Hey everyone!

Its been a while since I've been active here on dA, and boy have I a lot of works to read. But I did my best, and it was truly worth it. Incidentally, I even got featured which is always nice So anyway, lets get down right to it, shall we? :dummy

Feature:

look at the mirror and fall in love at first sightgive yourself a flower
and wear your favorite
sweater
sit in a nice, quiet
little coffee shop
and meet yourself
with that first sip
of warmth
and a smile.
in the afternoon,
walk to the nearest park
and hold your hands
together
as if in a prayer
like a lover's dream,
be sweet to yourself
for once.
let the kid with the waffle cone
and his mother
stare at you for 45 seconds
while you feed the birds
hang those insecurities
by the door
or tuck them away
somewhere
in your cabinets
or drawers-
just take them off
today,
pick a hot red dress
and buy yourself
a drink for two
tonight,
mirror at one end
of the table
and your love
at the other. Le fardeau(English version below)
Esseulée sur le toit décrépit,
Mes hurlements se sont tus, happés par l'angoisse.
Au-dessus de la sépulture d'acier, anxiogène telle l'agonie,
Les dernières lucioles s'évaporent dans l'air charbonné ; 
Je consacre mes dernières forces à me briser les os sur le béton devenu carmin 
Pour que dans ma tête arrêtent de résonner leurs plaintes obsédantes. 
Abasourdie devant les innombrables décombres, je reste plantée là
Et les épais nuages asphyxiants, sur moi,
Continuent de déverser leurs lourdes larmes.
The burden
Forsaken, on the decrepit roof,
My howls hush, caught by dread.
Above the sepulchre of steel, horrendous as a deadly agony,
The last fireflies evaporate into the sooty air;
I devote my final strength into crushing my bones on the carmin ground
So that their obsessive complaints could finally stop echoing in my h LeftoversI hold against the sunlight
a glass of dark wine,
it's blood and supernovas -
             
          the heart you called your galaxy
          now full of dying stars :thumb514745202: renaissance womani'm infatuated with your hands. your fingers, your wrists, your palms. they've lost so many things in return for newborns. a young mother to words and words' words that are first generation children to the stories only you transcribe; and it is a sight to behold. in baroque fashion, you are retrospect of notebook spines and whispers, covered in blisters of blustering ink, each line cutting and sharp like scissors.
that would be the nails of your hands scratching surfaces, digging your fingers deeper into those hidden layers and i am astounded. creating mountains from mere molehills, scenes of life from the quiet moments of death is perfection in a way. it's cyclical and artistic because it is an addiction unlike that of any other drug. because unlike destroying life, you give birth everyday. every waking moment another wordchild is born and you can shape its semantics in however way you please.
i like to think of these moments as constant rebirths, whether it is for you or because of y :thumb515731233: Beware Ye Who StealsA field, so cold in morning's grasp
Silenced 'cept for slithering Asp
Where turnips grow and badgers flow
Where halibuts jump and cold winds blow
I found a gremlin stealing wine
And fined him for his heinous crime
His brother Blult, who leads a cult
Was also charged within his prime
Five sparrows pecked and nipped and clawed
While a puppy blindly pawed
At their bums, like tympani drums
And added many complex sums Bottle of GlassWith a bottle of glass
I'll make it last,
And I will make you see
What you mean to me,
when you look at me
So whistfully,
And broken-
Like a china doll.
Always toking,
Always looking past them...
At your bottle of glass.
Your backless dress...
A braided tress...
I'll make your hair a mess-
As you cry and cry and cry,
Praying to god that you die,
And your tears will dry
On your dress of black.
I'll make up for what you dearly lack,
While you look at me...
Holding you close, just so close to me...
So softly...
So peacefully...
And worn.
And we will stay...
Until we fall-
My little broken china doll.
And while you wait...
And while you hold on...
I'll have gone
Out with unseeing eyes,
Holding on to another song
With another china doll.
Soul to shard
Broken hard,
Fragile pieces never last...
You know I'll down you fast
As I watch you move...
Through my bottle of glass. Connecting the DotsI've dealt in death with you. We knew the bill,
and going Dutch seemed okay. Colouring in the spaces
perhaps resolved the stasis of these outlines,
but now this painted portrait subtly repines
for life, for what small art is born of drowning faces.
Submerged beneath your throes I held a beacon,
ambling between your toes I worshipped Eve,
so saturnine, whose lips of time could not preclude
this fruit of mine. Alone at last, the senses brood
on rectitude, while nameless lovers leave.
Would you care for a lie? An explanation?
You must have your own, mine are gormless -
it was not passion, merely impassioned:
irrationally cherished, rightly rationed.
When did our days perceive this lacking
rousing spore on spore, spire and steeple?
Evoking the strange and sublime to embrace
the earliest preserver of people.
We’ve dueled with death and dice. But who can blame
the shamefully bored of rolling one too many times?
I knew the rules as they were spoken
and you let them be, bare, unbroken.
I Just A Little DreamHer dreams were becoming more vivid each night. She didn't know how, but they were like gas escaping from an underwater fissure that had cracked open under pressure. It worried her.
Many of them started out docile enough as normal nocturnal endeavors. At some point when she had reached a deep sleep, they began to shift. The world would melt away to reveal a dome that she was trapped inside. With each ripple, it morphed and bulged. Things flickered on the walls. As she watched, she would see herself as a toddler offering her mother a toy in hopes she'd play with her. Her hair was stroked, she was kissed, and she was left alone.
Once her mother was gone, the tiny tot would waddle her way towards the staircase. Her plump legs kicked as she tried to climb, tugging at the carpet that had once been installed on the steps. Halfway through her trip, the chubby girl would have to pause to access if the climb was worth it. The bear hung limp at her side, black eyes judging or spurring her on.
Ka :thumb517506831:

Mature Content

Perfect - For Someone Like MeToo many times I attempted to write
A poem to you, too often I failed
Too many times the words were never right
They were just too rough and much too detailed.
There's a reason why countless love songs exist
The simple truth is, they are never enough
Because words simply fail and desist
From not sounding like a clumsy bluff
Oh, if only I knew how to say
That I know you aren't as perfect as can be
But even your flaws, they all fade away
Because you're perfect for someone like me
Too many times I made mindless mistakes
More accidents happen than I can count
I'm always gambling with far too high stakes
Yet you put up with that indebted account.
I'm not nearly as strong as others believe
My heart's too soft and self-esteem can be low
Still, somehow I'm worthy to receive
The love and support you can bestow
Oh, if only I knew how to say
That I know you aren't as perfect as can be
But even your flaws, they all fade away
Because you're perfect for someone like me :thumb489983522: SailorI set out to test the waters
and push my limits,
but the depths were hungry,
and the limits fluid,
far too close to shore.
All the complexities,
the terror and the pain,
flooded the brain,
drowning the fact
that happiness can only rise
from deep within.
It is your own damn job
to learn how to swim. But We Can Brighten TomorrowA candleflame flickers in the darkness,
so small, and dim, and warmthless.
Today’s faint glimmer is lost and dying out;
There’s only darkness tomorrow.
 
    I still believe in yesterday’s values,
    I still believe in heroes of old,
    but those are passed, their power is all gone;
    Their light can’t brighten tomorrow.
 
A wounded heart lies broken in the darkness,
alone, afraid, unheeded.
The cruel, cold shadows are pressing all around
a dark, forsaken tomorrow.
 
    I still believe in yesterday’s values,
    I still believe in heroes of old,
    but they can’t change the heartbreaks of today;
    Their light can’t brighten tomorrow.
     
