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Literature
delayed note to self
_delayed note to self_
dear older self,
i wish to apologise.
i have made things
hard and obscure for you.
increasingly i feel
terribly
wantonly
alone
even around friends
amongst my devices
hiding in smiles
there yet remains
fleeting
idle-minded
moments
i forget my place
thankfully
when i can
finally be forgetful
and not feeblebrimmed
i might at last address
our raggedness
but
i have failed
wholeheartedly
in the endeavour
for happy memory
to sustain you
when you are unable
to make new ones.
i once thought
i would be able
to vie on behalf
of what life is worth
but lately i wonder
what kind of cage
is Earth?
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
you might want to know
_you might want to know_
you might want to know
I still write you letters
when I find myself idle,
adrift or otherwise mired
chasing the ghosts of
thoughts long since expired
loose in the shoals
like a driftwood goal
you might want to know
what's been going on
there's been some changes
pushing through the dawn
finally I feel old
with pangs in my heart
creeping like a cage
on this day of Christmas
there is no love left
just anxiety, thread,
and chestpain.
you might want to know
what I can no longer return.
it seems now my mind
is drawn to your letters
back when you had ideas
that would be aught for better.
my old letters would ramble,
I knew not how well to end them
if only the last one thought
to ask, 'where next to send them?'
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 2 0
Literature
Exploding All the Time (How Much Now Was)
_Exploding All the Time (How Much Now Was)_
dead idols take flight,
scurry, and scarper
while night
claims it's ownership
of anything left outright.
you're an advertisement
of your condition
all over the place
now you tell me
that you're exploding
all the time
if you weren't younger
in the past
just maybe
you'll be born at last.
has it been real?
the effort certainly felt.
do you cling to wonder?
do you care for needs?
do you dream of thunder
or
do you dream of deeds?
either or?
maybe both?
writers are
like bombs;
measured by impact
by shadowed influence
but ground zero
is the real crux
of difference.
a bomb will
be finished
in order
to be used.
a writing
will be used
to see what
wasn't finished.
a bomb lives on
as echoes,
as particular dirt,
as an atomic shunt,
as inverse response.
a writer lives on
in waves,
in delicate tissues,
in electric frames,
in perpetual aftermath.
provided of course
should anyone care
to notice.
sometimes
a bomb goes unnoticed,
buried in time
presumed a dud
a
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
Only a Moving Idea
_Only a Moving Idea_
I hear voices out
of the corner of my ear.
I think they're talking
about me, my dear.
I'm getting out of here.
You can't stop me;
I'm so fucking done
with problems that weigh a tonne.
That's the way the story goes
in a hand-me-down world
where you end up toe-to-toe
or convinced that things end
and I guess in the end,
I only want friends that I know.
Sometimes I think I'll
watch my frontal lobes
go wild across the yard
if consequence of thought
is far it can't be hard
(to catch inhibitions
off their guard)
if you don't live enough to bleed
for some people your notion
of nothing is all they need.
There's words for goodness.
There's words for bad.
There's words for all
the things we never had.
There's no real living free,
there's only a moving idea
of who you want to be
as though it's rosalia!
-fin-
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 0
Mature content
Killin' Villains for Top Billin' :iconshackell:shackell 0 0
Literature
in kubrick's world, a pie fight
_in kubrick's world, a pie fight_ - An Ekphrastic of/for the Edited and Beloved Moments of Media
people, do not be afeared
for this time of trials
shall make of us all fools
so subtly scarred and weird
carved apart a land of tools
that our most ardent pleasures
slowly trace like a dwindling
finger lollygagging down the spine
transformed like lead treasures
into hearts of gold and gilded wine
in a twist, all of a sudden it happened to me.
you were finally something that i could see.
a conjunct of concepts set upon the stream.
our ambitions, an ocean mist at the beach
out of tasted reach, a promised else to be
asbent the past
there would be no mote of it
idled into mistake and wistful fury,
fooled like those who lose their wits so surely,
