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About Literature / Hobbyist Erica OlligesOther/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
Of Pomegranates
If only angels looked upon our love,
But how they'd smile, giggling at us,
At this, though common, sighing from above;
Beauty's contained and found in all things just,
Delighting in the pomegranate's seed,
For you alone the meaning's not of lust,
For you, a mistress to your passion's need,
Admitting vulnerability,
Have taken comfort following in my lead.
Through moments of joy and uncertainty,
Euphoria and pain become our worlds,
And we revel or cry in commonality;
At night, unfettered, lie we both unfurled
In nylon, silk, and satin ecstasy,
As the master-mistress in our thoughts we're curled;
If only all life was such fantasy,
We'd still be standing high above the cove,
Instead, with trust our guide, we plunge towards destiny.
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Literature
Journey Through the Unknown
what is this folly so carelessly knighted by
way of a thrusting of swords through the heart's vessels?
washing the hands of attendants in blood from wounds
openly spewing from fountains of youthfulness;
end of a figure transfers to another the
hopelessness cloaking all efforts for change men try
bringing to earth, which has changed but position in
space and in time as it looms from eternal rest;
trapped in expiring forms which in dirt will lie
evermore now and forever consumed by all
worms and all plants which will grow to contented die,
how can a soul ever dream to achieve the moon?
still it will come with all reason and thought denied,
still it believes that the sun will be grasped but soon.
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Literature
Waters
A warm breeze rushes from the sea
Fantastic in its multiple facets
Of grey, red, and blue,
of a dim light from the lighthouse
shining through the palpable fog,
The sun gleams with its last rays
Upon the ever-changing movement of waves
And patterns of tides reaching the ends of the world.
What of these waters?
Be they a peaceful lake
Wide, steady, and serene?
Or perhaps various rivers
Streamed hither and thither
In scattered uniformity?
Are there raging rapids, bright reflections
Evoking the greatest awe?!
None of this! Such matters are simplistic!
The scattered ocean, multi-faceted under the red sunset,
The crescent wanderer, dwelling in the placid seas,
The waterfall in its living state
With a Moonbow shining at midnight's hour;
These are homes, seas for ages to come,
One hope is offered here:
To sink with one's vessel
And float in the passing current.
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Literature
Autumn
It was a weary autumn night,
Fruitless trees were rustling
Complaints of undermined might,
A chill wind was blowing
Under the illuminated sky, lighted
By a place far from sight, close in mind;
"It could almost be daylight,"
She said, for we stood together,
And although we both knew
It was true
Of this lonesome autumn night,
I was silent, she was still;
I spoke, "If daylight it is,
Then let us enjoy it,"
A flash of black, she had turned
Towards me with a smile
Unfolding across her face
As a butterfly its wings;
Another blinding flash, she had turned,
Her face was sullen, as though in mourning,
She was in mourning over something
Incomprehensible,
Many times I had asked her what this
Thing was, she would reply, when she did,
"Voids
       Filled with things that never were,"
So I said to her, as if out of a memory,
  "And never will be,
  But as long as we are,
  What do they matter?"
She smiled wanly
In acknowledgment, but we both knew nothing
Could be done;
So now it was my ch
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Literature
Entry II
In a land of wind and rain with
Skies of fire burning
Fiercely by the morning sun that
Rises to awaken
Souls, inspire minds to parting
From their worldly matters
Into this world's surreal imagery;
Skies of fire with lands
Of smoke and rain that intermingles
To create a misty haze,
Spreading over earthen
Soil, rock, mountain
Glowing in contrast with
The receding shadows,
Confused beams of light radiating
From mountains to the distance
'Tis the birth of  a thought!
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Literature
Entry
   My thoughts are of nothing and everything
   The distinction is irrelevant

