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Literature
'Daily Afternoon Chaos', Christ At the Window
Volcano heart in the mouse. Electrified porridge.
A kind of lemon compromise, bound to the ghost’s network,
Wide round about, feverishly still,
The prayer that backfires, truly still,
Trying to make use of fiery time, dirty dreams,
Heaven’s strands set aflame with Hellfire,
A raw radiance, still in the zone of ‘still don’t know’,
The zone of invalidated options, shadow cloth,
Given an electrified blanket after the swim,
Something necessary, according to the roundabout insanity,
If all are cursed then what then? To embrace the curse,
To fully vibrate the purpose, to question the fields,
An exception in the night, a forgetting sloth,
To trace the roots, to joke with the gradual sunlight,
A perfected agony, ‘what is fear out of the Earth’s atmosphere?’
Cruelty in green-lighting plans for a journey that’ll never happen,
Dying cats, embarking on new confusion -
Immersing the novelist into verse, poets submerged into a supreme novel,
It i
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Literature
Dirty Zones, Striving for Several Successes
When ashes reign supreme, with dirty colour,
Spicy ‘next’s and options made redundant,
A field of gold to circle, making a child of a mother,
The devil’s plateau, ovens in Hell,
Where rust reigns, with the rancid rhubarb.
I remember such things according to the tired fields.
How dreams fall apart with the fountain, the special breath,
Of tomato ghosts, marmite masons,
Occurring around about multiple questions,
When words collapse, language is out-coloured,
Magnets in mud, misty Hells,
Melting wheelbarrows, criss-crossing with a passion,
When correspondence fades with the mind,
Getting burnt on the moon, reflections of flowers,
When death rules supreme, allowing one’s self darkness,
Further perturbing the idea of life, that slaved idea,
Of orange juice staining fingernails, ghost griefs,
Filling an emptiness of unknowns, new windows,
Breathing with similitude, a rotating redundancy,
When the Universe reverberates, makes a freedom,
With devil’s soap, praying
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Literature
The Distorted Fear, When Infinity Falls Apart
When one sits up after having been face-down on the heated floor,
When you’re smothered with darkness-fruits, midway through infinite collapse,
Of an especially dire kind, spinned by basic abuses, in mind of the dead scales –
Suddenly exponential hyperfocus on ways we can leave the planet.
Corrupt sands of eternity, that betray their own timeless dunes, winds not slave to seconds.
A pure rotation, of multi-coloured quests, with pills for savages –
Perpetual connotations, the idea of a plastic bag,
As silky as concrete, inhibition personified,
Matrix of marsupials, a special kind of dire,
A dirty confusion rotated into the area of pale lilac,
I wake up and want to play computer games about castles.
A digital matchstick, lit with a scrape, locally special,
Successful maelstroms, successful terrors,
An aim in wrapping up confusion.
Teeth that hurt like hell, to reverberate loosely.
Magpies on twigs on the ocean, a car engine dropped onto a tropical island,
A resonating &
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Literature
Whoosh, Fires Around The Mass
Once death becomes obsolete, once no-one cares for the win,
It is the gentle breakdown, the soft gradual collapse,
Of the function too well known.
Of hopes soured, despairs sweetened with extra poison,
To all dissolve with the ultimate uplift. The best invigoration, encouragement.
Colours that field, get carried by new wonders,
To riddles that get caught up in themselves, in finding the solutions dark.
For illumination of a different kind, according to the thunder –
Drying out with jaded wind, localising fast,
Softly switched with the nodes of life, of the strange, of the perpetual.
To originally circumvent, to liven up, with sound dead lights,
Over the river, lifted at midnight, soft in flight.
Washed to the common universe, dirtied by the wind, its gradual,
When the walk of life fades, to vanish positively,
Fairly unfair, only on the condition that it’s nonsense, the whole,
The burden – the worst furnace to be found in that of coolest exterior,
The way that compress
