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The Barefoot
Or the frozen prickling rooftop marks
The bottoms of his feet with pink dents,
Ten feet three inches above the road, with nothing
But pavement to catch him if he fell.
Instead cars scream sideways turning
The corner barely in time to avoid a woman
Fat and generous, coccooned in swathes
Of organic wool, lilting lily tones,
Boots padded, proofed, soft, immune
To the frost screeching and whirling on the shingles.
Maybe Socrates was right to ask us to avoid
Elation and despair. The blundering careless
Angry seething roaming city washes away
Dust and the scattered fragments of nomads
Who stayed under blinking signs only to take pictures,
But he has no shape. No one ever thinks
To look up. Otherwise, he might be called down.
When he left his sweater inside on a chair,
He told himself to throw it out, vague
Enlarged shape, losing color with every
Wash, too many gaps to keep him safe.
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 0
Right Between The Eyes Ch.1
They found him just after five in the morning on a Sunday, running away from a man they'd deemed too rich who wasn't anymore.
"Is he dead?" Hayner asked.
The thing lay under the only tree growing on this side of the river, which wasn't really a river in the winter so much as frozen black glass. A shard of bone, pinkish-yellow with the stains of blood veins, pierced the air and its head lolled back, mouth open and wide with a tongue hanging out like a panting dog.
Mostly-whole pieces of cloth stuck to the thing, and resting halfway on the ground and halfway on the breast of the jacket was a clump of hair torn from the scalp.
Five in the morning and the bones of his shins stuck into the air like giant splinters, one arm still attached and head lolling back.
"'Course he's dead, chickenwuss," Seifer muttered. For once, Hayner didn't object to the namecalling. "Never seen a dead body before?"
"He's – " Hayner laughed, high and insincere, before he dry-heaved. Like a giant hiccup, and t
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 10 6
Always Moving Sideways
"I was born," the Mouse said. "I must die. I am suffering. Help me. There, I just wrote your book for you."
Samuel R. Delany, Nova
Otto Shaughnessy had never felt anything but lonely. And lonely...wasn't even an emotion, not a real one. He knew that's what anyone would tell him, if he asked. So, Otto kept to himself, mostly. Quiet kids got away with thinking whatever.
But he couldn't sleep. This late at night, when he'd been trying for almost two hours. Or at least what felt like two hours. Even though only an orange glow slithered in around the curtains, leaving the rest of the room dark, and only occasional traffic interrupted perfect silence.
Something squeezed his heart. It felt like a nothing, a slimy, slithery hagfish of nothing that wound around his insides and made his chest tight.
He crawled forward until he could look out the window at the foot of the bed, pulled aside a curtain which was just for show anyways, and gazed out at the street. A car slid past, made a frantic U-
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 0
Paul Valery by Nitlon Paul Valery :iconnitlon:Nitlon 3 1
I'm all talk and no play. Why do people always need a reason for doing things? Do do do try try try I don't think I've ever met anyone who's weird, I mean I don't think I've ever met anyone who isn't normal. I'm never going to feel like this again. What was it she said? Who? We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment. This is my moment. To shine? No. Shining. Too concrete; it means light, where? This is not okay. Everything will probably not be okay, I can't bring myself to look it in the face. It keeps going. Stop changing. No? No. The hardest thing is seeing nothing you do will matter. Easier never to try and never to know; the wondering will keep me busy.
Wrong? Nothing's wrong, nothing happened, nothing's ever wrong. It's fine. It's always been fine. Why does something need to be wrong? It has to go somewhere. I'll never feel this way again. Maybe I will but it won't be the same. I always thought I'd be more interesting than this if I snapped; I'm b
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 0
Globalization Ch. 2, AxR
Summary: Yes, we are terrible for each other, and yes, we are a disaster. But tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. I'd rather die terrified than live forever.
"If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insiduously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to seperate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"
- Aleksander Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago
Morning comes, and Roxas is up with the sun the way he always is. A quietness drifts over Sable, the holy period of early when the sky groans with effort. It's a respectful silence, and Roxas slips on his boots and his fuzzy black pants to go outside and bask in it.
A time of few words, the early morning.
"Good morning, sky," he says. "Good morning, sand. Good morning, tower."
He's got school for almost fi
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 0
Globalization Ch. 1
"Remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to make its own people comfortable."
- Clifton Fadiman
It could be worse. There are carpet slaves. There are tiny catatonic children whose tiny fingers fit together tiny machine parts. They stare blankly at walls all day, and their daydreams don't stretch beyond waiting for their six hours of time allotted for sleep before they have to wake up and do it again.
Roxas knows that. He's been preached at by books and other kids his age. But just because some have it worse doesn't mean that Sable doesn't have it bad, and him especially.
It's an arid, sandy place right on the edge of the desert. The plants are seeded in neat rows along irrigation canals (thank God for Espers), and as far as real estate goes, it's pretty cheap. Cheaper, now, probably.
He loves it because he doesn't know anywhere else, because he doesn't know any better; trucks go through sometimes, big, clunking, military thin
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 0
Don't worry about him, dear. by Nitlon Don't worry about him, dear. :iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 3
He lived in echoes and lined his walls with words that weren't his own. He was determined to shape his life without ever himself touching it. For three years he created to no avail and in six months let it go, because the world knew him, and what he had done would be enough. If he went back and looked at it at any point he would find himself under the layers of change, that one early-formed spike of self buriedburiedburied. Any more creating and he would lose, become selfish, tired, because he had nothing to say.
In his mind he had a much more noble cause. He was going to find himself in everyone else. A sentence he would have said before reading on the page. A picture like something he'd already seen on the backs of his eyelids. These went up on walls or buttons on his backpack, careless words penned on his hand when school couldn't keep his attention. It was a blanket of himself which he wore like a cloak and which was made of tattered pieces of other people. More than words and pict
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 3 7
I feel like all my insides are rotted and slowly dripping down my rib cage. This is the sort of failure I've never even tasted. Everyone is better than me. Everyone will be disappointed in me. I can find other things to blame, but it doesn't feel genuine. And every time I feel defeated, something else comes to rub it in my face. They walk down the isles with their third medals clinking against their seconds and firsts, sit on either side of me, laugh at our collective failure. They did something, at least. I did nothing. I am useless. I had thought there were things I was good at. I was wrong. I cannot do anything that someone with little practice cannot best me at. The worst of it was the false hope, I think. Because before we did do well. But I am starting to think that was not my doing at all. I know nothing. I'm good at nothing. And still the worst of it is that they're all around me with their medals clinking against their other medals, their superiority affirmed, and I want nothi
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 3
I want to show you how quickly a clock decomposes
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 4
They had named her Shiva, the destroyer and protector, because it'd seemed the obvious choice at the time. Because she was meant to fight for freedom! She was meant to fight for equality! For justice! She was a shrunken little girl when they'd fixed her up, quivering in a hospital gown and just shaking her head when they asked her for her name. She'd come out with a new body and a new name but the same mind. Poor little Shiva.
Shiva could build anything if she was given the plans for it. The thing about cyborgs is that only the human part ever really has to sleep; she built a three-bedroom house in one month. There's still a family of five living in it. Oh, what a happy little girl she was then! Shiva was useful. People would take her picture and talk to her. She had their attention, she had their admiration, and their love, sometimes, at least.
Of course, the reason the first ever super-human experiment was on a nameless orphan was because it was an experiment. Trial-and-error. Things
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 6
Smokestack by Nitlon Smokestack :iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 1
It says "store in a cool dry place" but, um,
I live in Pennsylvania, so
When it's cool it isn't dry and when it's dry it isn't cool and, um,
I don't know where to put the aspirin.
And I think there might be something poetic about that?
But I don't know what it is.
:iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 3
Mirrormask by Nitlon Mirrormask :iconnitlon:Nitlon 1 3 Copepod by Nitlon Copepod :iconnitlon:Nitlon 0 3