Clarity
See the world as it is
An image, nothing more
Let the images blur
Into a single palpable form
Look past the creation
Fade into an abstraction
Enshroud the self in a surreal dream
Enter the mind
A world of wind and rain
With a blanket of sulfurous sands,
Of gusts unimaginable, stirring
      A dense spire of leaves reaching the heavens
Every gust is an offering to the sky
As the sands flit and spark
In the unyielding tornado of the skies
Magnificence
A pillar of fire
A pyre proclaiming the birth of a thought
With a sky of fire and a land blanketed in smoke
As rain gushes forth from an open wound
Within the fire above
Onto the surface charred
Of sulfurous lands baked in the sun
Of smoke settling below the fire
To contradict the sky, but more the laws
      Bounding reality.
:iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday
:iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday 0 3
Literature
Reflection of the Storm
    I stand in the still of an unnerving silence,
  A world without motion
  Sitting unconscious
      As stones lasting through time
  Guarding the secret of the past
To deteriorate only when it comes again
  The enchantment of their incomprehensible treasure
       To be released,
   To become again what is
  Apart from the intangible, unknowable void
   Of what was and shall be;
  In the undisturbed silence enclosing,
In a world without motion comes a glimpse
  Into a secondary realm,
   A reflection lasting
But seconds
   Before dissipating
      Under the treads of the inhabitants;
  But in these fleeting sights
   Is shown the still
     Affected by time's solemn progression
Solemn, in a wo
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A picture and nothing more by sharkoftheday A picture and nothing more :iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday 0 7
Literature
Mysticism
Wandering streets by light's artifice,
Empty, the mute air broken by testimony in the distance,
The sound of specters, regions encompassed
By illusory thoughts, obstructed
With pillars of powerful mortality
Reaching for divinity's state,
(Within the mind of man)
To fund the drug of existence indefinite.
"Folly"
A voice speaks in slow tones, each letter a distinction,
The sound is lost but rings within, as a profound truth
It echoes to immeasurable depths in knowledge's abyss,
A ripple disturbing the amniotic fluid of the lake's womb,
Daring to affect all regions, to reach
Under the gloom of an overlying fog.
"How deep was the shore unsettled?"
Drowning from this wayward journey,
A will departing from this worldly abode
Unaffected: Actions Constant; Lives Unchanged;
Distant memories of an era
Unbound, of recurrence
Subjective in contemplation,
Unvaried in presence.
A breeze perpetually intermittent
Stirs mute forms with half-truths,
Appeals to the half of the form wandering in dreams;
O
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Literature
The Hunter
The apparitional form with shadows cloaked
About as a thief voraciously stalking prey,
A wolf that roams the forest's furrows sulking,
Disturbing the pleasant dreams of sleeping fae;
A madness gleams from light between the brush
In wild eyes, reflects this demon's hull,
A shade, it stalks the victim beneath the hush
That fell upon the tenebrous earth, a minstrel
Proclaiming the deeds of dead and fallen souls
With quiet brooding, breathing life to fear,
The cursed fog to spread through streets, enclosing
The innocent without defense, to sear;
       A hunter closes in, it strikes in rage;
       Tonight there dies, a sacrifice, the image.
:iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday
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Literature
The Invaluableness Of A Fool
How does one value a fool?
Their measure of worth is not quite understood;
Irreplaceable on the world which they pace,
After all, only once will shine such a face;
Their importance cannot begin to be fathomed,
Such lofty purpose that it's lost even to its own;
So, before shouting another to be of such rot,
Consider first what a treat it must be in the lot!
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Literature
Doppelganger
.            Shadows trod upon ground obscure
              Steady paces placed on uncertainty
                   Chance and fate a guiding force
                For the shadows lost in this forest
                                     Existing in days of sleep
                                  And nights of wakefulness
         They hide when exposed, being left unseen
                    But then in the hour of their element
     Feel vulnerable in body when their soul is free
                        To come alive and adjoined
                   To oneself; No longer to mimic
                    The object of longing and fear;
                            Instead, in light they walk
                                          In restless sleep
    Denying the self hidden behind every step
                                             Yet forever   
             These shadows mimic this doppelgänger,
             Living falsely under a romantic's comfort
  And when revelation's deceptive e
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False? by sharkoftheday
Mature content
False? :iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday 4 17
Mature content
Untitled Love :iconsharkoftheday:sharkoftheday 1 14
Literature
Fade
sitting by the window
legs crossed
with a face
resting  ...  lightly
in a supportive hand,
listening
to repetition:
calm
pattering
patterns
falling
softly
sequentially
subtly —
escape,
blur
and dissolve
into the surroundings,
lost to others
found by the world,
never to be seen
except by those
who look
and find;
fade
      a
    w
  a
y
A poet looks on the ground to find his Muse waiting for him.
He is suddenly taken captive, enthralled in the beauty in which she steps.
She lifts her hand slowly, motioning him to come.
He follows readily, as if the steps are not his own and the movements are in response; he is still.
He is detached from reality and walks into a dream of lands mystical in wonder.
His figure fades into the earth surrounding as he walks through an ethereal dream.
The Poet dissipates in the tangible surroundings;
They become one.