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Literature
Nature's Taunt, or The Spin That Spins Further
i.
The death of life in speeding up the poor cycle,
A fresh chaos brewing. The fragmented shimmer. Ejected from the worst abode.
Life is inflammation, the blood of the church drawn,
The key of fire thrown into the boiling sea, close to the drowning animal.
And on that night, and on that night,
The infinite gasps, ghosts, a broken slave to whole time.
This experience does not correlate, it is a new irrationality in regards to all old thinking.
They curse at the blazing sun, and shout at it, 'you have to go down at some point!'
A chain compassion relayed, a cruel heat bestowed in time.
The false resolution, a partial field. A hidden puzzle, burning.
Searing expectation of toxic grade, a heavy mass all bowled.
The modes are as contrasting as space-black to North pole-summer-white,
In both, the Earth cries for more blood.
An electrified pain, a trap within a trap, strain within strain - an ocean of boiling gold.
A tropical system, with fire burning, the fire linking in to my own heart.
The
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Literature
-Welcome to Lag Hell- /Those Alike, the Universe
A sculpture a poem, necessity chastised with sense,
A kind of breezy image transferred,
The struggle in the rainforest has no care for the struggle in Edinburgh,
Betrayed by their own instincts.
Of the rainforest’s foam, its cycling reversed, multicoloured, spicy.
The hair that’s dirty because of life, from the forty-five seasons,
Of the accumulation imperfect, similarly switchlike –
The map electrified, stretched over the wall –
Little bears that spin with white noise, they then collapse,
To find a freedom, in the adjacent trees, the perfume excellent for the time.
A digital heart, bowed over the spicy binomial,
You find yourself on a new planet with no reference points, it’s the illusion,
To find yourself waking up back on your dirty bed.
It’s how things turn, how things are switched, how things rumble,
Then flash with devil’s colour, to vibrate its beam,
To the other end, the other sphere, otherwise known as what language declares.
For when
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Literature
The Changed Intensity, or Colouring With Light
Rosie rumbled at the potent parade.
Hears the sense, of the sight that weirdens,
Rubbish race. The kind of suffering that depends on questionable factors.
The century that extends, is renamed ‘a day’. The viewer just gapes and stares.
Truth, it is truth. The guy who has ownership of the fizzy planets.
The coloured turmoil,
In the midst of the bay, the mystery shoes by the bay.
What to do in the face of that? A notebook of blood,
Ghosts who grieve, for someone or something, it is meaning!
The steam that necessarily has to burn with its effect, its hot outlet,
A golden guard that rotates with the wind, the indigo trees.
Expression exploding through the envelope, a different poet similar,
Ungracious grace, a field turned with the right similitude, the right bar,
Something strange to me, my life, ‘strange to you maybe.’
A liquorice Napoleon, liquorice limits.
How can one know of the rarity in darkness?
Weaving twins – one loves hot, the other cold.
Ambiguous p
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Literature
A Question, Seething Recurrences
The fresh deterioration, deterioration deteriorating,
Of tarry struggles true.
Mixing algorithms, disingenuous dreams,
Returning to truth.
The poor standard, the fire which engulfs,
Reflections of a crumbling schism,
Poetry upholding poetry, of incredible vibration,
Through timely networks, of outrageous keys,
Some questionable questions, unanswerable answers,
The new burden that reveals itself,
Pixelated magpies, the spinning gardens,
The gates fierce, the gates are solid, the gates have purpose,
Saving the work blessed, in cursing the new redeem,
Of a bowing walk, dressed in black, coloured paints thrown at you,
The scene flipped, a game of ghosts,
A magnification for blood, the outrage that crumbles into peace,
Or the fire that scorches into the cold, the right,
Tempering the savage, words as the exhaust,
Mist for ears, unearthing a type of freedom,
Similarly so, with fizzy oil, of exponential temperature,
Revisiting the magic past, the shrouded future visibly unknown,
To move throu
