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Literature
Bay of Ashes
How long O Lord, how long?
How much more can we take, O God?
David’s seen his son lost to rebellious death,
And we ache with our hopes run aground.
We ache and see a bay of ashes
Tear-sea, waves and no calming rhythm,
No loving silence, no furious spray which tastes of life.
We bend and crumple beneath the many weights.
How long O Lord, how long?
Will we dwell inside ourselves,
See unlucky omens,
Not able to speak
Or meet each others’ gazes?
How much more can we take?
How much more of this,
And whatever more comes tomorrow,
Each new gap in mercy,
Or so it seems?
We sob upon the bay of ashes,
Grey sand and greyer skies,
With course lost, gone dull and numb
Pain never so sharp since it is so denied,
But in our hearts is that cry:
How long O Lord?  
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Literature
Scarce
Giddy with luck,
I am dancing and discover that I can dance.
How rare the delight,
To find a touch where I do not tense,
A person to share all,
My hand on your waist,
I cannot believe your eyes.
Maybe ascribe it not to luck but to blessing,
A river falling,
A sea of love added to
By newly found tributaries,
Little gifts,
An outpouring
[Two souls, one night by the river’s run,
The old mill,
Telling all].
Or perhaps destiny,
To reconnect two threads ever so close but never yet overlapping,
Taken each far from home,
But meant to be entwined.
I could say only love,
Not deserved, nor wilfully won by I,
Unexpectedly born,
I can scarce believe it, yet
Know it to be totally true.
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Literature
((()))
(
Give me a sign of if I have chosen
A right way
For these years,
Or if I am not worthy.
Give me some sense if this is the beginning or the end,
When it feels like endless middle.
Adjudge me to be ready,
Or leave me behind,
All I say is let me know – and while I ask this
Off-guard,
In an unequal pattern, overstretched and underused,
I say too much, too soon:
((
It makes sense
I identified as a traitor for so long,
And then by self
Self-focus, selfishness
To firmly betray
For the sake of avoiding feared outcomes,
It makes sense. Does it matter if
It is true?
But we seem to live in a world
Where there is nothing in the present, or the near past
Only next time, next time, so
A sequence of events has no meaning
If you are not sure what to learn
Or how to get there.
(((
That’s what you believe,
That the core is rotten, but
It is never so simple. There’s
Love
And pain, guilt, ego, hope, beauty, trust,
A heart is never just one part.
)))
It is not the sort of redemption that
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Literature
Out of the Briar
One thorn reminds of being wrapped in brambles
The old pain, the old wounds,
That felt inescapable – that held me fast,
And kept me from moving with any swiftness,
Wound me down to gasping, uncomprehending exhaustion.
And memory erupts with the belief that
Once again, I am trapped,
Even as I ease the thorn from my palm,
Rise lionlike once again.
Fear insists that one step back means all is lost,
And what I have lost is a vision
Of where I am now, of how different
A single thorn is from many,
A single setback is from total blockage,
A single mistake is from the ill-chosen path.
My body burns with flames and I think I am lost to the furze.
Through the briar and flames,
I see it:
A meadow that shines with its own light,
Perfect buttercup sunshine bursting from the earth,
See those flowers that do not weave – the woven rainbow light rises up from them!
There is peace to be had – cast burdens and let tomorrow have tomorrow,
Embrace today,
Run free, becoming a child, and
Kn
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Literature
Remember Then What It Is That You Were Saved From
They might say, in the end, that we saved each other
Sure, only God saves,
As with all things, we’re talking some way down the line,
The secondary, the tertiary, the helicopter and the boat,
At the moment all the stories
Are notes in small journals, held by us,
Some balladeers we make, telling each other
Stories of only weeks ago.
‘What have you been doing for the last year or so?’
I was asked, and I said ‘growing up’ because
Poetry is for adolescents and they’re eternal
These days [they’ll die in the future, they died in the past, but
In the now, they grow incrementally-eternally]
“Time present…” I prodeclaim in a put-on voice,
Noble aims with selfish reasons,
We come so close to the impossibility of the teenage condition.
It is so easily to forget how
The stunted teenager-inside-an-adult worldview,
Ruled by fools’ passions, disconnected
From all others by not meeting their eyes,
The rapacious consciousness owned us, br
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Literature
Agenda/Solution