The world is suspended in time, it is motionless
 Except for a random, surreal fall,
  Systematically proceeding.
Reality dissolves into a
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Literature
Path of Ghosts
On a path few travel intently
Steps a figure in this evening's morn,
Feet fall softly and caress gently
The forsaken ground
     Where venture the forlorn
Where souls are lost and found,
Away from the golden boughs,
Beyond the woods where laughter is abounding
From faeries and nymphs resounding
Within the living forest;
Beyond, in the land of passage,
Where the light turns a different shade,
Where the laughter never echoes,
And the moods become passive;
Here is found a lone shadow.
She treads lightly with each step carefully planned,
Taking her stand between the gray and shadow,
Every movement shown beforehand
By her significant other,
And, in this profane journey, her only friend.
Fade out from this world's meadow,
It will not matter anymore;
She will merely join the rest
Walking anxiously through this door,
For she had long ago realized she was just another shadow
Mimicking every move of her doppelgänger,
However flat it meant everything to her,
Though obscur
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Random Favourites

Mature content
body :icondarknessupon:darknessupon 2 12
Literature
Completely Half-Way
I'm hopeless,
wandering through corridors
I've already wandered,
and thinking of changes
I've already pondered,
Hoping that maybe,
this time, the outcome would be different.
That I would not find myself,
trapped at a dead end,
that you'd give your heart to me,
and my own would mend.
But I've nothing left to give,
my insides left bare,
if it is not me you need,
Please, my heart do spare.
Don't tell me things you don't mean,
things you do not feel,
despite what you may have thought,
my heart is not steal
No longer will I wander,
through corridors I know,
love me completely,
or completely let me go.  
:iconpeppermint981:peppermint981
:iconpeppermint981:peppermint981 7 21
Mature content
Swear To Me :iconsoul-of-fire:Soul-Of-Fire 3 7
Literature
Random Song
She said she was tired
of this whole image war,
"The magazines
and the beauty queens,
All slaves to the masses"
He tried not to laugh
As she sang,
Another random song
As she trailed off
Falling asleep on the phone
She said she was tired
of feeling like this,
"The anxiety
and the complexity,"
She just needed to cry,
Then she would be fine
Then she would be okay
He tried not to interrupt
As she sang,
Another random song
As she ranted again
Long into the school-night
She said she was tired
of wasting her time with words,
"the "grammatically correct"
and the useless structure"
she just needed to sing
Another Random Song
:iconblushingsilly07:blushingsilly07
:iconblushingsilly07:blushingsilly07 7 30
Literature
What Am I?
I am something that is nothing;
To deceive until the end
I am but a shadow of the meadow;
Who never shows the face
I am lost without a cause;
No dreams, no hopes, no trust is because
I am a cry among the lie;
Hear me yell, hear me scream hear me not it will seem
I am as dark as the night;
Dancing shadows throughout the dark
I am as bright as the light;
Fear me not for I am right
I am a dove that flutters high;
So pure, so sweet, so fair, watch me despair
I am a moth that splutters and dies;
Watch me fly high then fall and cry
Who knows what I am
I am a mystery among men
I am the devil
I am the angel
I am the divine
I am at a lost from the mind
Watch me escape from reality
And fall into my fantasy
I will never mend
Until this madness ends…
:iconLostBlueDreams:LostBlueDreams
:iconlostbluedreams:LostBlueDreams 3 5
Literature
Sociopath
Might I describe of what wants to be -
Me in flash of golden grotesque,
Parade of flowering gentle sweets of thrash –
Devine bliss of purity gone once they clash.
Touché.  They say.  One or twice, as I –
Fall yonder, beyond the dreaming world,
My mind.  Caught thrice! Through –
Withered fields.  Like darkened sky.
They ask for morals.  I say nay, the bleeding –
truth is I have nought but love for the freedom.
Strange, unusual, different, idiosyncratic,
They reply.  Random thoughts stray from
the mind.  What I see, is what I get.  Nothing –
to expect.  Faith in love, faith in Christ. Gone,
filth, evaporated.  Died along with my urge to
Fly away.  But I lived, you vision, happiness.
But once upon a time I was, you vision, in –
peace.  Then my heart froze.  Closed. Locked,
away.  Gone to stray.  Here I stand, alone, on the
bend, thinking of
:iconLostBlueDreams:LostBlueDreams
:iconlostbluedreams:LostBlueDreams 9 18
Literature
Eternity at 5am
These nights have not been long, they're timeless,
Stretching out over past, present, future.
I draw the quilt over my head to shut out
Darkness, demons and all forms of life.
Falling into
Nights of induced half-sleep with
