter
you couldn't
remember why.
:iconHippieHebe:HippieHebe
:iconhippiehebe:HippieHebe 241 76
Literature
a shut in place
Meg's world is a world of uneven earth and blue skies, surface rock cracked and blown about by howling wind. She runs through wasteland, stumbles with purpose towards a wooden desk in the distance. She runs and runs, dirt and stones scuffing Mary Janes, but the writing desk is a finish line she can't reach.
"Why a writing desk?" her friend Alex says when she tells him about the dream. He emphasizes the question with a hand, waving the sandwich he's holding towards her before taking a bite.
She's left out details: how she is smaller, younger, a smooth-faced child with little hands dressed in her Sunday best instead of the twenty-one-year-old English major she knows herself to be. How the desk speaks of a familiarity she can't place and screams of a significance she can't understand. How she's been having the same dream for weeks and how it haunts her every waking moment with an urgency of impending consequence and menacing complexity that reminds her of Kafka.
Meg shrugs, the motion cau
:iconVocable:Vocable
:iconvocable:Vocable 108 24
Literature
Expedition Letters to Grace
Dear Grace,
You told me, back when we were visiting Peru and I was feeling down, that I would eventually find my calling in life. I write to you now to tell you, quite happily, that I have.
I can't explain much about it at the moment, only that my sudden absence from the university is for a reason. As I write, I am currently en route to New York City, to visit their museums and get a taste of the culture. I told you before how I wanted to visit New York while I had the chance, and now I travel with purpose.
I will say now, that while what I am about to do may seem strange to you, even mad, I can promise you that I am of sound mind and am determined to see my ambition through. Never before have I felt so strongly about the rightness of my decision. I will explain more in time. All I can tell you now is that I am launching my own expedition, and that it will be unorthodox, to say the least. I write you because you are my oldest and dearest friend, and I feel I can trust you.
Give my best
:iconCrackedMack:CrackedMack
:iconcrackedmack:CrackedMack 130 24
Literature
Joel is Having a Bad Day
(And He Really Needs A Smoke)
CHARACTERS:

JOEL, male, mid-twenties
BILLY, female, late teens to early twenties
Lights up on JOEL and BILLY, who are sitting outside on the back porch.  The three or four chairs are mismatched and seem to have been salvaged from the reject pile of a Salvation Army store.  A wooden coffee table hails from an indiscernible decade and holds a glass ashtray with dozens of cigarette butts sticking out of it. JOEL is smoking, trying to ignore BILLY.BILLY
You know, you really shouldn't; I heard somewhere that those things can make your teeth turn to mush and your fingers grow all bendy and twisted. One of my "friends"—she used to smoke a lot, too, and now her voice is so raspy and gritty we call her "Louie."  As in Armstrong.  The "Beautiful World" guy?  Hello, earth to Joel.  Come in, Joel.  Your lungs are…
JOEL
Shove off!
BILLY
Excuse me?
JOEL
I said, shove off. 
:iconSame-side:Same-side
:iconsame-side:Same-side 128 182
Literature
The Death of Venus
If there lived in the world a man
as rugged and as strong as I,
who could forbear with me yet go against,
who walked the black woods and the silver hills
mostly unafraid--
who savored salt and the lay of fur
with fingertips of dirt and weather,
whose lips rolled words like smoke, like fog-
I would creep into his arms in the prologue of the night,
gone sweet with the scent of new-cut hay,
alive with the nightjar's call.
:iconriparii:riparii
:iconriparii:riparii 182 175
Literature
Old haunts
Numb fingers fumble at coppers
and a dodgy purple lighter which is unfit for purpose.
Giant splodges of stars
as if God - in a frolic of youthful exuberance –
went wild with a paintbrush.
Granite delicately held by shape and contour alone.
Slotted together: a melee of ankles, hips, spontaneous larynx.
Careless hopes, dreams wide, menthol cigarettes.
Thoughts all quiet.
:iconsquare-nine:square-nine
:iconsquare-nine:square-nine 97 19
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

52nd Street

Sun Apr 22, 2018, 10:58 PM

Listening to:


Toshiki Kadomatsu - 52nd Street

Skin by ginkgografix


22 days in...
I've been keeping up with NaPo just fine so far, but I think the ultimate reality that I'm coming to is that I still don't miss poetry, basically at all. I definitely feel like what I've written this month by and large isn't great compared to what I used to write when it comes to poetry, but also I'm not invested in it. The only thing really keeping me writing more poems at this stage is the fact I said that I was going to do NaPo this year. When I write stories, I want to write them, I want to put more effort into them, and I want to make them as good as possible, but I feel pretty passive about poetry, even now.

I guess the bright side is that having done this should make writing stories more fun, but it's weird becoming aware that you don't have passion for something that used to be routine. Someone asked me a few days ago if I missed playing clarinet, and the honest answer was that no, I don't miss it at all. I never enjoyed performing, I always found it stressful, even when I was as prepared as I could have been. 

It's really been a month for recognizing what I want and what I don't, I suppose. Outside of here on DA, there have been some unusual personal developments in my life, but I think things have finally started to settle down some, which is good. The two job thing has finally started to pay off in a big way, so even though I went a long while with horrible sleep habits, financially I am finally, officially afloat, at least for now.

How are we all doing?

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

Comments


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:iconjdrainville:
jdrainville Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
It's been ages!  Hope you are well. :hug:
Reply
:iconspecialized666:
specialized666 Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2018  Professional General Artist
Hi, have a very nice day :D
Reply
:iconteague-drydan:
Teague-Drydan Featured By Owner May 31, 2018  Student Writer
Thanks for the watch!
Reply
: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
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