Oh say nothing,
And hold every word,
In increasing internal hollow
So no sound will ring
In a room
That encompasses all.
Find connections in
Some codex of restoration
That tie up insufficiently
With her, and her, and
Experience incapability and inability
Fear for fear
But say nothing, and hold them closer.
Realise femininity, that
Sitting down is for rooms with chairs and couches
And notepads, and that other sort of listening
Listen to her as her movements touch the air,
The raw, the burning, sings out
Listen, say nothing, hold close.
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Literature
Skywoven
To tell honestly,
Of the reality of my heart,
To speak and sing and use words, those fortunate words,
How I come to know my love,
How I come to understand:
This stolen idea, to breathe only
Secrets and secret names
Forms that only we shall know, and answer only to
When in the other’s voice.
That we mark each other apart: you are my special one,
You are the only one
You are the one called…
Oh! Darling
That I cross this place
To find you,
[a wolf at your door;
echoes years later]
To find each snaring brier
Passed, and passable, and past.
And journeying
On roads afar,
After our journey begun,
Saw your domain and its seams
The sky woven with a lattice of colour,
With lines of light and squares of fire,
Accumulated intangibilities unknown to me but visible, beautiful,
Where shall we go? We know only that
It shall be under a sky of infinite intricacy,
And we shall have made something overarching and magnificent.
O those veiled eyes
That see nothing
And show everything
Would that
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Literature
At Sea
I cannot see anything as it is. A mire
Of expectation, that is nothing to do with the real
Experience, of feeling
All is lost
When nothing was ventured.
To feel the utmost tumult, despite
The skin of the water unpierced by stones
Oh to hurt like this again
To love, as the only answer,
To unbidden pain,
To unworthy, undue suffering that comes from nothing.
When you draw nothing from the well
It will reveal the blackest poisoned water
That every failure going before
Has written a negativity beyond reason, beyond knowing,
That rises now, from misty seafoam,
A corrupt and false resonance that draws
One’s heart onto the rocks –
Howling at myself for having done nothing, lost nothing.
One finds this wake, then, that could not be seen,
Until crossing the path on the next stage of the voyage –
That it is permanent carved in the water’s surface,
That choppy, that rough, that which leaves a ship
Unbalanced, shaking, despite
No collision occurring.
I thought it was impossi
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Literature
Haptophobia
Haphephobia – I forge relationships
Of immense intensity
With people I will never know,
And can never meet,
Who exist only in aether, and
Are given flesh by a libidinous mind. No contact
No contact, no touch,
For I know that I’m compelling
If all I have is the
Page
And my words
To lead the way.
Aphephobia – A monastic cell
Whose door opens into
A brothel where I’m the madam,
An abbess of one and a
Procuress of infinite possibility.
There is a rule of no touching but it counts differently:
Don’t touch my heart and don’t move me,
Don’t caress a strand of sympathy.
Haphophobia – I crafted an environment
Where the closest heartstring
Is full one hour away:
“Oh give me space,” I said,
Meaning the void
Where every distance is essentially infinite,
And light reaches not to my retreat.
Hapnophobia – Love did not (save) me, but it did preserve me.
That is to say, my love, the love
I made,
A preservation of a decaying star,
A nucl
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Literature
St. Michael and All Angels
So it was about four years ago and I would call it a lifetime
If that wasn't offensive
And I know I don't mourn like a pagan
But I miss you
You're not a pressed flower
You're not frozen
You're a garden, and it's summer
I had to come before I went
Had to be honest
I'm going where we were both going to be
And you're with me
A bit
The dirt on my hands never washed
Earth and the earthman
And the heart and the hippocampus
It's tranquil till it's not
Nothing set in stone
There's just a wooden cross
Soldier
We'd fought all sorts of things in that same corps
On the same journey
The same mission, royal commission
So so long as I'm struggling I know you're ready to laugh at my foibles
The only flower I associate you with dances
Bawdy lyrics and our rubbish harmonies
But there's a place where carnations grow and no one is afraid
Of course I wish I could have kept you closer
Of course I know I make the same mistakes, every one of them
But I'm going now where we were always headed
And you’d s
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Literature
Lionsdon
