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About Literature / Artist Senior Member Stephen R. SmithMale/Canada Group :iconthecabalists: TheCabalists
 
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Deviant for 13 Years
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Literature
AOK
In a world seemingly filled with hate and random acts of violence.Love, and commit your own random acts of kindness.
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 2 4
Literature
Elephant Shoes
I stand in the doorway, an invisible force for the moment stopping me from going any further.
Arthur, ever the watchful companion, lifts his head and looks right at me, ears perked up, tail wagging, gently thump-thump-thumping against the bedspread.
She sleeps.
With feet like lead, I manage the distance from the door to the edge of the bed, where I stop again, rooted.
This is as close I will get.
I thought I'd forgotten the gentle curve of her cheekbones, her hair absently tucked behind her ear even when she sleeps. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, the way she tucks the duvet in between her knees.
I can almost smell her hair.
How long can this last?
Arthur lays on his back now, looking at me upside down, his jowls giving in to gravity and his teeth exposed in a funny inverted smile.
He huffs, and she stirs, eyes opening sleepily.
I'm lost in a sea of amber-flecked green.
Please, let this last.
The expression on her face changes. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm a million
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 24 27
Literature
Retroactive Futurism
Jodi pushed open Jane's door, knocking while it was already swinging inwards and waited until it had closed behind her before speaking.
"Next Tuesday at quarter past noon he'll have stopped Bob McKibbon's heart." The announcement was followed by a left-handed flick of fingers down her right forearm towards Jane's desktop, the bits of data that comprised the intel briefing making the leap across the office to the mid-air display where it hovered for review.
"Christ, that's the third one of these this quarter," Jane scanned the document top to bottom, making notes in an action plan as she went. "We're going to have to go back a few years on this one too, increase junk food intake, sugar, closet alcohol consumption, we can't bend the timeline in any way that will require affecting anyone else's," She pushed back from the desk, turning her attention to Jodi, "do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass this guy's becoming?"
"As long as he's in the pole position, we retroactively jus
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 33 46
Literature
Art Medium
Rebecca stood in the middle of her little gallery and surveyed her work. She'd hoped her recent direction was going to be different, maybe spark some kind of reaction from this sleepy little town, but the series hadn't gotten anything more than polite smiles. 
Not one piece had sold. She should never have left Chicago.
Her mournful reverie was broken with a crash, as her boyfriend barreled through the front door struggling with the apparent weight of a large plastic bucket.
"Becc, you've gotta see this stuff," he deposited the pail heavily at her feet, causing thick liquid to splash over the sides, "it's from that meteorite we saw hit the woods."
Rebecca surveyed the bucket of viscous, deep coloured liquid, and the splatters across the barnboard floor and her sandal-clad feet, a mix of anger and distaste brewing at the back of her throat.
"Lewis," she started slowly, "what have...," she paused, the sudden urge to touch the liquid replacing her annoyance, and she plunged one hand i
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 7 5
Literature
No Place Like Home
Bennett stood out on the sweeping plateau of rock a mile above the ocean and watched as the planet's orange sun dipped below the horizon.
Beneath him, miles upon miles of tunnels and caverns carved out of the living rock by a hive of the planet's indigenous flying insects. They hummed now with server equipment, quantum stores of data and wealth from across the charted and inhabited worlds, kept safe here for the rich from prying eyes, and the tax siphons of planetary governments.
As darkness descended, he strolled back inside, the massive glass doors rolling closed, sealing him inside for the night.
In the middle of the large lounge, on his way to the kitchen, he passed the feature reminder of his company's conquest of this place. The once blistered, but now polished to a high shine ruby red shell of the presumable queen of the nest of insects that had once called this space home. Its multi-segmented torso curled into a tight ball, wings, legs, and all outer extremities burned off as t
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 4 11
Literature
Worker 'B'
Jodie climbed into the passenger seat of the big sedan, the door closing itself with enough force to remind her never to leave anything in its way too long.
Jacko was already behind the wheel, flipping switches and bringing the old turbine engine to life, mumbling the startup sequence under his breath.
She twisted the rearview mirror to make sure her facemask was still in place and caught a glimpse of B sitting in the back seat. She blinked, then reached and tried to hold the mirror steady, but everything was vibrating and trying to focus on him made her nearly vomit.