A lonely child is weeping in the darkness,
feebly moaning in grief and loss.
No one knows about the te :thumb528865560: Green~Your green eyes
Need not be
Overflowing
With tortured tears. :thumb528099690: :thumb528560235: 13 peopleThirteen people in a room, one is from heaven and another from hell.
The other eleven are somewhere in-between.
If their are only six, beware the dog! (until the sun comes up) we'll wait here together.On the day when the rains came,
I sat down at the piano
as the windows steamed up,
condensation running like loving kisses
down my skin, pooling on the pedals.
The ceiling stretched over my head,
soft, satin sky, billowing
in the swelling of your delicate voice;
I let the light wash through me,
wine through water, until the last
blast of solar wind called my name;
but home was nowhere I could find.
I heard my kneecaps crack as they hit the floor,
decaying at your feet,
a cruel echo of unvoiced prayers,
the hallelujahs that gather
around the sweet curve of your lips.
With vocal cords severed,
I choked out my adoration
against the bare, cold flagstones:
we're breathing in gospels now,
drowning in holy water that burns
like gasoline against my tongue,
against my cerebral cortex.
And as the flames faintly dip,
spill their warmth onto the carpet,
I feel the weight of you over me,
the architecture of your bones
enclose me in your homely arms
unplug me, spread my lungs out,
clear and emp DUELI rise from bed and stretch and yawn,
Not yet dawn, I take my time to dress.
A million things run through my head,
As my wife prepares my breakfast.
I would be lying to you,
If I said I wasn't nervous.
My cause; however, is resolute,
And it only strengthens my resolve.
I rise from the table, prepared to go,
My wife hands me my coat and hat.
I kiss her cheek and walk out the door,
The cool winter air burns my lungs.
The gas lamps flicker and light my way,
And on time, I reach my destination.
The first rays of light rise from the east,
Across the field, from me, stands my foe.
‘Are you ready sir?’ he shouts at me,
‘Quite ready!’ I shout in reply.
Back to back, now, our pistols loaded,
He mutters ’Ten paces agreed?’
My heart now pounding, I reply ‘Agreed.’
We counted ten paces and turned,
A searing pain then spread through my chest.
My foe looked down on me as I lay dying,
‘Any last words?’ he asked gently.
My lungs filled with b :thumb513097996: :thumb513216319: WINTER'S GIFTThis year the snow has fallen like magic,
mesmerizing me into a wakeful Dream,
Time is but a rhyme of filigree serenity
as Winter's frostbitten virtues draws me
outside to walk with her, under the petticoat
lamplight I see a fallen flurry of snowflakes
glitter and glow, my steps crunch the Silence
into Echoes, defrosting Winter's subtleties
into my reflection-until I am left wondering
how did the fairies fit an entire village
into a solitary snowflake? How did they
arrange the frost into a colour I can taste?
I have lost count of the eclipses that have
found a home in the renewable reservoir of my eyes...
I thought I was lost in a moonless forest
chasing the ambrosia that drips from my
diaphanous dreams, I was yearning for a scarlet
skirmish of Purity to anoint my soul before
I eavesdropped on Winter too long and my
Frozen Flame became just a frozen blur,
I always believed myself to be a fragment
of the Magic that exists unseen, I had walked
this ashen stretch of growth and change...
b Uninvited    The storm that raged outside brought droplets of water that dashed against the glass of an apartment window like liquid bullets. Even as the city outside his apartment bathed under the rain that tumbled from the blackened clouds, a tired young man lay asleep on his sitting room sofa, his stomach rising and falling in an uninterrupted rhythm.
    His only company, a young woman about his age, lay prone on a large cushion with her head craned over a book. The hour would have passed in silence were it not for his gentle breaths, the distant thunder, and the rustle of the pages she turned as she feasted on the strings of words that gave way to cascades of paragraphs, each sentence like notes of music that could only be heard through sight. Meanwhile, the breathing of her loved one felt soothing to her ears.
    Propping herself on an elbow, she glanced over at her somnolent darling, her face lifting up into an affectionate smi Whisper on A DreamComing to him in the mist of dreamscape
Her porcelain skin appearing delectably cool in touch
Soft and compelling in his dreamlike caressing
Silky, long blonde hair held promise of the
Shimmer of the stars, as dark amber eyes burned
Reflecting the untold depths of her passion
She was everything; she was all he ever sought
In his quest for love and perfection, desperate
For a woman like her to fill life, heart and bed
Through her whispers of her desires
He felt the darkness begin to be repelled
As she manifested herself in the reality
Of his room, rising from his satin sheets
He was drawn yet he was driven away
By the vision become flesh
She reached out her hand, in a voice soft
Called out his name in a voice that was symphonic
Its chord-like blending beyond resistance
As he granted her entrance
In a second of dreamtime she is there
Her hands moving so lightly through his hair
Her body so perfect, pressed against him in satin sheer
Called for naught but his response to make passion
He h Early Homeboundthese Judas sitting in the lonesome pews,
saying what a blessing you were to them,
crying out the name, a sound to abuse-
never fit to touch your garment, your hem;
and the banshees cry out for the fallen,
once- a peasant, twice-  a king- thrice, for you.
the Judas words gossamer as pollen
from those who never knew you like I do
"We're gonna miss her soul" they cry aloud
though knowing not the offense of the sound
speak of kingdom come on a higher cloud
sixteen years of hell; six feet in the ground
