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from one world to another
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Random from DDs I Featured

Victory Keep: Chapter 1
Edgar stepped into a clearing and found a centaur suckling her child.  He threw his hands over his eyes.
'I am terribly sorry, madam!'
'It's all right.'
Her tone was scornful, but with better things to worry about, Edgar did not take it to heart.  He uncovered his eyes.  She was feeding the child like a mare, not a woman, so he felt no need for embarrassment.  He stooped down a little, trying to determine the gender of the young one.  As with foals, it was easy enough to tell.
'What a delightful little boy,' he said.
The mother smiled.  'Thank you.'
'Do you mind if I sit down here for a few minutes?'
'I am very tired.'
The centaur made no reply.  She stood with arms folded and her back legs slightly apart, gazing out into the forest.  Edgar was disappointed.  The significance of the situation had not escaped him, and he hoped she would talk to him.
The first thing to do was find somewhere to
:iconthornyenglishrose:ThornyEnglishRose 105 52
I like the palms of your hands-
dry and static.  I like the palms
your mother planted in the front yard
when you were five.  They grew more
quickly, but you grew healthier- less green.
Good thing we planned this
exodus into the Dead Sea.  
Lucky we cannot help but to float.  
Something from the sea, the land-
they were mockingbirds, weren’t they?
This cannot be healthy.  
How the hell did my mother manage
to sink here like a fish
after death?  She claims to have exhaled
hard, but my lungs will not compress
enough; I cannot let go
enough.  Let me tell you something-
We should grow gills,
individually, I mean;
we could launch into rivers,
not be afraid to lose
each other like old pennies.
Do you secretly have gills?
Aren’t you curious?
Aren’t you nervous still?
I am unsure of the weight of a dozen people
who really believe in something.
Let’s start going to church for nothing
more than adm
:iconmgbarrera:MGBarrera 164 41
You used to show me your
skeleton, the secrets inside
of you, your marrow. You
run, you shut your eyes, now.
You shut your eyes at the color
of the flowers, the leaves, everything
is orange. I am gathering
acorns. I am wearing your mask.
:iconohfever:ohfever 234 36
If I regret anything, it is the reticence of birds--
my reticence, the uncertainty of the word "today,"
which rusts like the flute before Judith one.
If there is a time to undress, it is now,
but my thoughts close in on me, like a tunnel,
and I lose sight of everything except the wind.
Beneath it all, my hollow bones
are icy blue, each joy expunged--
I feel it keenly, here, and there.
:icondeadend-zenith:deadend-zenith 136 14
Transdimensional Super Team
Notice: The full length version of this tale, which is far more palatable, is available right here.
The magical computer pool glowed.  We stood around it like gods.
"Place your palms upon the unimetriscope," said the man in the top hat.  "Validate your identities to Her Majesty, the Queen of the Multiverse."
It all seemed a bit hoity-toity to me, but there's a lot to be said for peer pressure when some extra-dimensional fancypants tells you your "peers" are a lady with wings, a James Bond looking guy, a giant robot, and a little girl and her psychic-bondmate, a white pony.  
The guy in the top hat called himself Jeremy Flavius Beedle, and he twirled his mustache when he spoke.  
He'd found me in San Francisco.  I wasn't even working.  I was sitting outside the ferry building munching down on a pastry from the shop there when he approached me.
Top hat and cane, fancy suit, and a giant
:iconlunaticstar:LunaticStar 76 58
clark kent
Silver eyeshadow and a blush; smack lips
and sway hips. The nail file's on overtime
and the glitter's out sick. Snap bra strap,
winking at the mirror; stars could get lost
in this cleavage, and these cups could be
flowerpots for a healthy crop of petunias
or baskets for hot air balloons, if I chose.
Tonight I'm juxtaposing crepe with Lycra;
all those stubborn parts sedated, yielding
like cats before the leap. Skirt the colour
and size of a blackbird's wing and knickers
tight enough to make me sing. Peep show
smile; big hairstyle. Just the faintest smell
of wine. And I close the phone booth door
without a single sound:
tonight I don't fear Kryptonite.
I'm going on the town.
:iconzebrazebrazebra:zebrazebrazebra 154 99
There's a saying among my people. It was something about how you have nothing to fear from a pond full of leeches, how it's not the pond's fault. I used to remember it a lot more clearly, but that was before the loss of cohesion.
The elders say I was sent as a warning of things to come. The medicine man never said much of anything. He waved his bones and feathers and trinkets around, he lit his grasses and fanned his smokes, and after singing his songs he just stared at me with a deep pity shining out from under his skeleton make up.
I am subject to visions. They are sudden and striking and painful to the point of debilitation. When they come, my senses stagger and die off. There is always a great sound like a huge zipper being pulled, and as it unzips, all other noises fade into nothingness. Gray static envelopes the edges of my visual field and creeps slowly and deliberately in, turning my surroundings to an indistinct slate.
I discovered this gift when I was fourteen. A robber had b
:iconivannikolayevich:ivannikolayevich 188 49
the bright scarlet egg of dawn
nests in my head.
when it is time, it will crack my
skull like a shell
and be born.
I have a witch's fingers and a
witch's eyes, rough pewter lenses
through which I see the world.
I have sabotaged their crops,
I have plagued their children,
I have eaten their livestock in the night
   (so they say)
and I hear the whispers in the streets.
they will be willing to kill
for their conviction, though
I am not willing to die for it.
I am no longer human.
I've been branded
with an ugly mark
of fear and desperation,
one terse syllable that cuts
like a switch.
a thin reddish line splits the horizon;
I set my ribs on hinges
so they can get to my heart.
a damp wooden platform,
a rough rope necklace—
I am not a Spartan
carried home on his shield.
this is not an honourable death.
:icontoxic-nebulae:toxic-nebulae 186 102
FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower
"Dora speaking."
"Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..."
"Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing."
"You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is."
"Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...."
"Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or anything of the kind, you really ought to be calling the authorities, not me."
"If you'll just let me explain Mrs. Appleby, please."
"Oh, very well."
"It's like this. I have a freezer in the cellar, where I keep frozen berries and mushrooms and things. It's quite roomy, although I usually manage to keep it filled to the brim. Anyway, I was going down there
:iconwolfrug:Wolfrug 89 66
No ocean
No one sleeps the night the army comes home,
and memory storms the shore, bipolar and sexy.
You always knew where to go and what to drink,
where to find the crows that stalked the summers
left lying wrinkled on shorn boardwalks,
Augusts headless and Julys scuttling over hills.
When you were gone I fucked Arthur Rimbaud
in a Parisian basement. He hooked his eyelashes
under mine and made waves on my skin.  
Tolle, lege, like the parable tells me.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 131 84
"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door.
I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the  bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit.
My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily.
His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo
:icontheelectricmonk:TheElectricMonk 146 32
She opens windows
in  their wintery home, hopes
to let the cold out
when it doesn't work
she scratches matches to life
and burns the house down.
:iconsssorry:Sssorry 182 32
Even Though
There will be no caged fingers,
no tendons finely tuned to A from tension.
There will be no clenched teeth, gritting rosin,
to make the final singing note growl.
There will be unwinding bed-sheets,
hands slowly releasing the tuning pegs.
There will be slowly sliding scales
as the four limbs loosen past playing.
There will be a simple, quiet exit,
not to ovation, but to a hushed audience
who anticipate an encore,
even though it is uncertain.
:iconpretty-yin:pretty-yin 146 41
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage
and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we
are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the
Get us more milk.'
She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)
Roar. We are learning to growl
and snarl.
I tried to wrestle littlesister but we collided with
Nanny's gnarled sandalfeet and
she's mad.
So am I, Nanny.
I am a lioness today and I
am fierce.
Sarah tosses her mane and I explain patiently (she's only six) that lionesses are free,
don't need manes to chase antelopes
she's too young to care
if her imagination grants her maned masculine lion
:iconinkatmidnight:InkatMidnight 179 79
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Go With It