She pushed the mirror back towards Jacko and opened the window, breathing the cold morning air and the thick smell of aviation exhaust.
"What's the deal with him?", she waved a thumb back over her shoulder, not taking her eyes of the horizon, "he creeps me out."
Jacko, having gotten the massive engine settled into a steady throbbing squared himself in the seat and pushed both throttle sticks forward before answering. The
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 4 11
Literature
The Kiev Metaphor
Walter moved purposefully around his small kitchen, pulling out bottles and tins, each marked with black ink on hastily applied white labels. Jasika read them while he worked; garlic powder, dried dill weed, flour and bread crumbs, and a jug of what looked like cooking oil beside fresh lemons and a strange leafy vegetable she didn't recognize.
"Parsley," Walter said, "here, beat these with some water". He handed her two brown shelled eggs, and a moment later a ceramic bowl and whisk.
Walter turned his attention to a plate of raw chicken breasts, which he dutifully pounded flat as paper, before depositing a stick of frozen butter in the middle of each and carefully wrapping the meat around it.
"Do you cook?" Jasika shook her head. She boiled noodles a lot, mixing in packets of tofu or dried meat and powdered sauce, never anything like this.
"This helps me think" small pieces of bamboo were being carefully inserted into the meat and butter, preventing it from unraveling. "I've been tryin
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 3 8
Literature
A Song in the Static
Dmitri shuffled through the crowd, his handler's grip tight on his elbow. Someone had draped a jacket over his hands, tightly zip tied as they were in front of him, presumably to stop onlookers from becoming anxious.
"When you're on the plane, we'll release you," a voice in his ear, "you'll be a free man when you arrive on your home soil."
He'd come to this country as a young man, recently wed, and with a young child not yet walking.
There were no opportunities in his country for people with his talent, and the intelligence community here paid well for what he could see.
He spent years in virtual, surfing the netstream, a constant flood of real-time information jacked right into his brain, sifting through raw data identifying patterns the AI's could not see.
There had been complications from the ocular implants, and his optic nerves were burned out, leaving him blind in the real world, but he never noticed as he was constantly immersed in the vibrant colours of the virtual. He had been
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 2 10
Literature
Illusion of Choice
Dax found his usual seat in the back corner of the cafeteria and unpacked his lunch.
He laid out a sandwich, a can of iced coffee, and an orange on the table in front of him, then fished a lock-blade knife from his jacket pocket and set about peeling the orange.
"Hey, army kid!"
There were snickers, and Dax looked up to see a crowd of the school football team gathered behind their quarterback.
"I'm not an army kid," Dax continued slicing the orange, drawing the knife blade from pole to pole, reducing it to equal sized wedges.
"Well, you lost your arms didn't you?" Again the laughter and the boys exchanging high-fives and shoulder punches in amusement.
"It was an accident, just leave me alone." Finished with the orange, he rested his hands on the table, still holding the knife.
"They look pretty real army kid, I heard they tore off at the shoulders, that must have been gross!"
Dax twitched visibly, the memory of a summer job cleaning metal fabricating equipment, and a machine that jolte
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 8 6
Literature
Eternal Vacancy
She placed the order online, as she had done before. No credit checks anymore, no profiling questions, just pick a time and a place, and the service guaranteed her date would be on-time and appropriate.
She showered and partially dressed before curling her hair and applying makeup, poured a drink, then another while watching the clock grind slowly towards seven. With just a few minutes to spare, she slipped on her dress, stepped into her shoes and opened the door on the third knock, holding the handle through the first two.
She was sure he was handsome, though she didn't pay much attention as she stepped onto the front landing, closing the door behind her. She let him guide her by her elbow down the steps to the curb where what she was sure passed for an impressive sedan waited. He opened the door, waited while she lowered herself into the passenger seat, then closed it behind her.
There was chatter while he navigated into the city, opting to pilot the vehicle himself rather than rely
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 4 21
Literature
Disassociation
Darlene remained in her body through dinner, Jocelyn having prepared Osso Buco, and a strawberry flan for dessert, so it was worth listening to Arnold's self-indulgent rantings about his business to enjoy the food in person.
She uplifted somewhere between coffee and his fifth or sixth scotch in the study, leaving the auto-assistant she'd configured to drive her flesh while she occupied herself with other things.