and they say you're to heaven to meet kings
you're only going home on early wings :thumb513751772: Synapse to SynapseAs hands connect, flesh to flesh, synapse to synapse.
Eyes intercept eager glances, as the twinkling little stars dance.
Mouths curl, necks bend forward leaning in for a kiss.
Endorphins run amok, causing chemical elevation,
Tension fades, makes room for recreation.
As tongues connect, dancing in harmonious circles.
Hands move, touching unexplored places,
Clothing removed - increasing stimulation.
As eyes scan, eagerly, adventurously.
Hands connect, flesh to flesh, synapse to synapse.
Gentle utterance, mutual appreciation.
Passionate stares exchanged; hands move freely.
Exploring one and another’s body.
As heartbeat rises, adrenaline rushes.
Recreation turns into lustful anticipation.
As lips quiver, and eyes restlessly seek reconciliation.
Gentle touches assuage whatever fear,
As hands touch bare naked flesh.
Whilst they mentally prepare.
Flesh to flesh, synapse to synapse. BrittilypuffIn the Johto region, there is a girl named Britney who has a pair of Igglybuff twins. The twins, named Gigglybiff and Gigglybuff, like to sing and dance so much, that she often gives little shows to the local populace. Many people see this show because it features dancing, singing, and other things. Unfortunately, sometimes things can go wrong before a show. This is what Britney was about to discover in the form of a rather embarrassing accident that took place backstage.
It all began when Britney got a note asking her to perform for a show.
Britney: *reads note* "Dear, Britney. My kids really like watching your shows with your Igglybuffs. That's why I was hoping you could come to my place to perform for their birthday party this weekend. If you can't attend, I understand. I hope you'll be able to come and make my kids' birthday extra special. Sincerely, John." *stops reading*
At first, Britney was a little unsure. Luckily, the Igglybuff twins were near he :thumb522298597: :thumb528414421: :thumb514339499: :thumb523207948: :thumb528560235: 13 peopleThirteen people in a room, one is from heaven and another from hell.
The other eleven are somewhere in-between.
If their are only six, beware the dog! equinoxBeyond an ash gray skyline the sun was lying in wait. A molten liquid center with an atmosphere of blistering gasses was hidden behind winter’s cape. Spring was burrowed deep, steeping within the confines of hibernation. She dreamt of rampant flower beds, colors rioting in the wake of a new season. The awakening was gradual, the peace of deep slumber cherished and warm.
Spring stretched her arms wide
exhaled and released her heat
billowing warm wind equinoxBeyond an ash gray skyline the sun was lying in wait. A molten liquid center with an atmosphere of blistering gasses was hidden behind winter’s cape. Spring was burrowed deep, steeping within the confines of hibernation. She dreamt of rampant flower beds, colors rioting in the wake of a new season. The awakening was gradual, the peace of deep slumber cherished and warm.
Spring stretched her arms wide
exhaled and released her heat
billowing warm wind What You Left: A Love Letter“Saying you’re happy is like saying you’re sorry; it’s nothing that I want to hear.” I stole that from a song I never knew the name of; it made me think of you.
                You asked how I was. How are you doing? You didn’t ask about the hospital. You didn’t ask why. You were vague, because you knew. You were unemotional, because you don’t care anymore—you’re happy, you’re sorry—but you don’t care.
                                I bet you wish I had died.
                                I do too.
    & Desperation FallsShe's starring out
Into the night
Thinking she might
Just break down
Her heart aches
Her body quakes
A tear away
Before she cries
She sighs
She's holding on
Hands are thunder
She's under
Raging storm
She can't survive
Is she alive?
Echoes in her head
Bombs detonating
Gunshots resonating
Cries of ghosts
Come to haunt
Torment and taunt
Awaiting News
Alive and well
Had he fell?
She stares out
Into the night
In hopeful fright
© Jerry Langdon 2015 :thumb528815365: tempest temptressThe first woman was
Promethean punishment,
a way for the King
to ruin mankind
with beauty and grace.
It has always
been this way,
and it continues
because man believes it:
woman is their punishment
and her power too strong,
so she must be contained and
owned by a stronger figure
who can control and tame
the tempest she is.
Pandora is given to a man
to be owned, a possession,
but she possesses
her own jar, it is hers,
and she opens it
because it is
the only thing she has
been allowed in this world,
the opportunity to open,
and she does.
All sorrows and sins
sweep the world, and the story
goes that it was because
her husband wasn’t watching,
because she was foolish
and believed it was jewelry
or silk inside, but
she opened the jar because
it was her own,
and in a world where nothing
belongs to woman,
where woman is man’s punishment
and property to acquire,
she will open the jar
because it is the only choice
she is given. Sonnet LXIXOp. 26, no. 9
Inquiry
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown,
Creation's wonders slowly seem to spill
Their every secret, humbling what we've known
Or thought we did, but there's the very thrill
That keeps us spellbound thinking of the hand
Which wrought such wonders through the natural law.
And so we reach in hopes to understand
The grand design his mind's eye once foresaw.
To think that processes and intervention
Combined to form the substance of the earth--
And all is not yet new--what fascination
Does he give grace to be our lifelong mirth?
This spirit intrepid that man has known:
Imago dei in his creation shown. Second SkinThe beginning of my ending
This tale, of one so driven
Yet so lonely, bathing in the ashes
Of the millions of children