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Literature
The Devil Has Landed / A Difficult Stock Market
Modes which feel themselves, feel others, ultimately cancels itself out in the end,
Has to be prepared to do so at any time.
The conclusion being,
A pure simplification which turns. The same poison with a different colour.
Making a ghost of the girl next to the guy who is labelling,
It is a difficult contrariness, a difficult contrast in contrast to the confused confusion,
A false season.
Of reducing expression, condensing fierce time,
Slapped for the hope, a door’s design flashes on the brick wall,
Frozen by fire, dreaming a new reality, an old redundancy,
Stupidly stupid stupe, a loudly loud low-down, the last poem to think of,
When all those who came before have been washed to the main.
Of a crass base, a loose wonder, of strong, single headaches, thinking of the dirty space.
Similarly complex, blunt, and fiercely razor-fluffy,
Done for different reasons, making use of the refuge of language,
Of the fierily mad rate of change to smoothen to a rough constant, you would do me th
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Literature
A Newly Drawn Fire
Peace a one-percent rarity in this life of false disaster,
There is no day free, all folding in front of the corrupt dusk –
Rotating around the college of Darwin, from the new,
Looking for a new building. Do you think it will be the same?
The youth wonders of her old age – then wonders of her youth,
You know when you’ve reached the place when you no longer care,
‘I really wish I hadn’t heard that’, a new silence of heart,
The fresh absence of anything, except the sullen bubbling of hot tar.
There are deaths in life, yet there is life, evidently,
Sums do not work out, the question to the side, the hidden to then appear,
To reveal a contrary order, then to the base beginning once more.
The kind of compassion in fiercely enflaming the old ashes.
Crumbling in day, crumbling in the night,
Living to live, alternately flooded with the obnoxious,
As things get worse when she strives for better, a recurrent mode,
Carried by the full river towards the symbol o
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Literature
The Red Verses
1
The purple, metallic currents are folding in spirit,
A ghost of life of seeming hellish enlightenment,
The whole of the world burning to the music of coloured bread,
Disastrous measures with a feverish melody clothed, to bind, to sit.
The shrouds of the new tribes, travelled by ghastly night,
Over the instant Earth, under the pure skies, rendered full,
The concentrate to finally dissolve into the waters of the Universe.
2
The crowd together, slowly raise their heads in the dark towards the speaker,
The moon with full clothes towers above, its limits in check,
The anticipated voice is delayed, the heads turn, in confused fever -
'Where is her voice?' - her evidently such strong heart, with lack of words as if weaker.
The crystal burning, the sacred rivers in spite of the worst winds,
A frozen frame turning, rainbow currents in fierce circuit-space,
Rhythms cohering, the questionable terror retrospect validity, 'stop! get a move on!'
3
The returning layers, a sweet return through the f
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Literature
Riddles 1-27
1, (Electricity)
Negative spheres in a fast flowing stream,
Blood for the complex, in process for a living dream,
Attracted to the positive always, with fresh zeal,
In a circuit turned, with time's current, as a burning wheel.
I can flash from the clouds to the earthly ground in seconds,
My generation, and self-sustenance, by human minds eventually reckoned.
2, (Fox)
An orange coat I have, though of fire, I cannot shed,
I can be encountered mostly at night, trading security for a bed,
A frightful weave through the dark streets, complex gardens,
Though scared most of the time, protected out of mind by Earth's warden.
A rarity in the day, though not uncommon to be seen,
My trail sometimes scented, betraying my motions, where I have been.
3, (Heart)
The engine of my being, muscled in its pattern,
Centre of all the rest, as the sphere to the icy rings of Saturn,
I need the fluid to work, the very essence of the motion,
Colour red mingled with its special ingredients, a certain kind of poti