Wed Oct 4, 2017, 2:53 AM

Listening to:

Oliver - Go With It

Skin by ginkgografix

Pushing on 3 am...
So of course I'm awake. Some things never change. :P I guess the bright side is that this particular night I've jumped off the deep end doing a few things I've been putting off, and thinking about stuff that's going on around me and what that means for me and my future. I realize that's super vague, and it kind of has to be, because I work for an online company and can't talk much about it. Still, it does feel like there are a lot of signs in front of me right now, and I'm hoping that I'm navigating the situation the way I'm supposed to.

I know that there's not necessarily a right way to navigate life, but in situations like this I feel like it'd be easier if it were more like a platform game, where there's a clear-cut path, you know? :shifty: Ah well.

How are we all doing?

Eye candy:
Over the mountains and the horizon by m-eralp

Bosa 2 by INVIV0

Partial Relic by Glenn-Crouch

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:
SRSmith Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2017   Writer
Thanks for collecting 'My Lucky Number's One'!
Happy Thursday! How's the universe treating you?
ikazon Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2017   Writer
I think the universe has decided that this year's gotta keep me on my toes, as it has for everyone else, but all things considered, holding up pretty well! :) How are you doing up there?
SRSmith Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2017   Writer
It's definitely turned out to be one of those years, and it's only August! :)

Life's pretty good up here - no complaints. Working like a madman, which is keeping me a little too busy to do much of anything else, but as the saying goes, I'm making hay while the sun shines!
wh0rem0ans Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2017
Someone just faved my piece that you suggested for a DD, many moons ago. I cannot remember thanking you; perhaps I did not, and that possibility I regret. That DD meant the world to me. I just self-published a book, and that wee bit of encouragement is part of what made me braver. Thank you. :frail:
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