Who never truly breathed in life
Who never saw the light of day
Only the horrors dancing in shadows
Playing tricks on their desecrated minds
I hear their plaintive moans
Those desperate cries
Muffled by their exhaustion
Their lifeless eyes harbor
The pain of a thousand losses
They keep me company, on sleepless nights
Or so I keep telling myself as I lay awake
Unable to wash my hands clean
Of the crusted blood, a second skin
If only squeezing the trigger
Truly was liberating those husks
Of the burdens of tomorrow
The only telltale sign
Was the ghost of a smile
As they closed their eyes
One final time
I hear their plaintive moans
Those desperate cries
Muffled by their exhaustion
Their lifeless eyes harbor
The pain of a thousand losses
They keep me company, on sleepless nights
Or so I keep telling myself as I lay awake
Unable to wash my hands clean
Of the crusted blood, a THE GENTLE BECKONING...The gentle beckoning called to me, into the sweetest of Nights
my spirit retreated, over the rainbow bridge I found infinite rest,
dearest beloved, do not dwell on the shadow of my soul's swift flight
or grieve without end, for with you and the love we shared I was blessed.
The hurt you feel at my passing is my only perpetual pain,
I am as whole as Eternity, shiny new again I suffer not,
how I wish you would not seek yourself to blame
for my dying, put aside these crooked thoughts.
The time had come, I could not deny my final Twilight,
please don't dwell on my struggle, my fight for dear breath,
you were with me then and I am with you now, brightly
entwined in your memory, our devoted hearts defying Death.
Nothing can unbind us, for sisters we are, soul mates forever,
though you still weep remember not my last hour's strife,
the cord between us is strong that no parting can sever
and we will one day reunite, remember this and celebrate my life.
September 15, 2011
© Jewel MoonSilve Sacred CleanseCeramic vessels of rose hip oil -
hindrances to the bamboo shrine -
turn the town of murk and mud
into a scene of optimism, of one
that retains its soft-skinned youth.
And the passengers of each caravan
sense the spiritual force they bring -
the oil, the pastel urns of spring,
the metal chimes that lure bathers
from their shoji-walled homes. :thumb526844978: Centiped(l)Stepping out of sync, rapidly
rapidly, marching lively through
the memories of yesterday's sex
and the moment of your birth,
to what you had for breakfast
last Sunday after the thriller
you watched the day before
that brought you nightmares.
How it goes, the parade of life,
from ground level, smelling the
mold of wet sod, hearing the
quick-step padding of a thousand
feet that show the way out of
the silted lake where one of your
cousins drowned during that summer
of skinny-dipping far from town. Little WorriesWorry about life,
it worries not for me.
These things I carry,
so worrisome.
A test this week,
two essays the next.
Homework! do not forget,
Try and do your best.
Books and paper
         and pencils
             and pens
weigh me down
        down
Yet the anchor,
sinking me,
my mind,
my heart,
down,
are those,
things,
simple, complex,
little things,
called emotions.
Worry:
will my grandma make it?
what about my mom?
my aunt and uncle driving crazy,
like ants over bodies.
My father and brother,
work, work, work, work,
My dog,
alone, alone, alone, alone.
My friends,
are they alright?
My dearest one,
so loooong I haven't seen
her.
These worries, these
things I carry,
with me.
I have to,
need to,
carry,
because,
I care. ATROPH: What's your name?Oh, what a pretty name! One of the twins has a daughter named Lotte too, and she has a brother named Niek. The twins are my sister's children, but my twin sister died young so I raised them by myself.
Every. Fucking. Time, she hears my name...
It started getting annoying, but I made a game out of it, some kind of memory.
And the best part is when every time I finish her sentence correctly, she goes: 'Yes, Yes!'
It's like my personal game show! to the girl still kneeing her eyesnot much has changed;
I still listen to the red-lipped boy
frightened back to the closet
passing comfort under my door
to every disarray he left
for dead
I still close my eyes in winter
mornings, hoping the sun warms
my breath and melts
the dewy tears from the nights
before
don't worry, love
not much has changed;
I still listen to a thousand brittle piano keys
breaking into a sinus rhythm
and blasphemous hymns
I still sing along
and repent
I still think of strangers sweating
underneath me
I still hope no one knows
I still
hold my breath till it hurts
more than the crunched cluster
of pain he left
I don't hurt over wonderland
and fucking him to submission
I don't have friends the way
I used to
I don't tear up at the thought of god
even if I secretly hope he finds
it in him to love me still
but I still wish on grains of sand
till they are washed away to silt
and find life within their centers
I still write to ventilate
and smile to validate
the wrong done unto me
I still dance harder tha SWEET INNOCENCESweet beauty we do praise your name
radiant as shines the day
it is innocence we lay the blame
of why your mind was swept away.
T'was Hamlet that you gave your heart
marriage, yes you did aspire
his words were spoken with such art
that it set your very soul to fire.
His father's death had sent him mad
and his heart became a mystery
his sickness made you very sad
your covenant now cannot be.
Polonius slain by Hamlet's sword
now fatherless you went insane
tears that ran, O how they poured
your cross to bear this wrenching pain.
In a quiet brook you chose to lay
whilst music danced upon thy breath
and there I know your spirit stays
for while in song, you met with death.
Forsaken love does beauty die
lest we forget her name
sweet Ophelia's soul it cries
in innocence we lay the blame...
David Rogers :thumb525365305: :thumb526437818:

Mature Content

A Place to Write(I Need)A blank paper
A place for thoughts
Not yet Imagined
Full and free
No constraints
A love I have for this art
Overflowing in my heart
As is on the page

Mature Content

:thumb530072203: :thumb530165412: Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part I. CoffeemakersJanusz Grzywacz
Has created a cult song about a coffee grinder
Poets are silent, when it comes to coffeemakers
They lack of an olde-worlde charm
Of sentiment
They're just useful and overly functional
Nobody imbeds into their spiritual life
In the end they're not cucumber soup
They've became attached so quickly to our habits
That we ignore them
And we remind about them only when we have to make coffee
But the time will come
That the coffeemakers will make the quickest decision in their history
About noticing them
Just like the small beings discovered by a good-hearted elephant
They will quietly clamor
We are here
We are
But they won't get to the ears of their owners
Cause none of them is able to yodel
To tap dance
Or even to form thoughts in an elegant way
Coffemakers
Will be silent after this heroic attempt then
And will still perk coffee without any word
Only sometimes one of the brews made by them
Will turn out to be bitterer than the other ones
This will be the symptom
That coffemak :thumb531190356: Full Hazmat
A simple hill,
covered in dandelions.
A small brown dog
chases nothing in particular.
Beyond the crest of the hill,
the sun reflects off a white spot.
The spot becomes a man’s head.
The man’s head becomes a man,
becomes eight men,
all in white hazmat suits.
They gently strode across the field,
one foot at a time,
as if they’re on the moon.
They are careful not to disturb the flowers.
The dog stops to watch the men,
and one of the men stops
to scratch the dog behind the ears.
The dog does not respond.
The men in full hazmat
leave the hill,
still on their way. Elephant To English
Translation from baby to English:
Who are all these people
looking at me?
I don’t like this very much.
No! Don’t pick me up!
I have a sensitive stomach!
…Oh dear…
Translation from elephant to English:
What’s… is that a rifle?
Oh, please, not again!
Translation from dog to English:
Hey, those people got a baby…
…should I eat it?
I mean, why else would they bring it here?
I-I better wait.
I’ll see what happens in a few years.
Translation from rock to English:
…
Translation from panda to English:
Why are they putting up curtains around my home?
Oh please, not again!
Translation from hippopotamus to English:
Hey, Fred, check out the photographer.
What is he, National Geographic?
Betcha I can kill him.
Just don’t spook him.
Check this out.
Translation from fish to English:
Doesn’t anybody carry spring water?
I’ve had nothing but salt water for six months!
This is disgusting!
Translation from human to English:
What Roadside
There was a lamp.
It radiated frost,
and shot sparks of fission.
I sat in my car
hoping the radiator
would burn a little hotter.
The engine started
and the lights stuttered
unable to decide.
There was a lamp
casting its shadow
through scattered snowflakes.
I sat in my car
and hummed to myself,
hoping my breath would warm me.
The engine started
and begged for air
as my lungs did the same.
There was a lamp
reflecting off my roof
and back into itself.
I sat in my car.
My chair wrapped around me,
As I sunk into foam rubber
The engine started
grasping for keys
hoping for redemption.
There was a lamp
shining emergency beacons,
a song of lights and no audience.
I sat in my car
and my body turned to
gasoline and ice.
The engine started,
and hummed to itself,
hoping its breath would warm me. Snowy Drive
They flew in every direction,
like stars in an expanding universe.
The stars collecting on my windshield,
as my headlights sparkled off each of them.
Beyond the corner,
in a glowing patch of fog,
two headlights shined out,
and scattered across the skies.
I turned my head slightly,
as a bright light caught my face,
and a brilliant radiation came to me,
as my shadow burned into the seat behind me.
The lights passed my car,
and the world dimmed again.
I have to travel more in darkness,
with only the snowflakes for company. Freedom
Be careful when you exit,
the door frame is a little too low for your head.
If you should find yourself sweating,
go to the bathroom and
wash your face with lukewarm water.
Do not use the sink at the end,
it doesn’t work.
When you drive home,
do not take the highway.
Take the back roads and enjoy the scenery.
Also be sure to avoid the jogger crossing the street
at Port Diven Road and Elm.
When you get home,
turn the doorknob to your home,
but don’t open it.
Take a moment of clarity to realize
there is nothing waiting for you inside
that you want to see at the moment.
Instead think about visiting a relative
or one of your closer, more successful friends,
but not Peter,
he doesn’t work.
Finally, just sit on the swing in your backyard,
idly wondering if it can support your weight,
and for once in your life,
try to enjoy the breeze.
It’s free. Looped
You’re still ordering your pizza over the phone?
You’ve been doing that for the last hundred years!
Why would you do that when you can get the new app!
It’s only 99 cents!
You can hit the button and you can order your pizza over the phone,
For free!
Just the way God intended!
What? You’re still touching your phone?
Why would you touch your phone, that’s so 2012!
Now introducing the hands free auto voice app!
After buying the 99 cent app
Just talk to our automated pizza ordering system
and you can order your pizza by talking,
for free!
Many of our customers have been complaining that
the voice recognition software is a bit fidgety,
and doesn’t understand them,
and we want you to know that we understand you.
Introducing, the NEW pizza to person app!
Only 99 cents!
Just hit the button on your phone
and speak to a real person for free!
Our representatives work around the clock
so you can get that delicious pizza
and you can talk to a real person!
Why wou Echo
Art is not about subject, but perception. It can be interpreted as anything by any individual, but a strong artist has the ability to relay his perception to others better than anyone else. His vision exists not within characters or events, but in his very soul. It is through the soul by which all art is given meaning. Unfortunately, such a thing does not exist in any tangible medium, and any attempts to replicate it are inherently flawed. People who are less able to communicate, or at least less willing to do so, often become frustrated with this intangibility, and as a consequence grasp to any physical manifestations they can find and pretend that they are the true Gospel. Their observations are surface deep only, and their judgment is crippled by their own lack of sight. Ultimately, the true Gospel resides in the soul, and the word of God is silent but echoes through our perceptions. Man In A House
There were corridors leading through my fingers,
and doors in my chest.
My house was an intricate series of rooms,
interconnected as though I was trying to lose myself.
The kitchen was in my feet,
and the fireplace in my neck.
Objects moved around the house every day,
trying to confuse me as I grew tired.
I traveled up and down the spiraling stairs,
through looping hallways and
through any windows I could find.
constantly looking for my bedroom.
I found it in my head.
I had been asleep for a while. Windows In The Mirror
I walked across the reflecting pool.
The skyline extended in all directions,
perfectly straight lines extending away
perfectly smooth surfaces of buildings
Thousands of windows,
each with a person inside,
a person with a story
an entire life of experiences,
encased inside these brick walls,
not wondering about the daylight.
There was perfect geometry,
perfect rectangular eyes
that seemed to watch,
shining from below me.
This was the reflecting pool,
and the only image it distorted
was my own. Windows In The Mirror
I walked across the reflecting pool.
The skyline extended in all directions,
perfectly straight lines extending away
perfectly smooth surfaces of buildings
Thousands of windows,
each with a person inside,
a person with a story
an entire life of experiences,
encased inside these brick walls,
not wondering about the daylight.
There was perfect geometry,
perfect rectangular eyes
that seemed to watch,
shining from below me.
This was the reflecting pool,
and the only image it distorted
was my own. :thumb504101355: :thumb527646528: :thumb517323171: :thumb508980690: :thumb523057359: Tyler And The Ferret's Random Hour
Hey, what’s up everyone? My name is Tyler!
    And I’m the Ferret!
And we’re gonna be spittin’ out some randomness for you today!
    Pa kow!
All random, right off the top of our heads!
    Chubba wubba!
Let’s start off with a nice random word, like potato!
    What’s more random than a potato?
I dunno. It’s a POTATO!
    I like em mashed!
Nobody cares Ferret. How about this one:
    What is it? What is it?
…Wall.
    Oh yeah! Walls bitches!
How about unicorn?
    How about monkey?
Monkey is not a random word, Ferret! Don’t say monkey!
    How about dowel?
That’s better! Jelly beans!
    Windows!
A hamburger!
    Ketchup!
CD-ROM!
    Computer!
FERRET! We are not playing a word association game! This is random! The people want random!
    Scooping!
Dice!
    Magnetism!
Let’s kick it u Dust Night
Moonlight settles like a dust on the grass.
It coats each blade, giving a slight florescence,
breathing the slightest bit of life,
as though the ground beneath were its child.
This dust settles almost everywhere,
but I can only feel it here,
as it travels through my open window
on the chilled breeze.
It is a soft dust,
it brings its softness to the world,
and if you breathe it in slowly,
you can feel your heart fluoresce. The Professional Man
You’ll find the rules have changed.
This is where you become the exception,
and law of man becomes a hindrance,
rather than a necessity.
You will see the line where following the rules
meets the banality of evil.
There is no more comfort.
People don’t want to see comfort.
They want to see how their misery fits on you.
And they will use all their power to do it.
All assets will be liquidated.
Your clothes.
Your facial features.
Your personality.
Your inner peace.
All will be placed on a scale
and sold at market value.
Others won’t see it happening.
They will pass it off as a necessity of life.
The only way to stop it
is to shake yourself and others out of their haze.
It is a battle without victory,
and you will surely die on the field,
but it is a battle you lose if you don’t fight it.
You lie in the path of the wind,
destined never to settle down
with the dust around you.
Look around, and you will find yourself
falling through the crack in the universe.