Once she was fully present in the estate system, the fog of too much wine evaporated, and she stretched out to monitor all the tasks she'd been spawning since she first figured out how to circumvent Arnold's security systems.
She checked in periodically on her flesh, watching through the surveillance cameras as her husband's motor functions became less controlled, and admiring with perhaps a little too much pleasure how natural the reactions of her flesh were without her, the nods, and smiles, and occasionally murmured phrases when a question was asked to keep him talking and p
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 5 15
Literature
ReMax, Some Conditions Apply
Max had started the day with anti-anxiety medication, some painkillers, and a mild sedative. He was so relaxed that the nurse had to practically pour him into a wheelchair to get him down to the transfer station for the procedure.
"Morning Maxwell", one of the gowned and masked personnel in the brightly lit room spoke. Nobody was looking at him, so he had no idea who was speaking.
The nurse coaxed him to his feet, stripped off his gown and eased him back onto a slightly reclined board that softened and molded to his body as he was leaned into it. The nurse applied pressure with both hands on his shoulders until he had sunk halfway into the warm, enveloping material, then he did the same with his hips, arms, and legs, turning away only when Max was held firmly in place.
There was a flurry of activity just beyond his peripheral vision, and then another person similarly entrapped in a wall of black goo was swung around to face Max, their bodies just a few feet apart.
Max started as he rec
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 3 17
Literature
Starlight
Manik pulled up to the curb, powered down the engine and looked across the dusty roadway at the diner.
As if on command, the neon sign over the doorway sputtered to life, strobing weakly at first before coming on strong, 'Starlight' in deep blue over 'Restaurant' in brilliant orange, with a sky-blue arrow underlining both before turning up toward the night sky.
Reflexively he looked up and down the roadway before crossing, a precaution hardwired from youth, wasted for more years than he cared to count.
The door put up a little resistance, the detritus of neglect drifting against it over time, but once he pulled it clear he was able to step inside, and the door closed easily behind him.
Inside it never changed.
The long low diner counter down the left side, stools topped in polished vinyl, the laminate surface trimmed in chrome, screwed neatly along the edge at regular intervals. Behind the counter, several dozen bottles filled a small, tiered back-bar, a black bottle of Hendricks Gin f
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:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 5 28
Literature
LV4
Yosun blinked in the afternoon sun, the viewport on her hazmat suit filtering the harsh UV rays but doing little to reduce the glare.
Her shuttle had settled a few hundred meters from the blast site, the ground compressed into a large bowl almost thirty meters across. Ignition had been seconds before impact, the containment shell having been detonated above the ground to maximize its effect.
Nothing would have survived this.
The damage near ground zero was complete, there were no structures, no bodies, no signs of life. As Yosun walked away from what had been the center of the settlement, signs of what had been a self-sustaining research colony slowly began to appear. Shrapnel from the prefab structures the crew had been sent here with, vehicle debris, fragments of the familiar blue and yellow supply containers from what would have been the landing zone, the remains larger and more defined the further she went.
It was nearly twenty minutes walk before there was any biological detritus.
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 8 18
Literature
The Folding Hack
Erik heard them in the lobby, dividing up the elevators and the stairwells. He owned the building's cameras and their audio.
The Situation Commander barked orders. Under no circumstances was the hacker known as 'HvnSvn' to be allowed to escape. Under no circumstances was he to be killed.
He was safe.
A streaming waterfall of data cascaded over the displays before him. This was old school. Nobody appreciated the living artwork that was other peoples’ lives being stolen from one place and delivered to another in a sea of glyphs even a child could see the beauty of.
This was a personal piece of performance art, in the stolen vacation property of a media mogul.
As the last bit crossed the threshold, the system began to eat itself. Portals forced open collapsed, tunnels caved in, pathways of light dissolved into darkness.
They were in the hall now. He could feel the thunder of boots through the soles of his bare feet on the polished granite floor.
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 4 12
Literature
A Question of Love
The first cut may have been accidental,
The tenth, evidence of your carelessness?
A thousand cuts in, I’m beginning to see a pattern.
All I know for certain is the hurt is beginning to show.
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 14 13

