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About Literature / Artist Core Member LJUnited States Groups :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
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Deviant for 9 Years
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Elf by Goran-Alena Elf :icongoran-alena:Goran-Alena 329 13 Disney's 'The Nutcracker' Illustration by MarcoBucci Disney's 'The Nutcracker' Illustration :iconmarcobucci:MarcoBucci 459 19 Depot by Takahiro-Imai Depot :icontakahiro-imai:Takahiro-Imai 609 26 Za Gribami by RHADS Za Gribami :iconrhads:RHADS 1,603 75 Ne Plus Ultra - Scratchboard by ShaleseSands Ne Plus Ultra - Scratchboard :iconshalesesands:ShaleseSands 244 50 Ophelia by SigmaVita
Mature content
Ophelia :iconsigmavita:SigmaVita 289 49
Acquaintance by maxasabin Acquaintance :iconmaxasabin:maxasabin 2,982 94 Warm Song by jslattum Warm Song :iconjslattum:jslattum 791 21 in white by bohomaz13 in white :iconbohomaz13:bohomaz13 145 34 So Trump wants to stop migration by ... by gkuehn So Trump wants to stop migration by ... :icongkuehn:gkuehn 3 1 Friends by Gladhnes Friends :icongladhnes:Gladhnes 238 14 The Next Step by FLOOKO The Next Step :iconflooko:FLOOKO 186 8 Inktober 2018 - Mist Walkers by Sleyf Inktober 2018 - Mist Walkers :iconsleyf:Sleyf 155 25 Stolen by CottonValent Stolen :iconcottonvalent:CottonValent 677 58 #Inktober2018 #day07 #exhausted by gkuehn #Inktober2018 #day07 #exhausted :icongkuehn:gkuehn 5 1