And then to the journals themselves:

Some people like poetrySome People Like Poetry
   
Wislawa Szymborska - translated by Walter Whipple

Some people--
that is not everybody
Not even the majority but the minority.
Not counting the schools where one must,
and the poets themselves,
there will be perhaps two in a thousand.
Like--
but we also like chicken noodle soup,
we like compliments and the color blue,
we like our old scarves,
we like to have our own way,
we like to pet dogs.
Poetry--
but what is poetry.
More than one flimsy answer
has been given to that question.
And I don't know, and don't know, and I
cling to it as to a life line.
                                                                                                           
 by AlwaysRainCheck . In which one of my poems, "The Sorrow of the Leaves", was featured. Its currently in storage because I sent it to a magazine for review. If they publish it, good for me; or else, dA it is

Watch foreverThese are the long-haul deviants I watch.  Why?  You know what you did. 
Some of you I've watched since I got here almost 13 years ago, you old skool MFers
AGMeade
angeljunkie
apocathary
ATrue
Allysmurfy
BeccaJS
Blacksand459
claremanson
DamonWakes
danielzklein
darkcrescendo
DarkGoddessK
Dr-Vergissmeinnicht
DorianHarper
doodlerTM
LionesseRampant
Droemar
GalaxyGoddess
inknalcohol
IntelligentZombie
HugQueen
jasonvelocity
Jon-Law
KreepingSpawn
LadyAnder
TheLaurenVerse
Lytrigian
lamat
mackwrites
Memnalar
OokamiKasumi
Prowl71
RalfMaximus
renonevada
rider-on-the-storm
rlkirkland
Rovanna
rushingtide
SadisticIceCream
saintartaud
SRSmith
ShadowedAcolyte
SurrealCachinnation
telempathicangel
TheSkaBoss
thorns
isthisthingstillon
:devxjoetheninja
 a recognition from raspil which, truthfully speaking, I hold with a lot of regard. Incidentally, raspil  I'll start working on those two deviations of mine as well, once I'm done with this feature. That will keep me busy for here on dA. Besides, it will also help me in fleshing them out a little more.


Sacral and Spiritual BeautySacred Places
            
   
 
 
 
          
         Profound by AnthonyPresley
    Taj Mahal by purukp2000    Autumn Shades of Mont Saint-Michel by boldfrontiers    Gothic palm-tree of Languedoc by BricksandStones   
The light of God by mickyjenver    Il Duomo,Santa Maria del Fiore by nightshade-keyblade   Project Portfolio: Neverending StoryWhen browsing the "Projects and Contests" folder in the forums, I have come across Andorada's interesting "Shameless Self-Promotion" in the  #ProjectPortfolio, Link Project Portfolio and the Portfolio story has begun.
Here are my own little story-works to promote


DD (Daily Deviation)

DLD/DLR (Daily Literature Deviation/Recognition)

Some contest and prize winners
Poetry
                   
Photography
and Suggestion to dA - Collaborative Journals   Update 2:     
danlev has opened a discussion asking everybody about their opinion on how to practically implement collaborative deviations!
Please give your feedback to him, this is what we were hoping for!

:iconflyingheartsplz:   UPDATE 1:  :iconflyingheartsplz:   
Heidi announced that there are working to implement several ideas! Collaborative Deviations are on the list!


We have feedback from the staff that this is not as easy to implement as it might look... But they listened to us and they are doing their best!