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Literature
The Revival Verses, or Especially Gently Soft
To find a face in despair, to trust in base,
Knowing little of the way, the mentions,
How can one guide who they themselves are following?
It is the dire to question, the dire to inspire elevation.
Crumbs on the road, the new elder, old young,
Unequivocally abandoning sense, the heated compromise,
Successive streams, the relationship heartily dowsed,
When a man is initiated, brings in the dripping light.
Coloured cubes that cool with the early thunder,
Complex series of dice that alternately correct,
Randomise to be in blessed order, reiterating the blunder,
Similarly sound, expecting the worst, anticipating the book.
New hinges for cats, the berry to mediate with the bacteria,
Simply astoundingly complex the ferocious petal,
The devil uses his echoes, the vibrations of the switching earth,
Opening the box dark, finding in success a poor metal.
Hidden unveiled in the retrospect.
Overdrive on overdrive, it is a special speciality,
The apparently tolerable intolerable.
Crying by the bay,
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Literature
A New Devil
‘I do feel like a ghost though.’
Back to fiery square one.
Pushed on in the darkness,
Moved by the road that flashes,
Scottish colours spill into the tropical,
The agonising essence, the pierce,
A tidal wave dropped into the desert,
The Sun and moon geared at right angles,
Fizzy dials, spinning coloured petrol,
Going through fire for what you want.
Programmed to look after stuff,
Similarity of a pretty ugliness, ugly prettiness,
Drowning in tomatoes, a special leaf,
Digital caravans, digital fig rolls, digital sailors.
Monks that like spaghetti hoops, dynamic shuffles,
Angels browsing the Internet for best ruffles.
Electric shores, a border for life,
Tempering the savage, tempering the limit.
Corrected foxes, dying dreams that spin-out,
The immensely sour exhaustion.
Devils that twist their statement, their meals,
Trait-hunting limits, the wonder unheard!
Based with ‘one’, ‘nine-hundred and nine’ drops from the sky,
A blueberry by lipstick.
A rocket
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Literature
The Darker Emily, or Those Who Trace By the Night
It is empty, this,
A dead picnic at night,
Raw tigers turn with the crude bliss after the crude crude.
A pen placed in the hand of a dead woman. It moves with time.
Four-score fires, equalling with prayers,
Asking for cooling help, or brazen death, none seem to be forthcoming,
Do what you said you’d do, do what you did before,
A digital turnip dreams with light.
Cursed distance, a forced compromise uneven,
Corrected foxes,
Mixed with boiling ignorance.
The obvious bane.
New Forest magicians, attracted to a town tree-enshrouded,
Shrouded some more, force-fed goods, compassions,
More an absence of help than actual help?
Loyal to the banana mode, that mode in particular.
What is the first thing one does after the unexpected revival?
I think I’ve improved where I haven’t, have actually improved in ignorance.
Pulled, tugged between savage contradictions.
‘Umm, stop looking at me, maybe?’
Murky midways, humming heats,
Don’t know why you produced me, mate,
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Literature
On Writing a Poem, or An Unexpected Confusion
Made absurd with the difficulty,
With nothing in nowhere, suddenly with something, somewhere.
Usually not particularly pleasant.
When things go wrong at least have the decency to wrap it up as soon as possible,
An urgency required with colour,
A day without an intensive despair not a good day apparently,
Digital sourness, digital ghosts in a digital bay.
A line to a poem is like cupping water from the ocean,
A dying man who expects to die – a joke with a death directly following.
Zilch, an ashy zero.
A blood-dashed publication shouldn’t be, isn’t, in this poet’s mind, essential,
But the creation is what is.
Orange peel placed on the bed in the path of moonbeams,
I think we’ve established that this is not an overwhelmingly kind life.
Devil trying to spark some ashes, just throws them into the neighbour’s fire.
Anticipating the unexpected positive override,
Ashes swirled in boiling water,
Waiting for an arbitrary flood of pity,
An ashy infinity, ashes
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Favourites