the hearty pales of pity so loosened on the world
that adult works are but the timid call
of the yield deep inside boys and girls
no matter the shape, no matter the curl
when life is a canvas slowly faded and unfurled.
i have already forgotten more
than
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 1
Literature
SIGNER FUTTLE TEASE AND A BOT OF SPOTHER
_SIGNER FUTTLE TEASE AND A BOT OF SPOTHER - WHAT? A GHILLIE SUESS?_
_v1_
a man full of heads
ate teacakes as bread
and wore a bulbous cosey.
nearby did a maiden fair
cut glass and frames like air
that left the cheek quite rosy.
an aside with flaxen hair
some credible-may-dare
tripped a tumultuous suppose heed.
riddled with grim whittled
within spittled gin
a world to spin quite nosy
towards an inner grin
he asked a chancy soda.
that's the way it goes, see?
across dead-head threadbeds
there'd be gits in shingles
bunched up on the clothes heap
and those devils-be-chinned
as they played up a fancy coda
looking all a mite posey
like they'd danced in
Kent, Dakota, together
all the time most closely.
the finer subtleties
and a spot of bother...
what a silly goose.
_v2a_
a man full of heads                     nearby did a maiden fair
ate teacakes as bread                   cut glass and frames like
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
Absolutes Make for Terrible Writing
_Absolutes Make for Terrible Writing_
a life so criminally shortened
stripped of issue and importance
instructed towards dire cordons,
that imagination pretends upon what's real
like a torn book fleeting on the heel
of pages so religiously strewn about
like the trees from which they were hewn,
like the fullness of days split on the spine
of midnight and noon, as though forever
had only come around to happen too soon.
the world you want to live in...
it seems it's always disappearing,
day after day down to the second,
like an ace up a rolling sleeve
you never really appear to leave
all these winter thoughts in summer
years gone I've been hanging out with
your inner critic, jiving, grooving and hollerin'
on the jibber gab and generally feeding off
the teeniest specifics but we could always
do with the one you never had.
even though everything one day ends
and fake can only run so far pretend,
why not do your utmost to defend
against the onset of entropy
or does reason fail you outright
a
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 2
Literature
All These Things I Say I'll Do
_All These Things I Say I'll Do (In the Spirit of David Byrne)_
(two) two dozen roses
(two) two dozen roses
(two) two dozen roses
all these things I say I'll do
give two dozen roses
give two dozen roses
give two dozen roses
all these things I say I'll do
I don't give no nos, yes
don't give no nos, yes
don't give no nos, yes
all these things I say I'll do
be how you supposed
be how you supposed
be how you supposed
all these things I say I'll do
hold a million poses
hold a million poses
hold a million poses with you
all these things I say I'll do
(two) two dozen roses
(two) two dozen roses
(two) two dozen roses
all these things I say I'll do
I would never wish
I would never wish
I would never wish
so small a focus on you
say it's romantic
say it's romantic
say it's romantic
that alone won't make it true
I'll end up sneezing
I'll end up sneezing
I'll end up sneezing
all these things I say achoo
all the little things
all the little things
it's all the little things
building up to be big to
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
An Imperial Measurement of Dreams
_An Imperial Measurement of Dreams_
rather than feel crushed
holding up the weight of my dreams
supplicating my time
while bursting at the seams
i have walked my mind about
hither and thither aside whither
many kinds of inside out
and come to turn most any seed of wisdom
toward a garden of planted rows
and rather than pace the worry
or play gods to favour with offers owed
I'll take turns with seasons
and work with what will grow.
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
The Coronet Grift
_The Coronet Grift_
There was Pistol Whiplash and Brass Shell Teeth
soon crushing a poor man's myelin sheath
as they foisted out from velvet bedding
the lauded laurel wreath, shedding care,
and claimed it a crown for worlds beneath.
Round and round, turn by turn, over corners
they'd been wrapping gifts for state coroners
with Great Care and Descriminate Lee,
taking no note whom would be their mourners,
if homeborn or intimate foreigners.