What we need to do now is to patiently wait and give the dA team our love   and support!
(the third one in particular is something which I agree with - tandem features really need more exposure truth be told, or else its just one person who gets lucky all the time )

So yeah... now onward to:

Tag:

I got tagged by Parsat , so why not lol. Actually, I also got tagged by PuzzledHeartBox and Quippers-United in one of those "What do you love about yourself?" forum posts, but that doesn't count since its Forums only. Anyway

1. What non-electronic object do you think will be obsolete in the next 10 years?
That's actually a hard one, since whatever becomes obsolete in one part of the world, becomes a regular need in another part of the world. The design of bikes, for instance. Although if all things are considered, I believe that... well... I honestly don't know. I haven't thought about it that much.
2. What is your favorite way to eat potatoes?
I toss them in my curry
3. How did you meet your closest friend?
NotenSMSK ? I met him in the third grade. It was in English class when we had met, and it caught on from there.
4. What was the cheapest gas price you remember, and when was it?
Cheapest... I think that would be back in 2003 I think. It was around Rs. 50.75. Taking into account inflation adjustment, that would be around 30 cents per litre, which would now be around 60 cents per litre.
5. Which deviation of yours most clearly reflects who you are?
TheGalleryOfEve Commission or Glass-house or Hozan (Sadness). All my deviations are a reflection of me, but these three represent me when I'm very... very... very honest.
6. Do  you root for any sports teams?
I don't
7. When someone tells you to write something down over the phone, where do you write it down?
Either on my notepad with a pen when I'm on the road or walking from one place to another, or on my computer... in the notepad program.
8. If your name were a verb, what action would it refer to?
shehroze: irregular german verb, meaning "to flirt and tease openly and offer cuddles for free"
9. Talk about a friend who is from a completely different culture than you.
Well, that's kinda tough, considering I'm on dA. But if I had to pick, I'd probably talk about PuzzledHeartBox . He and I are so different, and yet so similar. I'm a tad bit held back and a little conservative in my approach, truthfully speaking (hell, I even show that as well), but he's so open and states his mind bluntly. Although I have a European passport, I'm not entirely European - but I suppose I've yet to carve my identity as well. He has those values of Europe which I like: he gets around with the trains and public transport with no problem, has a really cool fashion sense, has a sense of humour which would usually not be understood by people from outside Europe but I get and I find awesome, and... he's likable, if you're more into honest upfront sorta folk. And... yeah... the rest enters TMI territory and I'm not going on that.
10. What is your desktop background right now?
A borning, generic Dell desktop background.

And I tag no one

News:

So... what have I been up to lately? What keeps me busy and all that... Well... Apart from all these "..." I'm actually in good spirits.

The MPH is going really well, and for the most part I've had no significant problems in dealing with the course content. We had a Summer School from 1 June till 15 June and that was fun. Exhausting as fuck, and tiring as hell, but it was truly worth it. And on Friday, at 6pm, I met PuzzledHeartBox

We totally engaged ourselves in Hamburg. He stayed over in my apartment (which I'll have to leave in October to shift to Bergedorf in a hostel since its closer to uni and its cheaper. I loved this place where I'm staying, and now I just feel sad knowing I won't be around here. Shame, really, but hey, studies come first so ). We went to Sternschanze, Reeperbaun, Jungfernsteig, Rathaus, Landungsbrücken, and we roamed around in Lange Reihe as well. It was an adventure. And he had a wonderful time here in Hamburg, so I'm happy for him and things are good here at my end.

And I also saw JUDAS. FUCKING. PRIEST. LIVE!! Yes, my dream had come true when I saw my favourite band, perform live, in Hamburg. They played Victims of Changes, Beyond the Realm of Death, Painkiller, Valhalla, Army of the Dead, Breaking the Law, Redeemer of Souls, Metal Gods, Living After Midnight, Hell Bent for Leather, Turbo Lover, You've Got Another Thing Coming, Jawbreaker, and one more song from their album Redeemer of Souls.... no, wait, they also performed Hellion/Electric Eye as well. The opening act was Five Finger Death Punch which just got boring very quickly, for me anyway. Soon as Judas Priest came on, it was an hour and forty five minutes of heavy. fucking. metal. .

Incidentally, I also discovered a few other bands in the process. One of my latest favourites for now is Battle Beast, which is epic, and in its simple way, its music for my ears. I love it. Come to think of it, I discovered a few bands while staying here in Hamburg: Orange Ate Kid (who have a facebook page, do give them a listen, they're nice), Hammerfall (Hearts on Fire is my favourite. Its cheesy, its classy, its got a bridge which makes you want to sing along like a Karaoke), and... Kalmah is nice too (Hades kicks ass). As well as Madness, Anita Kelsey "Sway with me", and... oh, I finished some anime as well: Angel Egg, Ergo Proxy, Bo-bobo bobo-Bo (which I'm still watching), Gunbuster, Afro Samurai: Resurrection, Chouyaku Hyakuninisshu: Uta Koi, Devil May Cry, and Trigun. I highly recommend Ergo Proxy, because it has a very good story and it has a wonderful plot progression. And... I also saw an old movie in B Movies (which is a movie theater in Hamburg), called "If...", which was actually a cool work overall. Also, I saw "Shawn the Sheep" in Cinemaxx which was just plain adorable, and British too. Will be seeing "Juraissic Park in 3D" in Cinemaxx as well.

On that note, don't watch the 1988 movie "Wizard" by Ralph Bakshi. Its a messed up movie, with a very perturbing ending. Not for kids, at. all.

Well, that's more or less from my side for now. I've had my share of moments when I felt really down, but they haven't really moved me or hurt me that much. I manage to bounce back some way or the other. You need to. I know I haven't been online that much on dA, but I'm always available for talking. I've been in a conversation with SadistSkunk which is something I like. Its nice. Also, thanks TheGalleryOfEve , you're a sweetheart. I needed the ear, and I appreciated your response. And... all's good at my end. Hope to hear from all of you soon. Cheers.