Mature content
The Southern Land Not Yet Known :iconmeggie272:Meggie272 9 8
Tussock moth (Orgyia dubia) by Dani-Barchana Tussock moth (Orgyia dubia) :icondani-barchana:Dani-Barchana 21 5
Literature
8 minutes in hell
it's 7:22 PM, and i'm home alone with my little sister. we are two souls pulsing in an empty house with all the lights on because no matter what she says, she's still afraid of the shadows. i suppose that also means she's afraid of the shadows in me.
it's 7:23 PM and she says, "i don't want to hear about this." she says, "i feel like you're pushing all of your anxieties onto me." she says, "this doesn't make me happy."
it's 7:23 PM and my reaction is nearly instantaneous: less than a minute later i am back in my room with the door locked, lights off, curled up on my bed and trying to tell myself that i can deal with this alone. telling myself that i have to, because nobody else will help me.
it's 7:24 PM and i know somewhere inside me that that's not true but when you go to someone in trust and they stab you right in the heart instead of the back you tend you stop caring quite so much.
it's 7:25 PM and i think about how much i'm aching. i think, it's funny that water makes our eyes bur
:iconinthespacebetween:inthespacebetween
:iconinthespacebetween:inthespacebetween 23 9
Foggy Clearing by AtomicFireball33 Foggy Clearing :iconatomicfireball33:AtomicFireball33 6 0 ColorfulCAT by Seruzawa-R ColorfulCAT :iconseruzawa-r:Seruzawa-R 1 0 Skyward Dreams XIV by Aenea-Jones Skyward Dreams XIV :iconaenea-jones:Aenea-Jones 1,191 25
Literature
late unflavored nights
Breathing in, and…
you’re starving.
No.
Starving would be if you had nothing to eat.
This is more like being locked in a convenience store-
all pre-packaged foods with no real expiration date,
but no real nutritional value or natural flavor, either.
Eat, or starve.
You’re surrounded by a library’s worth of trashy knock-off novels,
third an ocean’s worth of the kind of tuna you don’t want to eat,
so much stale air and regurgitated thought and color you just
drift
because there’s nothing else to do, you could go search out a real meal, but,
you…can’t. You shouldn’t be eating anyway. You’re tired. Why
don’t you sleep? Why don’t you do something else?
You don’t need food. You just want it. You want color and brightness and
feelings, a vista unexplored (ugh, bad word. Vista. False gloss like
a cheap magazine, tacky plastic smell like the sickly light of a therapist’s
:iconrandompersyn:randompersyn
:iconrandompersyn:randompersyn 1 0
Vintage Christmas Shopping newspaper cover 1915 by Sue2BlueEyes Vintage Christmas Shopping newspaper cover 1915 :iconsue2blueeyes:Sue2BlueEyes 1 0 The Witch's Melancholy by SketchingjoyJL The Witch's Melancholy :iconsketchingjoyjl:SketchingjoyJL 18 5
Literature
Coals
I can't remember the last time
That I felt really relaxed
Able to breathe normally
With a heart clear of adrenaline
Every day when I wake up
The first light to reach my eyes
Is a spark to set the rest of me ablaze
To engulf me in yet another day
Of hell beneath my feet
Licking at my knees
And forcing my thoughts to run
Wild like frenzied beasts
It’s not a constant heat like a stove
It doesn't warm up
To bring my simmer to a boil
No, I get bombs
Sudden and loud and dangerous
Thrown beneath me
Making every step
A walk on gunpowder eggshells
A game of Frogger through no man’s land
Where the trenches don’t prove to be sanctuary
I jump from every gassed pit I land in
To fall into another cloud of smoke
Until the meds wear off at the end of the day
And I get to sleep again
Until I wake up
My nerves are always alight
Fuses burning up into my spine
To my brain
Singeing my veins along the way
The eruptions often prove overwhelming
And it takes a lot more
Than water and deep br
:iconlionbirbs:lionbirbs
:iconlionbirbs:lionbirbs 6 0
Literature
mornings.
a sample of sunrise
a flash of new "age"
we wanted to try
disappear from today.
a simple fresh day
you hide from no one
we wanted to stay
away from the sun.
:icononivoblakah:onivoblakah
:icononivoblakah:onivoblakah 2 3
FTP554 by Monaco29 FTP554 :iconmonaco29:Monaco29 5 0
Literature
above and below
angels and devils stand guard
over this contentious world
filled with turmoils great and small
over and over again
mankind repeats its mistakes
and its ingrained foolishness
angels and devils constrained
by their innate creation
can't understand the purpose
why is man free to decide
why must they make such a choice
whatever was god thinking
angels and devils weary
of watching ignorant fools
hurrying towards their death
caught up in the flow of time
this sad world will continue
with their guidance or without
angels and devils find it
increasingly difficult
even to pretend to care
:iconcattservant:cattservant
:iconcattservant:cattservant 6 4
Literature
The Hoplite
Xiphos of copper and tin
Polished to capture the sun
Allied with its metallic kin
Against enemy second to none
With brows furrowed and bloody
And shields of warriors true
Of wood and metal constructs
Battering against deaths that are due
:iconMasterOfJustOne:MasterOfJustOne
:iconmasterofjustone:MasterOfJustOne 1 0
[stock] Mystic woods by DominikaAniola [stock] Mystic woods :icondominikaaniola:DominikaAniola 17,173 2,883