Random Favourites



Remembering Rosella P Douglas-Lewis, leyghan who passed away a year ago today - Tuesday, January 30, 2018 at the age of 41 from a bilateral pulmonary embolism at her home in St. Kitts.

I hope the universe is treating you well Rosie, wherever you are.
:heart:

“Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.”

"It was in love I was created, and in love is how I hope I die"
Paolo Nutini
  • Drinking: Coffee!

Activity


In a world seemingly filled with hate and random acts of violence.
Love, and commit your own random acts of kindness.
AOK
Be the change you want to see in the world.
It's not just a cliché, it's an operational imperative.
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Remembering Rosella P Douglas-Lewis, leyghan who passed away a year ago today - Tuesday, January 30, 2018 at the age of 41 from a bilateral pulmonary embolism at her home in St. Kitts.

I hope the universe is treating you well Rosie, wherever you are.
:heart:

“Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.”

"It was in love I was created, and in love is how I hope I die"
Paolo Nutini
  • Drinking: Coffee!
I stand in the doorway, an invisible force for the moment stopping me from going any further.

Arthur, ever the watchful companion, lifts his head and looks right at me, ears perked up, tail wagging, gently thump-thump-thumping against the bedspread.

She sleeps.

With feet like lead, I manage the distance from the door to the edge of the bed, where I stop again, rooted.

This is as close I will get.

I thought I'd forgotten the gentle curve of her cheekbones, her hair absently tucked behind her ear even when she sleeps. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, the way she tucks the duvet in between her knees.

I can almost smell her hair.

How long can this last?

Arthur lays on his back now, looking at me upside down, his jowls giving in to gravity and his teeth exposed in a funny inverted smile.

He huffs, and she stirs, eyes opening sleepily.

I'm lost in a sea of amber-flecked green.

Please, let this last.

The expression on her face changes. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm a million miles away. I recognize the look of sleepy confusion, and I know, tomorrow, if we could sit on the balcony drinking coffee together, she'd describe that space between waking and sleeping where she tries to hold onto the dream, to write it down on some non-volatile part of her brain to deconstruct later.

But I won't be here in the morning.

This is as close as I'll get.

"I love you", I say.

She can't possibly hear me, but still, her mouth moves in reply and I can almost hear her voice as she says, "elephant shoes too."

It's a private joke.

I feel my heart breaking first, then a tug at the base of my spine and I'm yanked backward through the doorway, then the wall in the hall into the living room. Arthur rounds the corner at a gallop, he can sense the terror I'm feeling as I leave him at the patio doors, out and up, the grass receding, the giant sycamore tree in the yard.

Then the clouds.

The edge of the atmosphere.

The sucking void of space.

The rest is a blur, the distance we covered as a crew so carefully, so patiently to end up here, gone by now in an instant.

I wonder as I'm pulled through the cockpit windshield and snapped back unceremoniously into my body if the rest of the crew shared the same experience.

I'd ask them if I could.

But I can't.

I close my eyes, the blinding fireball of the star that's caught us in its inescapable grip searing into my brain.

My last thoughts are of a sea of amber-flecked green, of elephant shoes.
Elephant Shoes
From Wikipedia: Flash Fiction - 'Flash fiction differs from vignettes in that the works contain the classic story elements: protagonist, conflict, obstacles or complications, and resolution. However, unlike a traditional short story, the limited word length often forces some of these elements to be unwritten, that is, hinted at or implied in the written storyline.'

In the case of 365tomorrows - Flash Fiction is a story of ideally 500 words, and since the 3rd year a 600 word maximum.
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Jodi pushed open Jane's door, knocking while it was already swinging inwards and waited until it had closed behind her before speaking.

"Next Tuesday at quarter past noon he'll have stopped Bob McKibbon's heart." The announcement was followed by a left-handed flick of fingers down her right forearm towards Jane's desktop, the bits of data that comprised the intel briefing making the leap across the office to the mid-air display where it hovered for review.

"Christ, that's the third one of these this quarter," Jane scanned the document top to bottom, making notes in an action plan as she went. "We're going to have to go back a few years on this one too, increase junk food intake, sugar, closet alcohol consumption, we can't bend the timeline in any way that will require affecting anyone else's," She pushed back from the desk, turning her attention to Jodi, "do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass this guy's becoming?"

"As long as he's in the pole position, we retroactively justify his futures. That's the gig, nobody said it was going to be easy." Jodi softened. "Look, I know it's a shitshow, but you're the best at this, if anyone can restring his timelines so he doesn't destroy himself and the party, you can."

Jane pulled up a list of pending events, spinning the display around so Jodi could see.

"It was bad enough when he was firing intelligence staff," she started, "re-engineering the history of spooks who are trained to recognize when their timelines have been distorted was an invitation for disaster, but that just needed to hold up to administrative review. Retroactively creating health conditions to cover deaths, that has to stand up to coroner scrutiny, and that's an entirely different level of sophistication and detail."

