you fancy yourself an artist when you're really a half-heartist
at >best<
and at >worst< you're just blowing kisses on the asses of
the rebloggables
the retweetables
& the shareables
fraternizing w/ them so they can invite you into their club
here's the thing though
nobody's labeled an artist by association
(oh lookie here, we found an accomplice to this masterpiece
shower them in gold dust and moon glitter)
at >medium< you're just somebody out for a platform
thirsting after a jumping off point to nowheresville
tap tap typing away to stay relevant
yet never putting pen to paper
or stylus to tablet
or tips to keys for something other than
rebl
The Cop and The Prosecutor by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
The Cop and The Prosecutor
Professionalism didn't afford them the freedom to know each other beyond their roles. He was the Cop; she was the Prosecutor. Together, they formed a two-pronged force of law and order that worked outside of the usual channels. Some called them the clean-up crew, the janitors that would cover up and bury any bad incident necessary.
Their clients were typically pretty boy celebrities trying to get off scot-free for DUIs, politicians caught in prostitution ring scandals, and, on occasion, businessmen who wanted to crush their competitors. The Prosecutor's skills lied in shifting the blame to unsuspecting third parties. As the daughter of the c
got mettle like i gotta scrap
something together on the fly
choosing 80 or less
to convey the meaning of what i must say
the bottom of the bottle's
the closest i can get to spiritual
while the swing of this cat's arm is just enough
to fool me into thinking that i can reach
nouveau riche
and the luckiest strike i'll ever get
can be found in the 99 cent store
taxed up beyond its bitter heavy hearted value
that i burn up like chainlinks in the bitterest smokiest way
fortunate? mis(s)fortunate
as i black tape up a glass view
that was never supposed to break
the door's been closed a long time
and the window doesn't work the way it should
now
freedom is as freedom does
bound in an intricate belt system
that loops under the arms and restricts the knees
it goes through the valleys that dip low and
runs close to the "whoopsie
don't look or touch there" space
masquerading this co-creation as a masterpiece
when it's a fistful of petals and desecration
with the colors squeezed out to accelerate the
pale yellow that functions as flesh beneath the bone
the binds are too tight
grip the rubber harder between the teeth
bitter material imprinted on the tongue
flakes off when the molar grinds too much
the binds are too tight
chafe the rope wound around the wrists
rough strands scratching o
decided to become an artist by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
decided to become an artist
"I've decided to become an artist"
but that's not something you decide
to try + strive for.
it's supposed to spark ALIVE in you
not struggle and writhe in you
like some broken snake
all out of slither and
choked up with withered leather.
meandering in the crook of the cranny,
you can't uncover creativity from the spaces that don't {exist}
hodge-podge a collage with your fingers half-glued to the table
bent over with a fork in the leg to activate null-spiration
perspiration when you recoil
from the burn that subsides when you rinse out your eyes.
unfinished dreams bounce out of a throat
filled with tinsel taffeta wratheta take your pick of
define: Arnold
traitorous Benedict,
piggly Ziffel,
poetic Matthew,
golfly Palmer,
precocious "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Jackson,
terminating Schwarzenegger,
but no Arnold means as much to me
as the boy with the cornflower hair.
Your lofty goals have made you complacent
with meek eyes to the sky rather than to the foreground
inspiration's hard to come by
but you've found a source in this listless girl
Irreplaceable gifts full of fingerprints...
huddled inside of the secondary compartment;
touched more than seen. touched more than felt.
I liked you far better,
that time before we stripped our shadows bare -
nothing
more than a pile of clothes crumpled in the corner -
something
except not anymore.
We skipped the hand holding and the merry wish-making,
preferring to cover ourselves in shiney-eyed artistic uncertainty.
(I can tell loads of stories about th
Steph had her back to him, as if to block Geoff out entirely.
He wished he hadn't said anything; he should've kept on talking about the weather, instead of admitting he had taken the offer.
The painful sob that escaped her broke the silence in the room.
Geoff reached for her shoulder.
"Leave me alone," she said, refusing to turn around.
"Listen to me."
It was ironic how the darkest moment of his life was taking place in the brightest room in his house.