Pride

DIVERSITY IS ART

Made with pride by the DeviantArt community BROWSE ALL ART

Activity


Hi,

First journal entry in almost 2 years, and a lot has changed for me in that time! No doubt a lot of people have come and gone, with newer people more active than those before. And am grateful to trade notes/reply to comments/to communicate with so many nice people and to look at new art/read new poetry. Always inspirational stuff to be found.

Health has always been an issue for me, and it's a struggle at times, as I know it can be for everyone, so let's take heart and have hope!

A new poem is in progress! But also sort of trying to focus on my next piano exam! (I did quite well in the previous piano exam thankfully!)

& also please visit here if you have time! pandorasnest.wixsite.com/letit… by pal, Liriope-Lielle.
                                                           ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
'Let it rain - a visual depression project: This is an attempt at a mental health project, mainly for myself, but if it resonates with you in any way, it will just give it a richer meaning.'


Take care everyone!

I am listening to:

I was laying in a bed at my father's place in Sevenoaks, Kent, with the window open and there's a radio on in the house opposite's garden, and then suddenly this track below starts! Thought it was a divine gift because this is a well rare track for radio, and I love it. Skip to 1.00 if you're bored with the intro.

  • Listening to: Sufjan Stevens
  • Reading: Oxford World History
  • Watching: The Crystal Maze
  • Drinking: Water

deviantID

jamboe89
Ione
Artist | Literature
United Kingdom
28 year old 'explorer' from Canterbury, UK.

Thanks for visiting.

I Talk to Myself Stamp by Latias-Flyer I Take a Long Time To Do Shit by DSMeatte ::Insomniac Stamp:: by Sora05 Say No to Squishing by savagebinn I Like Watching Clouds by PhysicalMagic

I love Cross-stitch stamp by dragondoodle On my bed by prosaix I Love Nature 2 by Wearwolfaa Red fox stamp by Tollerka Poetry Stamp by ImprintMechanic

Lotus Stamp by Naryu I love rain at night sramp by ohhperttylights I love Black Cats by WishmasterAlchemist DUBSTEP stamp by conceptions Professor Layton Stamp_Layton by babo-stamp

Hearts Are My Favourite Suit (Stamp) by SpadeStitch Pastel Blue Sea - Stamp by candlelit-deco Cat lion animated stamp by Papikari Short Stamp by Pyroglifix hummingbird stamp by forestveins
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:icondrawometric:
Drawometric Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2018
Thank you for all the favourites Jamboe89, thanks for watching, and I hope all is well.
Reply
:iconseruzawa-r:
Seruzawa-R Featured By Owner Nov 17, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
wow cool
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:iconjamboe89:
jamboe89 Featured By Owner Nov 17, 2017   Writer
Icon - Smile Smile Pinksmile? 
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:iconcori456:
cori456 Featured By Owner Oct 22, 2017  Student General Artist
thanks for the favorite!
Reply
:iconjamboe89:
jamboe89 Featured By Owner Oct 22, 2017   Writer
It's my pleasure! :) (Smile) 
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:iconpiruetasdefantasia:
PiruetasdeFantasia Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2017   Photographer
Thanks for the fave rainbow heart rainbow heart rainbow heart 
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:iconjamboe89:
jamboe89 Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2017   Writer
It's my pleasure!
LazyIcon I wanna use - 2 
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:iconsmallcurryleaf:
SmallCurryLeaf Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2017
thanks for fav!Swingin' On a Star _revamp_ 
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:iconjamboe89:
jamboe89 Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2017   Writer
It is my pleasure!!
LazyIcon I wanna use - 39 
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:iconcaptain-netnet:
Captain-NetNet Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Tanks for the favorite and watch :3 !!
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