My body in space and time
Is a battleground of warring
Allied forces
And internecine;
I spend my time as a negotiator for my own release,
When we all agree on purpose and not on
How to get away.
Meanwhile predators that do not stalk
And fearful souls stride like hunters
We wilfully forget the spectrum and subtlety
Whilst morally choosing to believe, always.
We knew I must go to the sea,
We know I would be on the edge,
Some bastion standing where waves meet the land
Where black paper swans bisect the green,
And strands connect us in new ways.
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Literature
Kicking and Screaming
I can’t express it but I’m begging you to rescue me
Even as I love this
I wish you were here taking me
Away
Throwing me over your shoulder
Kicking and screaming
Exfiltrated by you from the deepest danger.
A big man with a big walk
Striding into the heart of the beast, the belly of darkness,
To steal me.
I resist and I struggle but
Only because I’d trapped myself
More thoroughly
Than degrading captors
In vermicelli ideas
A labyrinthine library of lies
To tie me to this bed.
He speaks and none dare reply
He lifts and I can’t stop him
My protests are feeble, unheard
To his stature,
And he can
Walk down the street, as I kick and I scream
And no-one questions it.
They know
That he is the hero.
I can’t tell him now,
As my impotent tantrum rages
How he’s saved me
From all horror
But even if I will never turn to thanks
He would have come
It is in his nature to break in and rescue.
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Literature
Honeysuckle
Dead, honeysuckle summer
Dead teenagers
Dropping, mayflies. Impossible hallucinatory British Summer Time
In hot, sticky darkness,
Hidden cove-caves,
Absences appearing along
A sandy map.
All human, always human.
Salt-taste and salt-lips
Skin that crackles under
Polaroid sunlight
This could never be now.
So then, rotting sweetness
Dying on the vine,
Told only in recollections
Warped vinyl on the 45RPM of ’76
(Or was it the 76RPM of ’45?)
Sun-drenched days,
Sweat-drenched clothes,
Blood-drenched remembrance.
Bleached paper, crinkled, unfolded,
Scrubbed hands,
Lye, lies, all that season
Gone quiet,
The climber dry and brittle,
A tangle that cannot be undone
And all of it dead.
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Literature
The Wayward Spiral
It spins away.
In quiet, it leaves its safe
Banding.
Gets out of the invisible
Fireside warmth.
Icy night closes itself around
The world. Forests turn to glass.
The nights become more beautiful when the
Sky is ever dark, when the sun does not occlude and
Stars form carved lines, paths of light
To surround a planet that is leaving its mother star.
Spiralling away,
A wayward wanderer finally living up to its name.
Its heart cannot cease to burn,
As ages turn, as the starless wastes are traversed
As one single light grows every brighter,
Calling.
It had not known its mother well
Nor saw no siblings born,
But is sheathed in cloud, in
Seas warmed just enough
To go on living,
Until it can newly embrace dawn
Under the golden light
Unlike the blood-sheen of home.
In this place, the clouds can clear,
The seas fall,
All that simple life grow
Ferns turn to oaks,
And time shall come when it can know itself,
Song shall rise from the world.
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Literature
The Same Key
There is darkness ‘hind the secret door
That somehow falls in shade
From false corridor light.
The key that opens
Each office,
Mundane rooms of mundane
Necessary life. White and grey,
Graphpaper décor.
That is the key that opens the hidden door,
That same key, plain
Worn brass
Teeth unsharpened
Fitting unsurprising tumblers.
Lock all the doors.
Walk to the secret door.
Cross the first threshold: shadow.
Place the key, turn it, inhale.
Feel the door open, letting darkness into the hallway.
Cross the second threshold: the door.
That same key that opens every door
Opens even the door to darkness
To a depraved place, a room where
The dark clings close,
More smothering than cloaking.
The same key seals the door behind,
Not an inch of light,
Can claim bright territory. Only
Darkness, darkness owned,
Darkness embraced as ravenously
As it embraces.
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Literature
Cartography
Dynamism and dynamics,
The containment of all the little futures.
We make sense of the world
The lines that frame comprehension,
The roots of knowledge.
Our voices in synchrony,
We cannot help but head in directions
Cued by the lives that came before
Each familial map
Adding bits and pieces
Relosing other territories.
Alignment with bloodlines
All these imitations who became men
So dependent on our fathers
For a way to go,
So invariably shaped
By their image.
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Random Favourites