Newest Deviations

Field Trip
"Does anyone have an extra chapel veil?" I asked.
One girl said, "I had three, but I already gave 'em away. Sorry."
The high school girls made an almost-line, three or four at a time, walking to the cathedral for First Friday Mass. There were about five hundred girls altogether, with several elderly nuns among them. Many girls chatted, laughing, walking from school on a sunny California day.
I laughed 'til I knew I'd get no chapel veil. Then I turned right, and got lost deep in suburbia and sin for the length of a Mass.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 4 6
Mature content
History is Over :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 14 22
Where are the words?
Ford found a way to speak,
though she first said -
"I'm terrified" -
and so are we, those
who heard her 
as she spoke about
the crux of the matter =
our government,
rampant with misogyny
and so little
common sense,
it's staggering.
The fear is great,
the fate of our highest
court is up for
grimy grabs
by people who can't
think with clear minds
or clear hearts; who
yell and cry and carry on
as if much younger
than they are, at least in
mind; they aren't adult.
It isn't right.
can see
the problem.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 7 8
You, you have to keep it together, in
your moods and in your words, for
your two grown children and the in-laws -
for the grandson who looks so much
like him and is a performer too, who
is too young to visit him with the family
in hospital.
I, I have no such compunctions, nor rules
to abide, nor loss of my time when I'm called -
I'm here all night, three nights, while you sleep, while
you rest to keep your brave face on, and he calls.
I'm here to hear his last performances - his singing,
speaking, reading, his talking the nights away
'til surgery day.
I hear his fear, his bravery, his dread and his
wit while it's whittled down by long hours of
pain, his reality of loss and a long life near over -
all the depth of his deconstruction, declared in
tones both strong and weak while he speaks to me,
and I don't know the outcome of the docs' work
because I'm just the other woman today,
a wild one,
a canary
in a cave,
a bird that has stopped singing.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 18 35
Words about Being Slinky (a slinky)
Some say women and cats are both slinky, equating them
when the slinky parts between them seem to match.
One is slinky often - the cat, a creature of night, sometimes
of flight, one of sleep and of slinky hunting for love or feast -
an unmatched animal, proud and slinky in homes or in the wild,
an animal that can sound like a child, or be near-silently slinky in
voice, by choice, as it roams the slinky worlds of jungle, cat and man.
A cat fills the definition of slinky, either awake or asleep.
A woman is not so slinky, often, but there are times when she is
undeniably - slinky, like when she shimmers and glimmers at night
or in the dark day, a feast herself, full of slinky movements and
glances, of moments that are slinky suggestions on their own, shown
through grace, space and place. She can be slinky when no one
expects it -at home or on the street- she's at one with a slinky
walk or slinky clothes, a woman people want to know, yet one
who is totally herself, slinky or no - a woman w
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 26 29
Reasons to Say I Love You
I reach for you, over the phone, and you are there, you allow me to touch you.
You reach for me and I reach back, and we meet somewhere in the middle.
I cry and you listen, I blow my nose and you wait, I sigh and you don't interrupt.
Why don't you cry? I am strong enough for that. Really.
I laugh and we laugh together - oh yes, I hear your smile over the phone when I laugh, and when we laugh together, and when we breathe each other in on the inhale, and share the exhale.
You are never trite. You have bite, but if you've bitten me, I didn't/haven't noticed, and would I mind if you did? Only if it was meant to hurt, but you, first and foremost, are the kindest man I know; open, fresh, and raw.
I suffer from blind alleys; you lead those you care about through mazes - yes, you amaze, and shine lights in dark places; you can't know what I've forgotten, but you help me not care.
I'm just getting started here. We have only started.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 13 21
One Drum from Oklahoma
Under the largest oak, six or eight people
sit around a drum to play and sing,
and the drum is big. The sound of it
is the heartbeat of earth and of a child
and of each drummer, who also sings
songs that follow brooks and streams
to rivers that flow, just as fast, and fill
foundations left empty by the drum
that pushed up mountains from earth.
Rivers fill them and make lakes that reflect
the dancers - percussionists, every one.
High-stepping, nodding, twirling, toe-to-heel,
with jingles, bells and shells that riff with
creeks and drum, earth-beat. Loud, insistent,
beautiful and eternal, singers' voices rain,
all big sound in and around the drum, forever.
Until it stops, boom on a dime,
hey yah hey, hey yah hey, yo.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 14 24
How To Be Me (a slinky)
Sometimes I feel old, like a fly on the wall of the present,
too out of touch to fly in unconventional ways, during days
spent doing suspicious things, like flying through pictures
on Tumblr, not knowing how to interpret their fly fashion
or see or show my own. Art depicts all things from a fly to a lion
and sometimes I'm cryin' to fly from there, it's so square
to see a human fly have its thoughts laid bare on the screen
of green photos and written confessions that fly nowhere.
I'm just killing time. I throttle it, leave it lay wasting for flies,
and, there, I see how a fly lives, under the scope of eyes
dimmed by computer screens, folks who fly under pseudonyms,
as do I, there, waiting for the next part to fly open and free.
Then, I will finally fly to you. I'll leave this wait behind and find
a way to live again, maybe be young again - or, no, not to fly
back in time, nor be a fly on the wall, but to live this time, each
moment I fly, while I go see you again and be us, just like we
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 10 20
Coyote Falls in Love II
     A long time ago, Old Man Coyote fell in love with a human girl named Norma Jean. She was an ordinary girl, though she became a near-goddess to men later, under another name. Coyote was a god, and a trickster who could shape-shift, so he became a man to court Norma. As a god-man trickster, Coyote was extremely handsome. His manners were impeccable and sly. He would do anything to be with Norma and win her love. He was so effective, she was dazzled within a week. She was very young.
     He was very old. Coyote had been around since the beginning of the world. But he was also bowled over by love, knocked silly by Cupid and blind to all but Norma. He lived for her eyes, her laugh, her breath and her words. Coyote forgot his duties as a god. He forgot he was a god. He thought only of convincing Norma to be his. He measured himself by her love and joy, and worked tirelessly for them.
     Coyote neglected hi
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 26 51
The Party