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untitled as of now.
i thought that i liked buttercups. maybe it was because of that song (why don't you build me up BUILD ME UP buttercup baby) or maybe it was because the name sounded nice off my lips. or it might have been because i just wanted to like them, because they seemed so pretty and yellow and summery and i wanted to be pretty and yellow and summery. so maybe it was just envy. because i wasn't a buttercup. but i tried, oh did i ever. and i fooled a few, i think. but not me. never me.
anyway, it doesn't much matter, because i don't like buttercups anymore. i don't know if i ever did. i just thought so. and there is a difference.
my latest HE bought me a bouquet of buttercups, all neatly trimmed and with a plastic holder stamped with that organic grocer's slogan. i wanted to fling them on the cherrywood and crush them with my designer heels. "no," i wished i could say to him, yelling like the child i never was. "i don't want them. you don't know me. i don't know me. and i don't want the buttercup
:iconemilyexplosion:emilyexplosion 3 14


"I'm the Forever Alone guy if he wasn't crying and was more excited about it."

You guys ever get emotional whiplash?

Like you're feeling okay about yourself, maybe you've got a handle on this reality thing. And then something comes out and sucker punches you in the nose to remind you that, no, you're not really very good at anything, and your own bloated confidence is what got you to this crash in the first place. Maybe if you'd been less arrogant, you wouldn't feel like such an idiot now.

I feel like that movie cliche of the girl who shows up to prom is a sparkly dress, gets ditched by her date and ends up sitting on the curb for her dad to come pick her up. And she's wearing sneakers underneath her ridiculous ball gown, and it's just sad and bloated and pitiful, I feel like that.

Anyways. That's why I ignore people who tell me to be optimistic.


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Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States


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Tower43 Featured By Owner Oct 10, 2011
Heya, I'm in the process of moving my art to my tumblr, via.: [link]

Just a headsup :),
WoofKing Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2011  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Omg i feel bad! I forgot to say thanks about the llama badge...i didnt refresh my messages! im sorry..:hugs: Thanks a bunch thou!
becausespace Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2011
Hey. Hey you. Personface.
Nitlon Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
What is it, Sexypants?
becausespace Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2011
Nuuuthin. Also, squirrels.
Nitlon Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Hnnng. Squirrels. What is up with them.
(1 Reply)
Empire-Days Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2011

deviantART muro drawingComment Drawing
Nitlon Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Empire-Days Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2011
I'm just wondering if you'd looked through the other ones yet.

Oh, and also the customary present for watching me~ :D Want another one?
Nitlon Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Yeah, yeah, I did that a while ago~ forgot to say anything about it.

Can you draw BLENDER MAN?
(1 Reply)
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