"I had to take the job. We need the money." Geoff tried to reason with her. "You have to trust me."
"Don't you dare tell me what we need. We don't exist." Her words cut through him.
He
Life as she knew it was over.
One risky night rendered her dreams of stardom aflame. She'd been fighting so hard to get out of the Podunk town she'd grown up in, and now the test in the trash bin would tether her to the world of PTA meetings, frumpy clothes, and dull hair. Escape wasn't an option anymore.
It had been her boss' fault. He had to talk to her about misplaced papers alone, after work. She kissed him first. If it hadn't have been for the look he gave her, she wouldn't have ever done anything more than that. She wasn't that kind of girl...
except she was and the stupid pills didn't work the right way. One a day at 10 AM. She happ
Beyond the Train Tracks by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
Beyond the Train Tracks
Jack's mother warned him to never go beyond the train tracks. He asked her why.
"That's where the welfare trash lives," she said. "They're not good people."
He wrinkled up his nose. "Trash? What makes them stink?"
"Because they're free loaders who accept hand-outs instead of working for a living," she answered as she scraped bits of meat loaf off of her son's plate and into the trash. "Don't you dare go over there."
Jack didn't listen to her. He figured if they stunk, that meant they were cool enough to get away with not taking a bath. His mom never let him go anywhere without one. He had to meet these people! Instead of going straight ho
you fancy yourself an artist when you're really a half-heartist
at >best<
and at >worst< you're just blowing kisses on the asses of
the rebloggables
the retweetables
& the shareables
fraternizing w/ them so they can invite you into their club
here's the thing though
nobody's labeled an artist by association
(oh lookie here, we found an accomplice to this masterpiece
shower them in gold dust and moon glitter)
at >medium< you're just somebody out for a platform
thirsting after a jumping off point to nowheresville
tap tap typing away to stay relevant
yet never putting pen to paper
or stylus to tablet
or tips to keys for something other than
rebl
The Cop and The Prosecutor by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
The Cop and The Prosecutor
Professionalism didn't afford them the freedom to know each other beyond their roles. He was the Cop; she was the Prosecutor. Together, they formed a two-pronged force of law and order that worked outside of the usual channels. Some called them the clean-up crew, the janitors that would cover up and bury any bad incident necessary.
Their clients were typically pretty boy celebrities trying to get off scot-free for DUIs, politicians caught in prostitution ring scandals, and, on occasion, businessmen who wanted to crush their competitors. The Prosecutor's skills lied in shifting the blame to unsuspecting third parties. As the daughter of the c
got mettle like i gotta scrap
something together on the fly
choosing 80 or less
to convey the meaning of what i must say
the bottom of the bottle's
the closest i can get to spiritual
while the swing of this cat's arm is just enough
to fool me into thinking that i can reach
nouveau riche
and the luckiest strike i'll ever get
can be found in the 99 cent store
taxed up beyond its bitter heavy hearted value
that i burn up like chainlinks in the bitterest smokiest way
fortunate? mis(s)fortunate
as i black tape up a glass view
that was never supposed to break
the door's been closed a long time
and the window doesn't work the way it should
now
freedom is as freedom does
bound in an intricate belt system
that loops under the arms and restricts the knees
it goes through the valleys that dip low and
runs close to the "whoopsie
don't look or touch there" space
masquerading this co-creation as a masterpiece
when it's a fistful of petals and desecration
with the colors squeezed out to accelerate the
pale yellow that functions as flesh beneath the bone
the binds are too tight
grip the rubber harder between the teeth
bitter material imprinted on the tongue
flakes off when the molar grinds too much
the binds are too tight
chafe the rope wound around the wrists
rough strands scratching o
decided to become an artist by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
decided to become an artist
"I've decided to become an artist"
but that's not something you decide
to try + strive for.
it's supposed to spark ALIVE in you
not struggle and writhe in you
like some broken snake
all out of slither and
choked up with withered leather.
meandering in the crook of the cranny,
you can't uncover creativity from the spaces that don't {exist}
hodge-podge a collage with your fingers half-glued to the table
bent over with a fork in the leg to activate null-spiration
perspiration when you recoil
from the burn that subsides when you rinse out your eyes.
unfinished dreams bounce out of a throat
filled with tinsel taffeta wratheta take your pick of
define: Arnold
traitorous Benedict,
piggly Ziffel,
poetic Matthew,
golfly Palmer,
precocious "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Jackson,
terminating Schwarzenegger,
but no Arnold means as much to me
as the boy with the cornflower hair.