     There are artifacts. Young people with money used to change the shape of their eyes. They were Japanese like us, but they competed to have bigger eyes. They fashioned their eyes after musicians called pop stars who they listened to, danced to, and emulated. The girls and boys dyed their dark hair lighter. They had blond hair, red hair, green hair, and streaked hair at all the important parties. They wore make-up and glitter and stood wherever the light was best. They looked for good backgrounds for their artifacts, the films they made.
     These young folks dressed meticulously, because every detail of their clothing was noted and compared with others at these parties. They took films of themselves. They counted how many other young people watched them, how many crowded around them, and how many left them adoring messages. Popularity was Life. The films they made are the artifacts we study today, to learn some of the past.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 6 20
What Alice Said
    The girl wore black, but if you looked closely, you could still see the blood. She was your roommate at the dorm. That's where you saw her that night. She came in so late, you turned on the light to ask why. She looked pale against her black coat and jeans. More pale than you'd ever seen her; she usually had a dark complexion. Now only her dark eyes remained dark, and they looked huge. Her face was almost gray.
    "My god," you said. "What happened? Where have you been?" She didn't answer.
    You tried again. "Alice? What happened? Are you okay?"
    She slumped on her narrow bed. She looked at you and sighed. "Leona is dead."
    "Leona, from down the hall," Alice said. "I found her. She's dead."
    "That can't be!" you said. "We did homework together yesterday."
    "Maura, she's dead. I have to get rid of these clothes. Will you help me?"
    "But how did she die?" you asked,
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 4 16
Songs and Paintings - W4, D7
    There is one thing I might consider sort of a "legacy" I may leave for my family and others. That's words. People who meet me may think of me as generally pretty quiet. I am, at least at first. I like to listen. I like to catch the cadence of other people's words, and consider it a song. I like to observe, and see how people look when they talk, and consider it a painting. These things are pleasing, and I join in.
    Later, I like to try to combine what I hear, the songs, and what I see, the paintings, into something like literature. That's the main legacy, now in forms of short stories and articles, many published, many not. My daughter writes poetry I'm very proud of. She's a terrific writer who has also had work published. She also seems comfortable talking to many different kinds of people, and they seem to like her. This is good.
    I taught my daughter words starting with sound, and moving soon to letters. We played Scrabble together when she w
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 3 15
Mirror Image - W4, D4
    Image is something often considered by many, including twins. My twin and I used to dress alike, whether we wanted to or not, because we went to parochial schools. Uniforms! It was fun maybe in first grade, then we tried for a little difference. As it was, we had to wear name tags, so the nuns could tell us apart. We weren't successful at differences. We were usually seated next to each other; both a comfort and a burden.
    I'm kind of surprised the nuns didn't wear name tags, too. How were we supposed to tell them apart? Well, there was only one teacher per class, so that made it easier. And my twin, Celeste, and I sometimes switched name tags, a harmless pastime, only done when super-bored. Or maybe just feeling mischievous. Also, our mother was constantly giving us rather horrible permanents at home, in a misguided effort to curl our really straight hair. We looked very odd, but we looked alike.
    It was later, sometime in high school, when I ex
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 3 13
His Name Changed Generations
    The toddler's life held true in the midst of murder and destruction. His name was to pass down through many generations, and the story of how it was received was told over and over again, and will be told yet again. But on November 30, 1864, the little boy stood covered in old blood, hand in his mouth, silent and stunned. Everyone he'd known was dead. They surrounded him, all dead.
    It was the day after the Sand Creek Massacre, referred to by the man who caused it as "The Battle of Sand Creek." There was no battle. It had been a simple camp set up by Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians, right by Sand Creek in Indian Territory. It was set up as advised by the U.S. Army. The Indians in the camp also flew a white flag for safety, just as they were told. There were only old men, women and children in the camp, as warrior-age men were sent elsewhere. There was no battle.
    U.S. Calvary Commander John Chivington knew about the camp, there in Southeastern Color
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 11 25
The Words in The Story, W4 - D3
    It's the middle of the night here. You might call it very early in the morning, when it's still dark, but not really night anymore. My neighbor and I just finished playing a word game over the phone. I had called her at the same time she picked up her phone to send me a text.
    "I was going to text you, are you still awake?" she said.
    "Yes," I said, laughing, knowing she wanted play the game. "And I have blanks."
    "Ooh," she said. "That's what I called for. You have blanks! Alright!"
    The game we play is called Every Word. I have it on a Kindle I bought back when Kindles were brand new. I paid too much for the Kindle, but it's lasted all these years. I have a newer Fire Kindle, but it doesn't have Every Word on it. Apparently they don't offer it anymore. Too bad. It's a great game. Simple, but also a little tricky. It's just unscrambling letters in a lot of 'blanks' that are of certain lengths and in alphabetical order.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 5 10
W4, D2 - Good Vision
    Let's see - about vision (lol - "let's see") and what that may mean. I believe it means a little beyond the fact that I now have to wear glasses to read, and I mean to read anything, even a picture. I think it also means a vision regarding both family and the future. My future is, in a way, behind me, so I am thinking of a possibly short time now. Family and friends, however, they go on.
    Several of my friends are ten years or more older than I am, and one in particular (not quite ten years older) likes to tell me, when I mention a new ache, "Ah! Get used to it! Things only get worse from here on out! You're getting old!" Hmm. Well, yes, in a way.
    I'm pretty much retired from the work force. I live in an adults-only complex. I'm over sixty. Yeah, I'm getting old. But that doesn't mean it's downhill from here. I find I have a greater capacity for imagination and "out of the box" thinking. There are more ideas out here than I used to think.
:iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 2 3

Journal History



Artist | Literature
United States

Change is inevitable. Like the power of waterfalls on rocks, what we do makes a difference.
Let's cross this bridge. :salute: This was seen on Tumblr, which is also going through change, a shaky one.

Next time, a holiday greeting... and always with thanks to you! :love:


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