Yet Fortune's smile curled up nefarious.
With a raft of klaxon discovery,
the coronet grift turned precarious,
the crew's thoughts were wrenched by recovery,
the demand for solutions various.
As the purloined joint grew wakeful and wise,
the time had passed for donning apt diguise,
Whiplash looked to Teeth and quickly surmised
the best way to get out with their prize
was to lock, load and try it on for size.
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 1 0
Literature
Across the Land, A Sullen Figure Came
_Across the Land, A Sullen Figure Came_
a sullen figure came across the land
saying things we could barely understand
in a voice clear as glass and fine as sand
it's almost as if they had something planned.
in the palm so effectually calm it stood
in the distance whenever it willing could
find infinite regress and pull tight the hood
in the breath of a guess it was understood.
what lay beneath would remain anyone's guess
the truth bequeathed like a governess
spirited away with the children, god bless,
like any old world blues with new dawn stress.
and so it summoned forth a drifting troupe
that shambled itself like no other group
trailing about the area in a random loop
until the day was knotted through a hoop.
now time is then and tomorrow's a trip
seasons runs past your door like a film clip
you can walk for days and run as hours slip
but this vision drowns eyes in just a sip.
in the event moments fail their welcome wagons
and moving forward wakes up sleeping dragons
when signaling y
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 2
Literature
United Untied
_United Untied_
deliver me from a world
that thinks it knows
better           better
      than anyone else
i don't see the solution
maybe i'm      losing
          just        my mind
i guess it's staring at me
in the face all along
as it usually is
it's not odd
knowing you might stop
thinking about impermanence
united untied
limitation is exactly
what   compels     us
to     push        it
push        (a) way
        all the
     it
to have no         love
                on
           grip
it breaks              me
                  upon
          my days
those familiar
call it exquisite,
they g
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 2 2
Literature
listen to the rhythm of the fire
_listen to the rhythm of the fire_
listen to the rhythm of the fire
        watch the flickerlight change
        into a step of one's way through
              the depth and reel of the pyre
chasten to the rhythm of the fire
        heed the stroke of it's tongues
        lapping up the night in a twist
              that pulleys willful breath betwixt
fasten to the rhythm of the fire
        it will take no longer than now
        for an instance of wei wu wei
              to release one's worth from how
hasten to the rhythm of the fire
        one cannot own less to be ownless
        pay it no mind that you be no mind
              like an old bird coming down the wire
know that one can
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 0
Literature
Forever for a While
_Forever for a While_
I must beg an insight
with no sparing of slight
Am I one of those
forget-me-nots
in a petaled pose
forever for a while
with a spigot nose
wrenched in clots
should ever our clothes
be running out of style?
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 2
Literature
Beneath Your Throne
_Beneath Your Throne_
I think you oughtta leave me
You oughtta leave me all alone
I got tired of the pressure
to take charge beneath your throne
I feel too far a selfish beast
one who should rarely opt for least
when it comes to people and effort
in life as if we'd remain unhurt
When you did away with all you hate
there was not much left on your plate;
you forsook yourself to a barren state
waiting for someone's love to compensate
You don't know how to strike someone
raising your thumb-closed fist as usual
when it should be an open read palm
as emptyhanded as loss made mutual
Often not where I seem to should
entreat myself reconsidered good
I fear I falter in the mire
of time's quicksand, never higher
If there's one thing I learned
I'll not fast repeat your mistake;
events between us may scurry spurned
but I won't strike up friends fake
For that you have my sympathies
for still a heart wanting like yours
ought not leave itself in the breeze
and what you seek should open doors
but I thi
:iconshackell:shackell
:iconshackell:shackell 0 0