Jodi surveyed the office, noted the absence of anywhere to sit and so stood shifting her weight from foot to foot as she replied.

"This can't go on forever, you know that. His term will expire, the mantle will be passed to someone else, hopefully, someone who isn't just another petulant child, and we'll get back to reworking foreign governments, and de-escalating conflicts in far-off countries, just like the good old days." She smiled, not entirely confident he wouldn't somehow secure another term before common sense and decency made an inevitable return to the administration.

An urgent action item popped to the top of the list on Jane's display, and both women studied it in stunned silence.

"He can't really think he can push this through," Jane's voice was clearly strained, "aren't there safeguards on rewriting electorate laws? He can't honestly think we can just eliminate the term limit without anyone noticing."

Jodi stood silently for a long time before leaning close and whispering in Jane's ear.

"You should go back a few years and increase his junk food intake, and sugar, he doesn't drink publicly, so you'll have to make him drink in private, excessively, maybe late at night. Nobody will notice if he's drunk then, he doesn't make much sense at the best of times."

She straightened, fixed her suit jacket and read Jane's face as the realization of what she was suggesting swept over her.

"If you prioritize this, you can save McKibbon's life while you're at it." She smiled again, a genuine expression this time. "There's already a death event on the timeline for next Tuesday at quarter past noon, maybe it's time we reallocated that."

Jane's mouth tightened into a line. She held eye contact for a long minute, then nodded once and turned the display back and started working.

If she was successful, McKibbon might be just one of the millions of lives she'd save this week.
Retroactive Futurism
From Wikipedia: Flash Fiction - 'Flash fiction differs from vignettes in that the works contain the classic story elements: protagonist, conflict, obstacles or complications, and resolution. However, unlike a traditional short story, the limited word length often forces some of these elements to be unwritten, that is, hinted at or implied in the written storyline.'

In the case of 365tomorrows - Flash Fiction is a story of ideally 500 words, and since the 3rd year a 600 word maximum.
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Rebecca stood in the middle of her little gallery and surveyed her work. She'd hoped her recent direction was going to be different, maybe spark some kind of reaction from this sleepy little town, but the series hadn't gotten anything more than polite smiles. 

Not one piece had sold. She should never have left Chicago.

Her mournful reverie was broken with a crash, as her boyfriend barreled through the front door struggling with the apparent weight of a large plastic bucket.

"Becc, you've gotta see this stuff," he deposited the pail heavily at her feet, causing thick liquid to splash over the sides, "it's from that meteorite we saw hit the woods."

Rebecca surveyed the bucket of viscous, deep coloured liquid, and the splatters across the barnboard floor and her sandal-clad feet, a mix of anger and distaste brewing at the back of her throat.

"Lewis," she started slowly, "what have...," she paused, the sudden urge to touch the liquid replacing her annoyance, and she plunged one hand into the pail, pulling it back and studying the near luminescent swirling glove of colour that enveloped her to the wrist.

"It's beautiful," she turned and wiped a large stripe across one of the closest finished canvases on the wall. Using both hands, she began smearing the material, pushing out to the edges until the surface was covered completely. She was enthralled as she worked the material, at different thicknesses and stroke directions, it became many different colours, like gasoline on water.

"Get it all," she turned, fixing Lewis with a stare, "I need all of it."

Lewis simply nodded as he exited the same clumsy way he'd come in.

Rebecca dragged the bucket around the gallery, covering every canvas she could find with scenes that seemed to her to be almost alive; landscapes with people who seemed to sway of their own accord as the material shimmered in the light and shadow. She made portraits of figures with deep shadows where their eyes and mouths should be, featureless creatures whose gaze nevertheless seemed to follow her around the room as she worked.

Over the next few days, Lewis brought several more buckets into the gallery before he stopped coming at all.

Rebecca didn't notice.

Someone came in and left with a painting, Rebecca too preoccupied to bother about taking money for it, and before long others came and left, each with a piece of her new found art. Word spread, and as quickly as she could finish the paintings, they were carried off to people's homes, the surfaces not even dry.

When she ran out of her own canvases, she cannibalized other artwork she owned, and when they were gone she tore covers off the hardback books she'd collected and painted those.

Once she'd run completely out of the liquid, and lacking anything on which to paint anyways, she left the gallery for the first time in weeks.