Your lofty goals have made you complacent
with meek eyes to the sky rather than to the foreground
inspiration's hard to come by
but you've found a source in this listless girl
Irreplaceable gifts full of fingerprints...
huddled inside of the secondary compartment;
touched more than seen. touched more than felt.
I liked you far better,
that time before we stripped our shadows bare -
nothing
more than a pile of clothes crumpled in the corner -
something
except not anymore.
We skipped the hand holding and the merry wish-making,
preferring to cover ourselves in shiney-eyed artistic uncertainty.
(I can tell loads of stories about th
Steph had her back to him, as if to block Geoff out entirely.
He wished he hadn't said anything; he should've kept on talking about the weather, instead of admitting he had taken the offer.
The painful sob that escaped her broke the silence in the room.
Geoff reached for her shoulder.
"Leave me alone," she said, refusing to turn around.
"Listen to me."
It was ironic how the darkest moment of his life was taking place in the brightest room in his house.
"I had to take the job. We need the money." Geoff tried to reason with her. "You have to trust me."
"Don't you dare tell me what we need. We don't exist." Her words cut through him.
He
Life as she knew it was over.
One risky night rendered her dreams of stardom aflame. She'd been fighting so hard to get out of the Podunk town she'd grown up in, and now the test in the trash bin would tether her to the world of PTA meetings, frumpy clothes, and dull hair. Escape wasn't an option anymore.
It had been her boss' fault. He had to talk to her about misplaced papers alone, after work. She kissed him first. If it hadn't have been for the look he gave her, she wouldn't have ever done anything more than that. She wasn't that kind of girl...
except she was and the stupid pills didn't work the right way. One a day at 10 AM. She happ
Beyond the Train Tracks by kaleidofish, literature
Literature
Beyond the Train Tracks
Jack's mother warned him to never go beyond the train tracks. He asked her why.
"That's where the welfare trash lives," she said. "They're not good people."
He wrinkled up his nose. "Trash? What makes them stink?"
"Because they're free loaders who accept hand-outs instead of working for a living," she answered as she scraped bits of meat loaf off of her son's plate and into the trash. "Don't you dare go over there."
Jack didn't listen to her. He figured if they stunk, that meant they were cool enough to get away with not taking a bath. His mom never let him go anywhere without one. He had to meet these people! Instead of going straight ho
Writing Tournament 2014 ~ Round I by Writers--club, journal
Writing Tournament 2014 ~ Round I
Come one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, art, features, and more to be won! You all have until February 12th to enter.
The time is nigh for the Fourth Annual Writers--club (https://www.deviantart.com/writers--club) Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! :la: It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! :typerhappy: First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the
DLD to DD for December 17th, 2013 by DailyLitDeviations, journal
DLD to DD for December 17th, 2013
Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
DLD to DD December 17th, 2013
Featuring these Special DLDs is an honor!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.
Every so often a DLD is featured as a Literature Daily Deviation and displayed
on the deviant ART front page. We would like to give special recognition to those
that have received this honor. We would like you to revisit their work, enjoy
the pieces and congratulate the artists. Please comment and :+fav: the features!
:pointr: If you receive a DD for one of your pieces featured by DLD please note :devth
It is building up deep within her fragile body like a heaving monsoon forming over the dry, cracked, heavy heat of an African savannah; an unforgiving and all-consuming storm desperately willing to drown out its less than fleeting welcome. Flickering with ceaseless coils of skin-searing energy like a grey-faced fugitive's adrenaline stricken heartbeat, it is not a bringer of life, but a threat to itand even the most reckless are hardwired to take flight in the face of such a colossal and uncompromising foe.