Random Favourites

Literature
Bodies
Jan. 4
Dear Professor ____,
I am an inmate here in a prison in ____ and I got your name from an engaging op-ed article of yours in the
Times some weeks ago. I am writing to ask if you would please consider arranging a one year subscription to the Times for me.
I apologize if you find my request offensive but I enjoy literate material and feel the newspaper an excellent alternative to a college classroom. An inmate here in the facility has a subscription and once in a while an issue will trickle into my hands, which is how I came across your piece and the enclosed order form. I should add that I don't skim through the Times but spend a few hours reading almost everything in it the way I would were I on a deserted island and had nothing but the paper to read. Only drawback is that the paper engages time I'd otherwise spend reading literature and other books. Thomas Jefferson stopped reading newspapers so he could devote more time to books, and Thoreau makes an interestin
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oils to shine, BABY
baby, I want SO badly
to burn alive, for the fat to melt
and all my oils to shine
baby, I want so badly to BURN alive,
to pluck from the sun
AN ARROW,
and push it through
my target, push it through
my neck like the hot, HOT truth
BABY I want so badly
for that red to rise
with the bristles on my neck,
to have the fever TAKE ME
torrid and silent, parched and oppressing
as your love in my life, baby . . .
I want
SO BADLY
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Literature
I Will Help You
Know now
   to
float forlorn and say all
   in all that I need
   is something like you.
Destitute of destiny,
something holy knows this isn't
what her best could be.
Shaken, settled by nothing in
         the bastard hands.
I'm too far from your load . . .
—I'm becoming
                  unsettled
by the graces of God.
So, stand alone, if you must, but—
sister heal
           your self in our hands, here, home
of our first love, far from any lack of breath.
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
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Literature
Your Face Is So . . .
Mimicking the daylight,
your face is so . . .
practical. The pillow fits it,
what hour is this?
What timeworn, wandering effulgence—
followed us to sleep last night?
Your fabric unfolds—
my perfect sheets, the darkness copes with you leaving a boat
to carry my attention.
And your face is so . . .
carved in to the horizon.
Covers stir what engines turn,
the thought of you squirms
in my air. Time tries again
to clip off our nails. But, I digress
while you develop film,
we linger where a stark croon grows.
And your face is so . . .
hard to swallow. An anchor in
sand. You are the chandelier
lying next to me,
a pocket watch.
I can not see
how your face is so . . .
dear beside my nearest problems,
while so far inside my furthest dreams.
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Literature
Riddle Hard, Fiddle Slow
Riddle this, pumpkin seed
What rapids zig, zag
then leave?
What red lights
go, what gold won't
glow?
What sunday caught
the later show?
Fiddle that, greener leaf
Your fire shows what
water knows and knowing isn't—
getting old,
when droughts fall
fast and
rain falls
slow
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
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Literature
ON LIPS QUICK TO TENDERIZE
On lips —quick      to tenderize
These people lackluster, they're not
you, Their names are             a not—
so—comforting comfort But I've clearly enjoyed
the climb of What hill was great, big and       undefined,
On lips —quick      to tenderize
the truth: A     wet, concrete,         romanticized
idea of—love in my head, These people lackluster, they're not
You and You           won't believe me, I don't
believe me, You                still conduct It, but—I thought It
was     dead, a wet, concrete,         romanticized idea
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
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Literature
Small Black Seeds
Your spit and split ends left—
            notes on my pillow
            I put them to music
            The moment that I thought of you
            I lept
            without intent to land
            An old, dead thing moved from my past,
Its colors were cold and—
            not surprised
When I rubbed my letters against their math,
            for an answer—
            to the query
        