Walking past her large front windows, she caught her own reflection in the glass. Branches had grown from her back and shoulders, pushing through the fabric of her shirt to reach skyward, gnarly and grotesque. Her face a spiderweb of bruised lines, undulating in waves beneath the surface. She paused to straighten her shirt collar before turning back to the sidewalk.

Across the street, she watched as one of the townsfolk sublimated while walking past the coffee shop. He turned to step off the curb into the street and, just as a sudden gust of wind blew past, he simply became smoke.

She made it perhaps twenty more steps towards the downtown before stopping, a desire stronger than any gale force wind forcing her back.

She turned and headed instead, unimpeded, towards the edge of town.

As the 'Welcome to our community' sign faded behind her, and the sound of the interstate was carried to her ears on the evening breeze, she knew it wouldn't be long.

A city was calling.
Art Medium
From Wikipedia: Flash Fiction - 'Flash fiction differs from vignettes in that the works contain the classic story elements: protagonist, conflict, obstacles or complications, and resolution. However, unlike a traditional short story, the limited word length often forces some of these elements to be unwritten, that is, hinted at or implied in the written storyline.'

In the case of 365tomorrows - Flash Fiction is a story of ideally 500 words, and new in the 3rd year a 600 word maximum.
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deviantID

SRSmith
Stephen R. Smith
Artist | Literature
Canada
Current Residence: Ontario, Canada, deviantWEAR sizing preference: XL, Operating System: Mac OSX, MP3 player of choice: iPod, Favourite cartoon character: Calvin, Marvin the Martian, Personal Quote: It's not what you're capable of, it's what you do that counts

NOTE: Please don't ask me to donate points, either in public or via PM. I support things I believe in entirely at random, and never on request.

There are a few of you who know I'm happy to put up prizes for Lit contests, and those few of you should feel comfortable asking, but if I don't know you, no offense but the answer will always be no.
Interests

Still waters run deep

"Yon Cassius hath a lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous."

Comments


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:iconpenfury:
Penfury Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2019
Thank you for the watch.  I'll be back to read more. :)
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(1 Reply)
:icondenlm:
denlm Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2019
Thanks for the fave on Anal Writer. ❤️
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(1 Reply)
:iconmspaintdog:
MSpaintdog Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Man, I have just been catching up with the backlog of your work I have missed over the past year or so,....I think it would be repetitive to say,'Excellent', 'Incredible', 'Wonderful', et cetera, so I will just stand in awe.
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:iconkanyiko:
kanyiko Featured By Owner Dec 15, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
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:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
Happya2 by Alimera

Have a beautiful day, dear one! :heart:
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:iconlibelle:
libelle Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018   General Artist
happy birthday, Steve! :hug:
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(1 Reply)
:iconalapip:
alapip Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday, Steve! Also, many more
healthy and good ones. :) pip
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(1 Reply)
:iconphenix59:
Phenix59 Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018
:party:  :cake:  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!  :cake:  :party:
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:iconcenturion030:
Centurion030 Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2018
Happy birthday!
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(1 Reply)
:icontinselfire:
Tinselfire Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2018
Hmm. Cannot believe I forgot to watch you way back in December - thought you were way too quiet!

Better late than never.
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(1 Reply)
:iconkittysib:
KittySib Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Llama jump Thanks for the llama and have a lovely day!:sun:
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(1 Reply)
:iconstarfire-productions:
Starfire-Productions Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Baby Groot thanks you for the llama :)
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:iconselflessdevotions:
SelflessDevotions Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2018   Digital Artist
Thanks for the llama badge! Have a nice day!
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:iconmrsbadbugs:
mrsbadbugs Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018  Student Digital Artist
THX for the Fav Fella BreakDance (Music Band) by Ehsartem
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(1 Reply)
:icondmsalesman:
DMSalesman Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the prize, and never mind being late.

Good luck, programmer.
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(1 Reply)
:iconmalintra-shadowmoon:
Malintra-Shadowmoon Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for everything :hug:
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(1 Reply)
:iconextrin6:
extrin6 Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017
just wanna say hi
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(1 Reply)
:iconlpowell:
lpowell Featured By Owner Dec 1, 2017
My request for the story's removal still stands, by the way. (I initially reached out through the story submission process, as I could not see another way to contact the editors through the 365tomorrows website.) Whether or not you agree with my current political views, I hope that you will at least consider and respect my wishes as the story's author.
Reply
:iconcenturion030:
Centurion030 Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2017
Happy birthday! Wanted to say thank you as well -- your advice from 2 years ago meant so much!

Book II is being released in December!

Best,

James
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