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avatar for ENG by shufflng avatar for ENG :iconshufflng:shufflng 1 0
She's Not There
Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the colour of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there!
Cruise cessation, smoking, and other things I've happily given up
There's always some sentiment to start with the beginning, yet at my age the beginning could be many years ago, with only thin strands connecting one important moment with another. Yet, in fairness, and with respect to the great mystery and wonder what comes with living our lives over time, even these little moments are memorable and important for their own reasons. The only thing to do is get to know how to put them together afterward, since they happened the way they happened in quite the spectacle in which they were lived.
This story has to do with change, that ever-constant which I, as a lifelong non-conformist, have bucked against for being that tired old adage we get handed from our parents to hand further down to our own kids. It seemed like such
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Mature content
Combination Locks -- First Passages :iconshufflng:shufflng 0 0
Western Epic Part 3
Chapter 6: Bandits Abroad
Outlaws rode during the infrequent sunsets, setting off gunpowder pistols and tipping over trash cans, hooting and hollering while they did it. Riding behind them on their black metallic steeds were women in loose clothing, torn and twisted by the swirling vortex of the bandit lifestyle. Some of them loved the freedom and the danger. Some of them had no choice.
They moved between settlements causing a ruckus and tried to draw the dumber, prouder townsfolk away to their campsite, hoping to kill and rob anyone so foolish as to follow them. They acted like kids at summer camp, moving from bunk to bunk and bullying around any snot-nose unwilling to defy the counselors. Some of the bandits spoke seriously, as though their missions were military in design and purpose. They growled intimidation into the ears of their closest friends and convinced them to continue the raid. There actually was no total-bandit leader. Sometimes crowds would consist of two or three diffe
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Western Epic Part 2
Chapter 4
Across the river, the general sifted through maps on the large combat table in the middle of the room. Engineers huddled at the edge of the table, bowed in a bit of submission.
"seriously, how long does it take to collate all these drawings?" he said, sliding a metal file into an aluminum waste basket.
"it's not like I have to promote him," he said. Perhaps the most literate and least creative creatures on the planet, General Parnassus had a penchant for pandemonium and was extremely paranoid. Everyone was always making a move against him and his army, and this required the most devastating response. "let him keep working, it's not like they'll stop paying him for being worthless, he was already pretty worthless when I told him to compile that book or maps, and they paid him then. Funny how lazy and unproductive a man can be when he knows he cannot die.  I'll see if I can't get him to kill himself when he brings me the finished copy and I show him your completed dra
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Western Epic Part 1
Of course. We provide free death, said the Indian chief
We even have a special mud pit for that. It's cheaper, we don't watch it as closely. Easier to slip away if you're not being watched.
The chief was calm as I walked with him, through the dry desert wind. We bore down against the mouth of death, talking freely and sincerely of doom.
It was satisfying to be at peace with my companion, at last.
The look-out over the horizon, past the buttes and the ragged dry, melting rocks, had a fierce serenity.  The fire in the chief's heart was the fire in my heart. Pure, and raging.
Chapter 1
The sheriff was known from time to time to visit the old mill on the outskirts of town, past the mine where the old potter fell down and died. The tomb the town erected for the potter kept the women from venturing further, leaving the tribe on the outskirts more free to trade with the men who ventured to the mill. Few men than the sheriff had the guns to instill enough courage to wander p
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Mature content
Entering the Den Unscathed :iconshufflng:shufflng 5 6
Orange Yang by shufflng Orange Yang :iconshufflng:shufflng 1 1
A Writer Like God
I could understand how hard it would be to be God. 
Hard, what do you mean?  Power supreme, the ability to do anything. What could be hard about that?
You're thinking about it all wrong. Rather than think about what you can do, think about what you have to do. God has to start from scratch, make every little detail.  The infinity of things he has at his disposal are really just an infinite number of decisions he has to make.  In a lot of ways writers are like God...
Oh, you're just saying that to be clever.
No, hear me out. Imagine this moment was just a scene in a book.  For us this coffee table exists, but for the reader it doesn't until it's mentioned by the writer.  He has the responsibility for every scratch of furniture in my apartment, to address it for everything it's worth.  You and I just take it for granted, and so will the reader unless the writer upholds his end of the bargain.
I don't like it.  Comparing a writer to God is a little
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Astral Projection Training
She sat on the ground across from him, cross-legged like he was in a classic meditation pose, mirroring him, down to the way he was posing his wrists on his knees with his forefinger touching his thumb and the rest of his fingers fanned out.  They breathed together, in through the nose and out through the mouth, silently attempting transcendence.  Just like he had told her, she allowed the thoughts in her mind to float by her, like clouds, acknowledging only their lining as they came close to her perception. This part was hardest for her, fighting the desire to think so hard all the time, to analyze each thing as it whizzed by. The first few times she had tried to meditate the thoughts whizzed by with incredible speed, like cars on a super highway.  He had told her it was her city living that had her mind wound so tightly, warned her that it would take a while to slow all that down, and told her to just be patient with it. It was worth it, he said. 
Now, when she cl
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Mature content
Black Swan :iconshufflng:shufflng 5 3
Mature content
Secrets of a Photographer :iconshufflng:shufflng 3 10
Tile and Fog
The shower stall was steaming more than it usually did that evening in Stef's stuffy apartment.  She'd been away for a couple of days and the floor had cooled in the cold snap they'd had while she was gone.  The heat seeped into the pores of the tile and slowly turned the whole stall into a murky morning mire, like her grandparents had seen in the old country when things were still simple.  As the fog rose up from the ground she was consumed by its swirling clouds, over which she stepped and stepped until she was walking through the meadow of her dreams.
Hiding in Ireland made it easier in these times.  She didn't have to look outside at nothing all day while the streets remained empty other than with the dead, or with children, of all ages.  The college nearby had been an early victim in the zombie attacks, proving that higher education was a breeding ground for more than just trustfund babies and hippies.  It also made zombi
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Not a Zombie Story Ch. 2
     Nolan didn't realize how close the zombies were when the warning came across the teleprompter.  It was a big break for this local newsman whose best story to date was covering the continuing case of the Nudist of Radcliffe Avenue.  The story itself wasn't even that compelling, just some guy who wanted to be naked all the time.  After a week no one even remembered the story, even though Naked Nathan continued his streak of consecutive weeks without a court-order to cease and desist.
     Not even the ornery judge Brown seemed too concerned with Nathan or his nudity.  He'd ordered the sheriff to send down a platoon of troopers to scoop him up and bring him to jail, but once they got there they all seemed not so interested in it.  Clearing his throat every few minutes or so, Nathan just stood there with a cool defiance, like Gandhi or God.  The sheriff's boys went back to the
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Not a Zombie Story
      People have settled into the city.  A few of them know that the zombie apocalypse is upon them, though the apocalypse will only be justifying their last twenty years of paranoia, not that anyone will call them on it after the dead rise up half-rotten and with a hunger for flesh.
      Preparing for Z-Day is easy enough to do.  Junkies are just as dangerous as the undead and they're everywhere in this strung-out part of town.  Hollywood has had a grip on the old zombie concept for too long now, contagion concerns are now as available as a big mac and just as stale as their super-sized french fries.  Making fall-away staircases is easy enough and just as safe as a normally nailed in stairway to people paying more attention than your average drooling ankle-biter.  The economic climate used to be enough to distract people from protecting themselves.  The legistlativ
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The Walls
The walls mock me in my own apartment
glaring at me naked and unpainted.
I have attempted to decorate the walls
but I have succeeded with little more
than thumbtack masturbations of my own
squandered genius.  The only emotion I
have any hope of evoking in my kitchen
or my bedroom is sadness, and if we're
being honest, is really rooted in pity.
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Thoughtful and endearing. The space of the prose gives you time to get lost; to get caught up in the details of the moment and allow th...



