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bed smell aroma
artificial rain wears it off
drain dreams and cold water
i always shower cold
breakfast on a desk past 7
butter on it all
toast tea turquoise crunch
i eat at 7
run run run run run run run run run run run run trip run run run run in the cold morning
never think and run
time to write
philosophy (not really)
plot (not strong)
description (too much)
so i write nothing and discover it's lunch time (is there a time for lunch?)
11:30 early bird, yellow finch
12:00 does anyone really eat at 12 anymore?
12:30 pragmatist's special, tomato soup
i eat... then... IDEA! IDEA!
write write write write write typo write typo typo write write write done
text from friend: let's go out
sure. i'm exhausted. i go out.
i always go out
for coffee, to the club, to this guys house
in the living room i look out a window and wonder if this is what wasting time feels like
like a hollow tree that might crack when a breeze passes branches that used to have leaves
we go someplace
Bible Belt Mud
Emile Jaqueon drove for half a mile with a flat tire along a stretch of highway lined with green and brown fluorescent signs erected by committee members who were also on the committees for the local churchs and business. The Kentucky road is a beast situated below the dull fields of Ohio corn and safely above Florida's marsh deserts.
The silver car rolled off the exit and into Main Street Centralia. The street looked clean and Emile parked in front of an old regal house. He stepped out and locked his doors with the push of a button and walked up the sidewalk in front of the house with square porch columns and thin glass, the kind that broke easy and had thin paint chips around it. Emile decided to enjoy the cool evening air because he had a thick wool overcoat and walked down the sloping main street. He parked in front of a residential area but Main Street probably mean Business Street so he continued.
Emile breathed in the cold fragrant air that slowly lost flavor as the pink sun set
Does an Artist Have to Play the Popularity Game?You, as an artist, might think that exposure follows artistic success. But now I believe that artistic success follow exposure. Here is a short story illustrating this fickle process:
Daviantart Michael creates art that borders on genius. After a while Michael comes down from his artistic "in the zone" mania (he loves the feeling, feels like he's high) and collapses asleep onto a pink sofa. Next morning (if ten o'clock is morning) he sips espresso and checks his inbox: 2, maybe 3 favs.
The caffeine hits Michael's bloodstream just as the disappointing realization sags over his head like a storm cloud. Why don't they see what I did here! Can't they see how this is really something?
Michael thinks about this the whole day. Then he realizes that success precedes exposure so he adds over 9000 groups to all his submissions and now receives a continuous flush of favs and comments as reliable as OLD FAITHFUL GEYSER, YELLOWSTONE PARK 82190, WY.
NO RETURN ADDRESS! (stamps are too e
A tall boy in jeans pushed open a door on the dark side of a small town's courthouse. A pretty girl followed and grabbed his arm and the doorknob behind her and heard the door click in the dark. The dark excited both of them and they walked through more doorways into the main forum of a large central room. The second and third floor ceilings were constructed around a circular hole with imposing railings for people to look down.
Shadows moved across shadows and the boy walked up the large marble staircase to the second floor.
"Wait for me." The girl said. She stayed very close to the boy who pressed forward because the bottom level felt watched.
"It's better up here." He said.
"It's so open. We can go anywhere. Why don't they lock the doors?"
"We can see Main Street from that office." He said and motioned towards one of the many doors that transitioned the architecture from American regalism to municipal office deco. The air hung dry like old paper that sat at the bottom of a locker thr
Antifreeze Doesn't Work On Frogs
Inside an antifreeze manufacturing company Dave made 11 dollars hourly driving a propane powered tow motor. He came to work drunk and during the course of the day drove a heavy pallet of antifreeze canisters through a window. The canisters spread around in different directions and one of these rolled across the parking lot then splashed through the thin ice of a nearby pond.
Kraken the bullfrog woke up with a start and looked around. Next to him lay Sevun the leopard frog, his mate, who still slept hard. He nudged her but she didn't wake up so he sprung his legs and swam up through the brackish water.
The afternoon sun burned cold and he licked slime from his eyes as he lugged his body to shore. Instinct tried to kick in jump now! Eat? No! Jump then? Escape now! He thrust his thick hind legs but they lugged behind him with cold weight so he crawled instead. The sun burned cold and Kraken the bullfrog hopped onto the parking lot asphalt and heard his knee bone
Your Coffee Stain Looks Like a Greek TragedyEzra Kilo licked the barn straw from his dry mouth and felt his head pound against the bright square of warm autumn light that shone down with morning candela.
“Morning misery.” He said. He clung onto a gray beam that injected splinters into his hand as he rose from a bed which had fallen apart during some early morning hour. The black wool blanket that transformed straw into party bed disappeared along with most of his guests. A few responsible drunks chose the grace of blacking out in the rented barn instead of driving home through long country roads where farmers drive million dollar lawn mower machines.
Ezra climbed down the loft of the barn and once on the ground searched for one of the many plastic water bottles that experienced drinkers drink with hard liquor to prevent hangovers. The stench of morning wet straw and rotting grass smelled putrid instead of like summer nights through the discerning nose of the hangoveree.
Ezra found a virgin water bottle on the cement
Geargrind City: Donni Blackrum, part 1 of 3Steampunk Series
Inside the crystalline and ironclad steampunk megalopolis called Geargrind City, Donni Blackrum leaned on his employer's workbench and sipped strong coffee from an old oil can and looked out the window. Outside shadows walked towards the marketplace. The purple sky grew darker and shadows longer. Donni reeled in his wandering mind and focused his eyes inside on the many shelves which held cogs and gears.
"Orb cog, 5 centimeters " He said. His coat didn't keep the cold out even with extra layers of black grease caked on it.
"Iron cast " He said with his voice trailing off. He slipped his hand into an iron bin and pulled out a heavy cog.
"Don! Hey Don!" A voice shouted from downstairs.
"What!" He shouted back. He heard his boss walk upstairs into the construction area.
Nat entered the workshop and looked at Donni, then down at the machine next to him. He walked over and kicked it and a red sheet of metal fell off.
"This is just great." Nat said
SteamPunk City: profile study of a new worldThe ancients who founded Geargrind City had carved the natural crystalline ground into a polished, glassy surface but it was later generations of engineers who had installed the unground clock which was centered at the town hall in the middle of the city and every minute the gargantuan second hand could be seen 6 centimeters under the crystal ground.
Black grease clouds rained clear water and cooled the fiery engines that ran the outpost town. Their world was the size of our Jupiter and entire civilizations grew and died unknown to each other.
Garamond West, a chemist from the post-steam era, made use of helium and bulky steam fan powered blimps to send groups to explore the hard volcanic landscape which held pools of sweet smelling thick sludge which would later be used to fuel gas engines of the future.
Currency was crafted from polished gems that were mined in the volcanic plains. A family or group of fortune seekers sponsored by a&
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More