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About Literature / Artist Senior Member mindful coyoteUnknown Group :icontransliterations: transliterations
from one world to another
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The Gap - Pages 20 + 21 by Peris-Productions The Gap - Pages 20 + 21 :iconperis-productions:Peris-Productions 809 202
A Meeting
You will notice first, the bone jutting
from my meat, it is called teeth,
These are my lips;
This, like so, is called a smile.
And then there are the fabrications that I wear
The layers of silk, of wool,
of iron air
(indeed there is an air that I am not quite there)
- And feathers I have wrapped into my hair
And Afghan pearls, and finally
My hands, hare-fleet, and meeting
:iconrober2:rober2 161 28
Last week, you showed up with the thunder on my doorstep.
Your voice was so drenched with the rain that I almost didn't recognize the way you said my name. It hung in the air like an incomplete sentence, like something unfamiliar, like you were so lost from trying to find everything we left behind and piece it back together that you couldn't find me in your heart anymore. It was pouring and the power was out and I was so tired of watching the world fall apart from outside my windows that I let you back inside my arms and inside my senses, and your bones were shaking as you clung to me and told me how good it felt to come back home.
There was something forced in our actions, as if we were going through the motions of something we had practiced a hundred times before. Your lips were all orchestrated movements against mine and the arch of your back and shudder of your breath felt rehearsed, so that when you lay tangled and spent in my bedsheets I let my mouth wander the terrain of your sh
:iconsocraticsynapses:SocraticSynapses 310 48
How To Say Goodbye
Dear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th
:iconpullingcandy:pullingcandy 911 1,206
Collectively they were dubbed "The Intoxi". Everyone thought it was just short for "intoxicated", as if some internationally organized internet conspiracy had caused them all to pour out into the streets on cue that day, drunk out of their minds. Hell, I thought I had missed out on something, and after seeing the news, even I popped open a bottle of Bud I had in the fridge and roamed the streets for a bit with everyone else. It seemed like the thing to do, and I didn't want to be left out when I'd clearly missed the memo. It had seemed meticulously planned at the time, especially with all those people in all those countries. As I walked the streets that day, sipping my beer in clear defiance of US law, I nodded to my fellow wanderers, waved to some, said hi to others. However, the ones I waved to merely looked at me and frowned even though some of them waved back. The ones who waved back did so with clear trepidation, and they all stopped mid wave to me and became intensely interested
:iconkalamarizoo:kalamarizoo 144 121
Romancing Cotton
Someone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her like
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet.  What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
dry hands.
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
of crows slipping across the sheet of day. Union makes for ardour
and sweat. We were trying to build a body bereft of bones, with
phrases shaped like small sharp pins, like dove-fletched
arrows, like abandoned gods—relatively, you're
and there are always greater pains.
I assembled cribs, prayed to the god of broken things.
The future
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 192 34
Cadaver Hotel
I live inside of your corpse. Stealing
in through the incision
between your ribcage and hipbone, I burrow
myself inside of your embalmed organs and
wrap my fingers around your bones,
clutching until my knuckles turn
the same kind of white.
Though you are dead,
your body sometimes quakes-
spasms and sends a flash-pulse of postmortem waves
over me. For quick sucks of air,
I crawl up and out of your pretty mouth, careful
not to hit your crooked teeth.
To avoid dying inside of you-
oh, how I long to-
I have taken
to gnawing on the insides of your cheeks
and the sinewy parts of your
atrophied muscles.
Yesterday you began to reek
the way dead things do,
while it is sour,
it still smells like you.
:iconnonamepsalmist:nonamepsalmist 193 47
The sun was red the day Slicker died. She watched him fall a hundred levels, to shatter against a fat, reinforced gas pipe, shards of him breaking across archways and supports and cables, plummeting into the foggy void below. His blud drenched a cluster of backup valves. It dripped from the nozzles, thick and syrupy.
Slicker was unsticking the gears on the Bigtime, with such focus that he paid no attention to the approach of the Quickhand, making its minute-long journey around the Bigtime's face. He had clamped safety cables to the supports, but was careless. The Quickhand caught a support line, and dragged him off the gears, sending him plummeting. The Bigtime was in such poor repair that the other clamps had torn free, sending scraps of rusted steel along with Slicker to his death.
Shine had tried to shout a warning, but Slicker couldn't hear. Or wouldn't. Slicker loved his work, loved the way things ran smoothly when he was finished. Mostly, he loved it when things worked, as