Beyond these white-washed walls, the world would have her believe that she is brave, a lioness, an exception confronted
She felt it every time. The rush. The adrenaline.
The thrill.
It was an accidental discovery. She hadn't meant to... it just sort of worked itself out. There she was, cramped up on the tube with everyone else, when Jane noticed the neck of the girl in front of her. It was beautiful. Such clean, soft skin, lightly peppered with hairs, snaking down to the secrets held underneath her pinkish collar.
No-one was looking. And they were all packed in so close together. So she just gave it a little lick.
Just a light brush with the tongue. A dab. She barely even made contact - just the faintest of pecks.
And it was beautiful.
The lady barely ev
The thing had eyes like embers, arms like ash boughs, and it carried itself in a wheelbarrow. Liam had heard it before he'd seen it: that one creaking wheel echoing plaintively through the trees. Then had come the eyes, twin sparks that did not shine so much as suck away the dark. Then the arms, lanky and rotting, drawing the rusting chariot ahead. Reach, squeal, stop. Reach, squeal, stop. Caught momentarily in the glare of the campfire, its image was the only thing he could see as he turned and fled into the darkness.
Fear became his compass, the needle swinging wildly as he couldn't tell which direction to make his escape in. Without his f
We're very happy to report that our third Write Off was a huge success! It was our busiest event yet with sixteen submissions (two from our admins), five rounds, and an awful lot of literature! We'll start judging each piece shortly in order to produce a five piece shortlist. That shortlist will go to a public vote and the winner will receive a three month premium subscription!
Points donations are still open at writeoffentries (https://www.deviantart.com/writeoffentries), so if you can spare any points help fund the prize, we'd really appreciate it!
Here are all sixteen entries, saved to the writeoffentries (https://www.deviantart.com/writeoffentries) account and completely unedited. Each of these pieces was produced
Weekly Round-up and Community News! by WritersInk, journal
Weekly Round-up and Community News!
The Round-up is here, jam-packed with four top literature picks from the gallery, news from around the community, and celebrations for the big winners amongst you. So prepare a culturally appropriate beverage, make yourself comfortable, and enjoy!
This Week's Highlights!
:star: Who gives this woman? by wh0rem0ans (https://www.deviantart.com/wh0rem0ans)
A short poem about being free.
Here's a gem that inspires, educates and liberates all at once, featuring a great mixture of strong, simple imagery and a killer repeating hook.
:star: Complicated by Drakard-14 (https://www.deviantart.com/drakard-14)
"We were Lavoisier, Mendeleev and Boyle all at once, discovering the pillars of nature and reveling in their
Figured I should finally update my journal because I haven't updated it since my "Fine, Fine, Fine" story got a Daily Deviation. My aim this year is to get more involved with Lit things around DA. I'm also using this space to practice my writing, since lately my writing's been limited to business things at work, roleplaying, and VN writing. I miss traditional story writing!
Thanks for visiting. This journal entry is likely to stay here for a long while. The best places to stay updated on me are listed below.
~~~
Other places to find me:
http://www.ouroborosconnect.net - My website (my VN making devblog is there too!)
http://www.twitter.c
I'm still speechless. Thank you so much, everyone, for all of your favorites, comments, and watches. I'm going to personally respond to everyone that's left a comment as soon as I'm finished writing this entry. It's crazy to scroll down a huge list of beautiful DD artwork and then see words - YOUR words, right there amongst every one else's awesomeness. I can't believe this...especially because I'm so new to the site, haven't gotten myself involved very much yet, and so many other things.
I mean, look at how plain my DA page looks. You can tell I'm new to all of this. Seriously, *thank you* everyone. I never would have guessed that I'd ever
Hey, welcome to my Deviantart page!
You can find more information about me on many of my other sites.
http://kaleido.vnovel.com - My main website for my visual novels.
http://kaleidofish.tumblr.com - My personal tumblr blog for random stuff.
http://twitter.com/kaleidofish - Follow me on twitter.
Thank you for reading.
~featuredbydldplz (https://www.deviantart.com/featuredbydldplz):iconfeaturedbydld2plz:
on July 14th, for my story called "Fine, Fine, Fine."