Covers over head and heat
Forming a womb-like enclosure in which
To dream vividly of matters too great (and obscure)
To speak of in detail.
Waking takes hours in "real time" and
A lifetime to my mind, yet it still occurs
As sunlight flows in
Subdued to a warm red glow by the curtains.
I press and inspect my arms,
Startled to find something as tangible as flesh
After spending so long
In a world I'm part of but cannot touch.
The reverse of the daytime realm which
I can touch but
Play no part in.
:iconNotEntirelyMe:NotEntirelyMe
:iconnotentirelyme:NotEntirelyMe 2 10
Literature
Cacophany
What do you want when you read any poem?
Should it sound like those in an ancient tome;
And have flowing patterns of chiming rhymes,
With a constant meter and length of lines?
Would you like lovely lies of love lit eyes
And finds of floral features in her guise?
Or should I stop and break into cacophony?
Add harsh, stiff, piercing terminology,
Talk of darkness, death, your soul being rent;
Heartbreak causing shame and hatred and blame.
And I'll break from my patterns - confuse your expectations
Of this poem by ending in
The wrong places and putting rhymes inside the lines, but not at the ends.
But maybe you'd like that, and I'd hate pleasing you.
So I'll just keep rhyming by adding shoe.
Go back to my meter of gentle rolls,
That you might recite on your daily strolls;
Or maybe you'd ignore on most nights.
But I'll stay here, because that's how I write.
:iconRamuel:Ramuel
:iconramuel:Ramuel 30 115
Waking Up Beside You by Katerina423
Mature content
Waking Up Beside You :iconkaterina423:Katerina423 489 519
Literature
everything
let me be blind
and imagine that i'm everything,
because imagination can make up
for everything that reality lacks.
it's so easy to just pretend, and
if the acting is good enough,
we'll never know the difference.
if i try my hardest,
perhaps i can deafen my ears as well
so i won't have to hear her name
leave your mouth as it whispers in my ear.
in those wishes, i am just selfish...
tell me: maybe i should be mute
so that you can pretend too,
and the shrill sounds of my voice
won't destroy the spell of your fantasy?
:iconsHAttEreDpoEteSs:sHAttEreDpoEteSs
:iconshatteredpoetess:sHAttEreDpoEteSs 2 10
Literature
Snowfall Dances
Settling softly
A graceful fall
Pirouetting in crystal air
A dance of elegance
Lost in the multitude
Ended by the earth's firm kiss.
The snowflake sinks
Into a bed of brethren
Becomes one with all
Singularity surrendered
To join the Drift
In blissful anonymity.
Motionless
That which was
Lies silent
Smothered and smothering
Awaiting thaw
And Spring's release.
One wonders
Does it now regret
The fall from grace
Abandoning its dance
Or does it slumber, fury faded
Knowing peace at last?
:iconsaladin:saladin
:iconsaladin:saladin 40 74
Literature
Night
NIGHT
Gaze into the night and embrace the dark
Breathe deeply and let it consume your being
Swirling around in a thick, sweet fog
Ensnaring your senses completely
Let it take control, as you transcend all barriers
Becoming one with the song of the night
Gather the stars and hold them close
For you are now one with the dark
~Ethereal Maybe
:iconEtherealMaybe:EtherealMaybe
:iconetherealmaybe:EtherealMaybe 1 3
Literature
Rebel Angel
She whispered her passion
With the heat of a scream
I pretended not to notice
As her reality became a dream
She told me she would catch me
Only she's too close to the ground
So she referred me to an angel
Who wasn't quite so bound
       Oh earth angel,
Your frowns are like thorns
God must've been in a rebel mood
When he tied on your wings
       Oh rebel angel,
Your song is hardcore
God must've been in a rebel mood
When he sent you
      To me
:iconblushingsilly07:blushingsilly07
:iconblushingsilly07:blushingsilly07 1 20
Literature
Tears
Each tear a story
Each story a memory
Each memory as
Unforgiving as the previous one.
Filling my eyes
Blurring my vision
Making it near impossible
To see the face that is talking to me.
Blinking constantly,
Trying to drain the
Liquid pain from my eyes.
Each tear falling,
Running down  my face,
Falling to my breast
And seeping into my shirt.
Each tear leaving its mark.
So many have fallen that
I have lost count.
The marks now blend together
Joining in reminding me of
Why they started falling in the first place.
Each tear stinging,
Leaving a stronger discomfort
As they fall.
Oh how I long for your hand
To wipe away the tears
From my salt stained cheeks.
But I can be selfish no longer.
These are my tears,
My burden.
:iconSahale:Sahale
:iconsahale:Sahale 2 0
Literature
Night, Take Me
Night, take me
Enfold me in your loving arms
Caress me as a lover would
Make me feel less lonely
I'm so alone
And you're the only one
I would sing a thousand praises in your name
If I only knew what that name was
:icongothfey:gothfey
:icongothfey:gothfey 1 23