:iconmemnalar:Memnalar 183 175
The Beckett Colcannon
CIAN, bowler hat, medium gray trench coat, old-fashioned sunglasses, a cane.
BEAG, bowler hat, light grey trench coat.
SET: Front center, a rectangular table, around 8 feet long. To its right, as seen by the audience, an oven/stove. On the stove, a pot with steam coming from it, and on the floor to its right, a small garbage bin. To the table's left, a simple armless chair, facing the audience. On the table, one pound of ham, in one piece. The set is lit in medium light, and the remainder of the stage is left in darkness.
Curtains rise. CIAN sits at the chair. He stares directly forward. Five seconds.
CIAN: Ready, yes, they must be ready.
CIAN knocks his cane twice on the floor. BEAG enters from the right immediately, looks into the pot. He makes to leave.
CIAN: Are they ready?
BEAG stops and faces CIAN.
BEAG: Almost.
CIAN: Good. How long have they been steaming for?
BEAG: Almost long enough.
CIAN: Good. (Pause.) And the ham?
BEAG: Sitting on the table.
:iconshedsimas:ShedSimas 50 23
today, i deposited the
contents of my stomach
into an open, wanting
porcelain mouth.
i, a liquid solid
am readily taken down
its esophagus,
into its belly
where i decompose.
my throat is a raw
i use to
sing off key
and vomit.
i have a fever.
my temples are
solar panels
and my skull
aluminum foil,
trapping the heat
it's like i have cysts
between my bones,
calcium build-ups
in my veins.
i lost my legs along the way
down into the abyss.
but i don't mind.
their muscles ached
so terribly
i'd often thought of
still, i am left with
206 bones,
and they all creak,
and clamor,
and they won't shut up
and let me sleep
that must be why i never
because unconsciousness
can never be deep enough
to submerge me.
tonight, i'll sweat
myself out through
my pores and
endure nightmare
layered over
always about the
same bones &
:iconartistic-foolishness:artistic-foolishness 220 157
Hello Now
I don't know how to greet you
I only know that I have always thought of you as something
I could hold in my hands
unnaturally as
a fistful of minnows before
they die
puncture their own bones
against me
and secrete the abalone glaze of their eyes
into a film on the dock
Until now I have since kept you as
a flighted likeness
of my mind
knowing too the cold of a multiplied sunset
ending in frost and space between rivers
the fragrance of a sweetly decomposing
salmonberry, telling time for reddening chinook to end
sweeping like a wind in the parts between birches
or of it's stain that I would palm and carry
thinking also of endings and beginnings
in such order
when gulls eat the cartilidge and fur
from animals put on the silted banks
of the knik
a place where the sun can fall deeply
and I
build fires
as I am no longer alone,
and we hear the chickadees being the trees
and the loons wanting to make night
could it be appropriate now,
while twilight is flaming
to finally know your name?
:iconsupersunshineagent:supersunshineagent 182 25
Ms. Fox
rummaging through the night;
I find her buried in a handsome coat.
the darkness softens her
trash-strewn make up
to lay bags under her eyes.
I have always thought to chase
a beauty like that; blow my
hunting-horn like kisses
as I saddle up.
I would wear her around my arm and
discuss the big-game
and the beasts at bay
with boys that brandish
scorecards into the hundreds.
she hid from the canines
lapping her neck with a head
buried in all fours.
I skinned her like a poacher
bearing my ivory smile
for her to unfurl
flushed and screaming
like a new born baby.
caught in my hooves the wrong way.
:iconichors:Ichors 141 31
The Door of Our Cottage in the Western Night
They began on the beach, and a fire was raging upon the waters.  A fire on one side of the world and one around the other.  The earth had been unbruised, like an apple on a string, and then two stones had struck within a month, and everything had burned, slagged by deep space arrows. The wind was terrible.  Everywhere was a howl with no direction.
There were a few lichen-like communities in damp places, where the sky had steamed by but seared little, lifted ravines and streams from the land, unwrinkled it, dragon braille revealed only in fire.  There were a few who had been underground, and a few in the inland seas and lakes, a few in the deeper rivers, a few on the moon, watching it go.
The moon was hit four weeks later, and there were no lunatic survivors.
Once again, we were alone.  The world had been smoked and there was a smell of it everywhere, and we walked on the remains of the crater's basin lake.  It was involute
:iconcreightonwrites:creightonwrites 84 11
We have been Seen
The sheets on my bed curl up around me,
unsticking from the mattress and kissing around my shoulder blades,
the line of my jaw. I'm just a drop of milk in this place.
Some thing out there gets to see into our houses.
Graces the block, seeing through our roofs,
past our clothes and sheets and ribs,
deep into the flesh of our heart.
Some one sees us there, laying quiet and unafraid.
He sees us, thinking we are naked, but he sees our shrouds
of secrets covering our private parts.
He knows what hesitation smells like. So do I.
He smells our hair. It smells like pine,
the longing of chimes
is wafting from our hearts.
And we have been seen.
:iconvinesofsilver:vinesofsilver 129 20
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Hi Def Distance Romance