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
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Mature content
An Alfresco WHAT THE FUCK :iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb 3 23
Literature
Freshwater Nightmare Sentiment
I gaze INTENTLY—And
fixedly upon your . . .
BUOYANCY in my pond.
You are the only cork
of my—sinking lure, so,
when you BOB, —I jerk.
And when you . . .
plunge, submerged—in MY POND,
I reel, making love look a lot
like—fish out of water; sloppy & confused . . .
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb 3 21
Literature
Passenger
She wrote me:
This is the time of all things read;
the time of books, clean hands, straw dogs,
shared looks. This is the time
that finds the time to settle down;
to open that smile with enormous plans;
to pound on metal rolled with rust;
to lie when lovers lie, alone, quiet,
in kitsch and style.
She wrote me:
Death for some is a careless cat,
one that lacks a voice—and love—
and never plays chess.
But that is not my choice.
You see, I prefer the quieter sort;
the kind of death that stalks one
through shapeless blur, a caress of trust
and a lack of breath—now three, now two—
a sweet bluff and a face that looks
of you, only that's not enough.
I remember the films during which you cry,
and the way you hide it, fiddling
with your change to make your eyes avoid
the two mice riddling some pocket full of holes.
I remember the nights you tried to pray.
You clasped your hands and dreamt up God
and what he may or may not do. And I,
following November, came with you.
I remembe
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:iconkaujot:kaujot 167 61
Literature
rings in the wood
—Our       life is ours, that is
good                  enough,   that is
in context of fruits         that spoil with you
& Far        under The Shade— My
mistakes hold the Axe,             Oh, we were
beautiful still, Just         rings in the wood,
But, Destiny             will
die with Us, —Our
roots will          wither, Say
life was good, —Say
Our life            was good, or
good Enough, in           
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb
:iconlasagnabomb:lasagnabomb 4 13
Literature
because I know you're...
you mouth
Bukowski
beautifully
but I'm ready
to try
your own tongue
I'm delighted
you discovered
sex & selfishness
substance(s) & circumstance
excelling at art
excrement & experimentation
exposing your
pretend
private parts
I know how
sometimes
your heart breaks
over the sounds
those empty words make
and everything reminds you
of everything you're not
you're bruised
drowning in booze
and forever in love
with yourself
I get it
now
give me something real
:iconYouInventedMe:YouInventedMe
:iconyouinventedme:YouInventedMe 180 313

Activity


_delayed note to self_

dear older self,

i wish to apologise.
i have made things

hard and obscure for you.

increasingly i feel

terribly
wantonly

alone

even around friends
amongst my devices
hiding in smiles

there yet remains
fleeting
idle-minded
moments
i forget my place
thankfully

when i can
finally be forgetful
and not feeblebrimmed
i might at last address
our raggedness

but

i have failed
wholeheartedly
in the endeavour
for happy memory
to sustain you
when you are unable
to make new ones.
i once thought
i would be able
to vie on behalf
of what life is worth
but lately i wonder
what kind of cage
is Earth?
_you might want to know_

you might want to know
I still write you letters

when I find myself idle,
adrift or otherwise mired

chasing the ghosts of
thoughts long since expired

loose in the shoals
like a driftwood goal

you might want to know
what's been going on

there's been some changes
pushing through the dawn

finally I feel old
with pangs in my heart
creeping like a cage
on this day of Christmas
there is no love left
just anxiety, thread,
and chestpain.

you might want to know
what I can no longer return.

it seems now my mind
is drawn to your letters

back when you had ideas
that would be aught for better.

my old letters would ramble,
I knew not how well to end them

if only the last one thought
to ask, 'where next to send them?'
_Exploding All the Time (How Much Now Was)_

dead idols take flight,
scurry, and scarper
while night
claims it's ownership
of anything left outright.

you're an advertisement
of your condition
all over the place

now you tell me
that you're exploding
all the time

if you weren't younger
in the past
just maybe
you'll be born at last.

has it been real?
the effort certainly felt.

do you cling to wonder?
do you care for needs?

do you dream of thunder
or
do you dream of deeds?

either or?
maybe both?

writers are

like bombs;
measured by impact
by shadowed influence
but ground zero
is the real crux
of difference.
a bomb will
be finished
in order
to be used.
a writing
will be used
to see what
wasn't finished.

a bomb lives on
as echoes,
as particular dirt,
as an atomic shunt,
as inverse response.

a writer lives on
in waves,
in delicate tissues,
in electric frames,
in perpetual aftermath.

provided of course
should anyone care
to notice.

sometimes
a bomb goes unnoticed,
buried in time
presumed a dud
all the years, ignored
and covered up in fears.
Moby Dick was
supposed to ruin
Herman Melville's career.
Emily Dickinson had
never claimed authorship
beyond a letter or two
to those close and dear.

just how
would you come to know
when your 'right way'
is what works for you
but not anyone else,
just you?

when exactly was
the other day?

just how
many discussions
did we table for 'later'?
because of how much now was?

second guessing
first impressions
a third time charmed
is my four-leaf clover.

don't tell me

i'm not scared

of what it takes

to start all over.
_Only a Moving Idea_

I hear voices out
of the corner of my ear.
I think they're talking
about me, my dear.
I'm getting out of here.
You can't stop me;
I'm so fucking done
with problems that weigh a tonne.