Activity


I tried coming back at the wrong time. I basically came back and saw jark was no longer an admin. I read of what was going on (I am a jark watcher so I read his "conspiracy theories" which he wrote after his removal). I found Jark's sentiments to be echoed by many others concerned with the state of DA (some of whom were conveniently removed). I left as soon as I came. Basically I think I now have the energy to leave DA be. Whether it was this bad beforehand (before jark was fired) I'm not sure, but I have seen how things have fallen apart since. Goodbye.
-Laura-

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sharkoftheday's Profile Picture
sharkoftheday
Erica Olliges
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States

Comments


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:iconsharkoftheday:
sharkoftheday Featured By Owner Oct 10, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
I'm not sure...I'm not even sure why I'm here right now.

Have you ever tired of receiving endless praise and not one line of criticism?
Reply
:iconaxterxes:
Axterxes Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2004
I feel very little commenting in general on my own work, but it's enough; Praise can be tiring, yes...almost like being in the heat of the summer all year long, and never getting the satisfaction of a passing car spraying you with a puddle of muddy water in the winter and having to feel cold and rained in.
I suppose it's because the truth about people comes out when they are most lonely, even in the midst of a crowd of lovers. I feel lonely when I don't have an active OTHER talking and breaking up my creative side, I lose momentum, my ego-if there is one- turns to mush...but all in good time, you'll lose the skin and shine in a new one.