Literature
TranslationChain 1:6
La porţile zilei,
Semnul dintre lumină şi întuneric,
Unde amurgul înfloreşte asupra peisajului calm
Acolo se deşteaptă un fior imperceptibil
(Câmpul de luptă e mai haotic decât anticipat)
E domol, cel mai pustiu dintre toate amărăciunile
Care îşi are sălaşul în capacitatea de emancipare totală
Trecând frontiera.
Domneşte pustietatea întunericului;
Pe orizont un semn va fi accesibil;
„Milioane de diamante, ambasadorii dimineţii;
milioane de diamante ambasadoare se arată.”
Lumini lucesc la marginea dintre zi şi noapte
Goliciune şi perfecţiune
(Există cauză
Există scop)
Acestea sunt acele raze care nu pot străluci
salvate în clarobscur,
Unde şi de ce, ei sunt existenţa şi lipsa.
Apoi soseşte şi întunericul timpuriu
Să plângă, să erodeze faţa şi inima deopotriv
:iconngatti:ngatti
:iconngatti:ngatti 3 0
Literature
ten reasons why
ten reasons why
i can't write:
1.
i can't write because when i do i
take inefficient showers and get in
with all my clothes on and sit there
like an environmentalist on strike until
my jeans are soaked all the way through
2.
i can't write because
when i do i tell my cat, bonnie,
that her name is really beatrice and
that she is descended from a long
line of cat-queens and one day her
real family will come and claim her,
and that's really not very nice of me
to lie to her like that.
3.
i can't write because when i do i don't sleep
because there are all kinds of spitting
things waiting in the dark full of words
and words and words and words and teeth and
tongues that lick the backs of my knees
and neck while i lay in bed listening to
the beat beat beat words beat of my heart and
4.
i can't write because when i do
i try to convince strangers in the
library that they are my soul mate
without using any words, i just stare
them down through my book
and tell them that our children
would be bea
:iconSuddenlyAutumn:SuddenlyAutumn
:iconsuddenlyautumn:SuddenlyAutumn 64 76
Literature
Lysergsaure
i am suffocated by skin.
my bones cannot
                             Breathe,my veins(acidic)
long to escape from the                                        
                                                                    c  o  n  f       
:iconpavlovs--daughter:pavlovs--daughter
:iconpavlovs--daughter:pavlovs--daughter 1 3
Literature
Translation Chain 1: 3
A las puertas del día
La signatura  entre claro y oscuro,
Onde florece el atardecer sobre el paisaje silenciado
Un imperceptible escalofrio surge
[El campo de batalla es más caótico como esperado]
Sutil, la más desolada de cualquier tipo de desesperación
Vive entre la capacidad para
Liberación total
La frontera cruza.
Vacío oscuro goberna;
Una pista en el horizonte es alcanzable:
"El millón de brillantes embajadores de la mañana;
Los millones de brillantes embajadores aparecen. "
Luces brillan en la costura de día y de noche
La infertilidad y la perfección,
[Hay una razón
Hay un propósito]
Estos rayos que no podía brillar,
Salvo en chiaroescuro,
Onde de un lado a otro estan la presencia y la ausencia.
La oscuridad trae pranto
Llorar corroe el corazón y la cara por igual
Que la luz se haga clara.
El creador de las pinturas del destino chiaroescuro
Translation of the translation (by Devyathe) of the
:iconLadyLouve:LadyLouve
:iconladylouve:LadyLouve 2 1
Literature
TChainRedux 1: Chiaroscuro
Op de drempel van dag,
De ondertekenende lijn tussen licht en donker,
Waar schemering golft over het gestilde landschap
En een onmerkbare kilte opstijgt.
[Het slagveld is verwacht chaotischer te zijn.]
Met subtiliteit, het meest troosteloos van elk soort wanhoop
Leeft naast het vermogen voor
Totale verlossing
De grens kruist.
Donkere leegte heerst;
Een wenk op de handbereik horizon:
'De miljoen stralende ambassadeurs van de ochtend;
De miljoen stralende ambassadeurs verschijnen.'
Lichten fonkelen op de naad van dag en nacht
Onvruchtbaarheid en volkomenheid,
[Er is een reden
Er is een bedoeling]
Deze stralen die niet konden stralen,
Behalve in clair-obscur,
Waar zij aan zij de aanwezigheid en de afwezigheid zijn.
Het duister brengt wenen
Wenen schuurt het hart en gezicht gelijk
Dat het licht helder wordt gemaakt.
De schepper van het lot schildert met clair-obscur.
Translation of the original poem "Chiaroscuro" by ~marvintheparanoid
:iconAiloura-aithe:Ailoura-aithe
:iconailoura-aithe:Ailoura-aithe 4 6
l-ukond-u by CSISMAN l-ukond-u :iconcsisman:CSISMAN 53 11
Literature
On Silence
Stiff solid pages sit
Surrounded by words.
A babbling flow of
Poetry. Streams of
Phrase and verse.
The library is
Never silent.
:iconcdol:cdol
:iconcdol:cdol 1 3
Knights Of Cydonia by panicilusionX Knights Of Cydonia :iconpanicilusionx:panicilusionX 2 1
Literature
Breathe, and there is wonder.
And he said, let there be -
daybreak
outlined against your irises,
cupped hands thrust into the sunrise.
Let there be
edges to your perception, let
there be unknowns, let there be
the chance
to feel small and speechless. Let there be
midnight sun at the brink,
in pools, in clay pots, knocked
over and spilling into our sky,
dripping in our eyes.
Let there be cliffs
to cling to, let there be fingernail
scratches, let
there be -
the moments we let go.
Let there be dreams of flight.
Let there be
cold enough to constrict chests, let
there be breathlessness;
let there be repetition enough that
we learn to inhale,
exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
And let there be beauty enough
to dip our toes in, let
there be risk, let there be
the courage to dare.
Let there be both
the fear of falling from great heights
and the ability to look up.
He said, let there be.
And tell me
God wasn't in love with the world
when he lit the sun.
:iconsweet-lyrical:sweet-lyrical
:iconsweet-lyrical:sweet-lyrical 22 32
Journal
Translation Chain is back! JOIN now!
Hello fellow deviants!
:sun: Just like the title says: Translation Chain is back! :sun:
1. What is Translation Chain?
It's a project started by salshep in October 2007 as an "experiment in how a piece of writing undergoes changes during many translations". Here is the old account http://translationchain.deviantart.com/ if you want to take a look.
2. How do you join?
:bulletred: We are looking for BILINGUAL writers. If you want to participate, you MUST read and write at least two languages reasonably well.
:bulletred: Send a note to TChainRedux and let me know which languages are best for you. Alternatively, you could help someone who doesn't speak English at all to participate, by letting them know what's happening, and sending in their application for them.
:bulletred: If you know someone who would like the participate, let them know! Spread the word! Feel free to translate this news article into your
:iconTChainRedux:TChainRedux
:icontchainredux:TChainRedux 26 11
Literature
Hot Tea Bad Dreams Pt. XVII
And so I'm off, feet picking up, aloft!
  No voices or sounds walls like solid all around
—( no picture frames or sedative games )—
Just me! Moving, flying, and fleeing! Fleeting! Free!
      —And quite aware of the fact that no hallucinations taunt me,
            the fact lending creedence to my steps! Reason! Thought! Unable to stop!
               And with that, at last, a light! Making its way from the dark,
              as I daringly depart for a start,
             the noise of that voice still guiding me, But now OhSoNear!
         up th' stairs and into clear,
       stee
:iconspacesuitcatalyst:spacesuitcatalyst
:iconspacesuitcatalyst:spacesuitcatalyst 1 9
Literature
Life Cycle
I. Truthseers
"Mortality" is a word
          spoken soft in onerous rooms
          over lips thick with chapstick
          to smother
                    our truth.
Over a road twenty feet
          deep a child soars
          on creaking rusted flowers
          and laughs
                    at us.
They know
          those little grinners
          as they spin plates on noses,
:iconwinter-songs:winter-songs
:iconwinter-songs:winter-songs 12 9
Literature
immortality
"we are all village idiots
enamored by our shadows but
oblivious to the setting sun
"