emotional professional
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
With the feeling of a wasteland, complete with death and intriguing inquiries about life, sleep, and the meaning of the desert all around.… Prologue, Chapters 1-3… Chapters 4-5… Chapters 6-8

I hope to make more, which I'm sure I will.  Something tells me the opinion of the community is what will take this story in the right direction.

There is usually a set course with my work.  I get started and I feel really great about the whole thing.  I get a few thousand words under my belt and then I start to lose control of it, unable to discern the worked-out pages with the ideas.

When I hit these famous roadblocks, I revert to the deviants I've come to know and love.
Those deviants who have anonymously helped me develop my style and overcome these blocks in creativity.

This is what I've written for the last week or so, and for it being a week I'm proud

For it being held up when it was on such a roll, I'm not so pleased,

Please tell me what you think about the pieces, about the characters (who's important to you, who's intriguing to you, whose peculiarities seem to reflect the best and worst of humanity most clearly, whatever you've got.)

I seem to have stepped on a landmine with this allegory, so I want some help scraping off the shrapnel.  All comments will be considered and potentially help turn this project from a fledgling comment into a complete satire, or better.

Thanks, for everything, whenever you gave it for whatever reason.  This has the chance to be my deviantART opus, so if you feel like you've participated and you'd like a cameo, I'd like to hear how you dress yourself before stepping in Doc Brown's time machine headed for 1885.
  • Listening to: Quiet Rage Radio (Pandora)
  • Reading: Pensces et Opulence
  • Watching: Eureka
  • Playing: Mass Effect 3/Borderlands 2
  • Drinking: Beefeater


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proudeyesneverlie Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2012
many thanks for the favourite ♥
proudeyesneverlie Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2012
thank you so much!
(1 Reply)
Scathach Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2012
Thank you for the fave, that's an incredible compliment.
enigmaticsmile Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave on "Auditor of the Ashes"!!
enigmaticsmile Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave on "Always the Coffee"
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