I'll tell you one thing, I've never seen a real reason to criticize anything, because it is hopelessly unreal to try and comitt order to creation, creation has no perfection or order,thus no criticism is REAL to me, it has no weight for what I do, it changes nothing of my productions except my ego-if there is one, again- which is affected..

i could criticize you for not being here more often. it makes you blend into the background when you do that, not good.
Reply
:iconsharkoftheday:
sharkoftheday Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
'Tis true creation has no order, but all our life is perspective; the past, future, and present are maintained as not existing except in our minds (thus, as i argue, we exist in the state that we exist). Because everything is viewed subjectively and, consequently, with bias, insight or even criticism provide the side from a person detached from the work. It has nearly the same effect as coming back 6 months to a year later and reading the poem again, the view is more detached so, even though it is subjective, the bias of attachment is reduced and perhaps even replaced with the bias of further experience, although that is not necessarily a good thing.

nothing is real to me. at times it is hard enough to convince myself that i exist; others that this world exists. it is nearly impossible to believe that this grew out of simple-minded beings who discovered fire to bring warmth. The first man was lucky. If it was possible for this person to have lofty thoughts, which without as formal a system of language is inconceivable as to how, it would have been much easier for this person to believe that everything existed. Maybe not that she/he existed, but that the world around them existed, because they had to battle it with much less defenses as we have built today. (Yet the notion stays the same, seek shelter in a rain storm because its cold out!)

Anyway, I have not been here because for once everything didn't seem to matter here. When a shadow is faced with reality and the passage of time, it perceives its own existence. Going back to school, I had to exit out of one dream to eventually enter another (it doesn't feel like a dream yet), but in the time before this new state of sleep is acheived, when the shadow is a figure with dimension and aware of its surroundings, all things that are but faceless shades become unimportant and remind the figure that it is just another shadow lost in the night.

By being in others' conscious awareness here, i sacrifice being conscious of my own life and take time away from things that are already stretched and strained.

Yes, being in a crowd of lovers (friendships included) just makes me feel more lonely and, bearing no other being to speak with, i turn in word and thought to my dearest, beloved f(r)iend who has always been at my side...Death. Of course, it is demonic at the moment that it plagues one's thoughts and authoritative when it demands respect, but otherwise pleasant company and a worthy muse.

...Speaking of muses (I've missed rambling in case you have not noticed by now) it's disturbing to think that as much as i despise western religion, if i were not raised as a church-going catholic then i would lose probably a third of my inspiration (by way that my dislike and part misconception, part perception of hypocrisy, especially of the light, was also related to religion).
Lastly, Moneer, i doubt you know this, but nearly every word you have written has had an effect on me upon coming back to look at them more detached from present conceptions. With that fog lifted or perhaps with the opportunity to reflect consciously and subconsciously, the meaning of the words becomes clearer and...i'm not sure. The proverb, those who worship fire but are afraid to be burned are like the pilgrim lost in the woods. It shows that we can never truly know ourselves, because there is always something that we cannot stand up towards. I realized how much i had lost my sense of self and have since attempted to find it again.
Reply
:iconlillycalin:
lillycalin Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2004
good for you for knowing so much about yourself and being open about it so young :)
Reply
:iconlivingpoetsociety:
livingpoetsociety Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2004   Writer
Reply
:iconshadowofwhoiam2b:
ShadowOfWhoIAm2b Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2004
Hi! I'm from ~WeCritique.
I've read Phantasm, Clay-Molded World, and Hope of the Damned and I've skimmed Winter Nymph, Without Title and Desecration.
In my opinion, you're greatest strength is your diveristy. You are very talented in many different forms and styles. Overall, your poetry is wonderful, and can appeal to any sort of reader. You're very talented. Keep up the amazing work.
Reply
:icondarkcrescendo:
darkcrescendo Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the watch.

I hope you enjoy yourself!

Benedictions
Reply
:iconstupidgit:
StupidGit Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2004
:peace: Hello Neighbor! You're the closest to me on all of dA! :hug:
Reply
:iconsharkoftheday:
sharkoftheday Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
On what street are you located?
Reply
:iconstupidgit:
StupidGit Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2004
LaCosta Ct... it's offa Stoney Brook Dr?

You?
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