and though my shadow dissipates
(fleeing)
the neon sundown
and my legacy within it,
another day (another sun)
will rise
breathing my empire
to life once more
(i hope)
:iconAnubis187:Anubis187
:iconanubis187:Anubis187 3 12
Literature
Aurora's Rose
The night is not just watched by stars alone,
but also others, vast, unseen, unknown...

The tumult of the ocean’s great advance,
its vanguard pushing on, its subtle dance
first falling back, then rushing up once more,
a charge in vain, attempts to drown the shore –
could not drown out the calls of one returned,
from trial and terror, glory truly earned.
A hero, greeted by one set apart;
for him, the rightful owner of his heart.
“I’ve come, I’m here, I’ve brought the gift you want!
The jewel of Dawn, the flower from the font
of great Aurora, goddess of the sky;
a gift of marriage, joining you and I.
Across the sea, to furthest East I went;
a mound of gold, a lake of tears I spent
to find the gates of Dawn, and venture in
past phoenixes and lions, my own sin
embodied in a hall of shining glass;
all trials none are ever meant to pass.
To reach her garden, seat of holy power,
where in the centre grows her fiery flower -
and here it is, the flower of the
:iconAruchel:Aruchel
:iconaruchel:Aruchel 11 26
A combination of dying conurbations, bleak natural landscapes and the only words that have a chance of describing it all.