That's the way the story goes
in a hand-me-down world
where you end up toe-to-toe
or convinced that things end
and I guess in the end,
I only want friends that I know.

Sometimes I think I'll
watch my frontal lobes
go wild across the yard
if consequence of thought
is far it can't be hard

(to catch inhibitions
off their guard)

if you don't live enough to bleed
for some people your notion
of nothing is all they need.

There's words for goodness.
There's words for bad.
There's words for all
the things we never had.
There's no real living free,
there's only a moving idea
of who you want to be
as though it's rosalia!

-fin-

Mature Content

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_Killin' Villains for Top Billin'_

They're spillin' over each other to be killin'
villains for top billin'. They're in such a fit,
they'll pinch in their bit when they're willin',
they'll end up fever sick and on pennicillin

as though there's nothing more tender to be tillin'
as though you've got nothing left to improve skill in
as though you'll run out of land to put the fill in
as though the world's finally too hot for you to chill in.

Well hey! Don't you go thinking blame has much to do with it.
Just about everyone thinks they know how they'll go through with it
then they falter in the moment pretending they're not new with it
and then they resort to the violence of old just to screw with it

Well hey! Don't let the legacy of others be a legacy of hate
just because some tread a certain sprawl for decisions
before they dare to risk their curtain call on a rebate
they'll be banking their chips on your untimely division

so if you do anything, don't fuck around, copulate!
I'm putting a book or two together and hopefully the title(s) will be catchy; I'll be working on edits. Accessible works will be together, the experiments will come out of the lab on their own.

Don't know about any big publication but I should get at least a manuscript prepared. Can't leave my poems to other editors' final say and can't do that if I leave it too late.

So.

Back on the proverbial ... I guess.
  • Listening to: Days and Months are the Travellers of Eternity
  • Watching: out for the next step.
  • Playing: Terraria, Payday: The Heist, Borderlands 2
  • Eating: food

deviantID

shackell
JA Greene
Artist | Student | Literature
Current Residence: A triangular box (in a box (which is actually to the left of the slightly bigger box (in a box)))

Fav music genre: Anything that doesn't wear out after the first couple of listens

Fav art style: Evocative, Epiphanic, Estatic, Exemplary Erudite

OS: Default

Skin of choice: Flexible reptile scales don't measure up like they used to

Fav cartoon character(s): The Horse from Ren & Stimpy (and the eponymous), Sam & Max, Rocko, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Marvin the Martian, Invader Zim, GIR, Spike, Kamina & Simon

Personal Quote: Ignorance of the people is no excuse for law.
Interests

Journal History

Comments


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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2018   Writer
Thank you for the :+fav: on Eerie, Indiana.
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:iconshackell:
shackell Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2018  Student Writer
Thanks for sharing it
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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2018   Writer
Thank you for the little yellow star.
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:iconshackell:
shackell Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018  Student Writer
if only I could offer things of greater substance
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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2018   Writer
I appreciate the :+fav:.
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:iconshackell:
shackell Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2018  Student Writer
You are most welcome as that one rung a little too close to home for my recent years.
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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2011   Writer
yummmm typewriter cake
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:icon0o-elly-o0:
0o-elly-o0 Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2011

deviantART muro drawing Comment Drawing
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:iconshackell:
shackell Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2011  Student Writer
Much obliged. It's like a micro-organism overlaid light refraction.
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:iconcogongrass:
cogongrass Featured By Owner May 23, 2011
Thanks for the watch! (: It's much appreciated.
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