Tue Feb 20, 2018, 2:41 AM

Listening to:

Kimbra - Hi Def Distance Romance

Skin by ginkgografix

Here comes another late night call...
Hi all. It's been a hell of a year so far, hasn't it? I've been trying to make a point of changing my habits this year, particularly in the past few weeks. I'm making it a point to get up and exercise more, the eating habits are next on the list, and most importantly I'm trying to write again. Not just telling myself I want to do it, but actually making myself use free time to do it.'s something.

I feel like I've kind of been letting time go by without working toward anything other than surviving in the past few years, and I don't like that much. So, that's something I want to work on as this year goes on. For now, though, I'm trying to make small changes that are easier to commit to, in the hope that the big picture gets better in the process.

In lighter news, I've been playing D&D with a few friends, so that's been a fun and consistent social event that's getting me out of hermit state. It's also been good fodder for writing, as coincidence would have it. I think in the process of working on these various things, I've cut back on my time playing Overwatch, but I don't feel bad about that in the grand scheme of things, so maybe it's just for the best in general. I think that for all the fun I've had playing the game, it's also been a contributing factor to me not focusing on actual life goals and the like.

Anyway, it's pushing on 3 am and I'm rambling, what's new :laughing: How are we all doing?

Music corner:


mindful coyote
Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a writer and a former volunteer and employee here. If you've got site questions, fire away! If I can't help you, I'll point you toward someone who can. :]

Deviousness Award

Deviousness Award
A deviant for nine years, ikazon is a monumentally influential member of DeviantArt. A champion of DeviantArt’s literature community, he’s contributed his own writing and journal skins to the community since he first joined DeviantArt. In 2011, ikazon became a Community Volunteer, shining a light on undiscovered pieces in both the DeviantArt related and literature galleries. His dedication to the community quickly made him a beloved figure on DeviantArt. Soon after, in 2012, he was hired as a full-time staff member, where he ran multiple community projects, such as the 2014 and 2015 Valentine’s Day Exchange!

However, ikazon’s contributions to the community extended past his time as a community volunteer and a staff member. From contributing journal skins to the CalendarProject to leaving encouraging comments for his fellow community members, ikazon’s supporting presence has been felt all across DeviantArt.

We’re proud to name ikazon as the Deviousness Award recipient for March 2016!
-awarded March 2016


Add a Comment:
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
This is a very belated reply, but thank you! :)
HugQueen Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2017   Writer
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
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