Critiques

Activity


Unto Cover by tetrarchangel

Unto is a novella of love, loss and redemption.

It was originally written by hand in a notebook, with a mix of line-broken poetic sections and prose sections, alternating by notebook page. 

It was, or at least became, set in the world of Reason, the novel I wrote ten years ago, and I released it on that anniversary.

You should buy it! It's cheap in money, and it's heartbreaking in sentiment, and do you need any more recommendation than that? Click the  link: www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0…

deviantID

tetrarchangel
tetrarchangel
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Timothy J Swann is a writer of novels and of poems, currently working on the publishing of his first novel, The Purity Construct, as well as a host of ongoing short stories and poetic series. He admits his name is a little pretentious, but is of the opinion that it looks better on a book cover than Tim Swann, even if he's called Tim by everyone he knows.

Current Age: 22
Current Residence: Worcester
Favourite genre of music: www.last.fm/user/yalphaath
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:iconlillyby:
lillyby Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Hi! 
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hello!
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:iconvoidparadigm:
VoidParadigm Featured By Owner Dec 16, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
|ike here.
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:iconwinterhill:
winterhill Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2012
sorry i hit the unwatch button by accident!
please jsut accept this new and improved watch request :D
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:iconarchelyxs:
archelyxs Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2012
Hi there, thank you so much for all of your support. How have you been? Happy spring and best wishes to you. :heart: :tea:
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I've been a bit ill and thus not as creative recently, but I've finally started my next model, and going to a poetry society so I'm actually editing stuff for the first time. Yes, spring sprang, didn't it! We have storms of hail practically every day here at the moment. How goes your 'education'?
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:iconarchelyxs:
archelyxs Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2012
A poetry society! That sounds incredible!
My "education" goes fairly well. Lots and lots of reading and not as much writing this semester. So much reading.
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Yes, I suppose that was inevitable. The poetry society is quite fun, yes.
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:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2011   Writer
:hug:

Just because! ♥ How are you?
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Doing alright - just started a new job, so I'll have to see how the writing fits in.
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:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2011   Writer
Oh, I do wish you well in your new job and I hope you can get some writing in. ♥
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Well, I'm doing research for my new novel right now. Ish.
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(1 Reply)
:iconspoems:
spoems Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2011   Writer
I appreciate the interest.

Shane
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:iconrenaissancelover:
RenaissanceLover Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2011  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the watch. :)
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:iconarchelyxs:
archelyxs Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2011
Thanks as always for continuing to support my work :heart:
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
I would not do it if I did not truly believe your work was worth supporting.
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:iconnichrysalis:
Nichrysalis Featured By Owner Aug 25, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the comments, I've been checking your work to as it comes into my inbox, haven't had much time to comment though.
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Aug 25, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure, time is perhaps our greatest luxury at present, eh?
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:iconvoidparadigm:
VoidParadigm Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist

deviantART muro drawing Comment Drawing
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
That's good! Want to do one of my eye? [link]
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:iconvoidparadigm:
VoidParadigm Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Hi.
deviantART muro drawing Comment Drawing
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
The correct onomatopoeia is Vworp. Also, which one is Amy?
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:iconvoidparadigm:
VoidParadigm Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Awh, you didn't get it. The angels have the phonebox. =(
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:icontetrarchangel:
tetrarchangel Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Drawing Weeping Angels is a bad idea.
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:iconomega3r:
omega3r Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
hey, thanks for the watch!
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