I Have HopeI have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have to remember to breathe every time those words come, I dont want to believe it. I still cant believe it. I remember the first time my counselor looked at me and told me that my depression and anxiety might be something more. Great, I thought, What could possibly be worse than this?
"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
-Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,
I'm a contributor at CRLiterature where I help approve news submitted to the group and do other secrety things.
Expose-Lit is your lifeline in the lit labyrinth! The group is here to help every type of writer find their place in the dA lit community. I, along with a great string of wonderful people, will be posting articles to help you find that place!
Over at LITplease I manage and update the Community Portal which is a sister journal to my own news article, Love dA Lit. I'm always open to suggestions to put in the journal and news article!
I run and update theWrittenRevolution's Literature News journal! I also help out with their affiliates feature as well.
As an assistant at WordWars I do things to help thorns and GrimFace242 do Word War related things and let them know they're fantastic and stuff.
I'm one of the coordinators for the December Form Challenge [and all other group-related projects]! ProjectDFC is the headquarters for it all.
I'm a contributor at BurdenedHearts which means I update things, greet new members, and whatever else is needed of me.
I'm a supplier at Authors-Club which means I supply information [top secret information] and do back room things.
TheFulkrum [the founder] says I'm to help with literature related things at dALinkSystem [which I love!]. You don't refuse The Godfather. Besides, linking is wonderful!
Phildelphia Aids Walk
Rest in peace, dearheart.
Enough is Enough
Some of your fellow deviants are in need of love.Here are some of your fellow deviants who are in need of love:
Reasons To Love dA Lit Community
Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community: Part 1Over a month ago I asked "Why do you love dA's Literature Community?" and I received an amazing response, with well over 60 participants! For the sake of length I'll be splitting this article into two parts, with the prize winners at the end of the second article which will be posted tomorrow!
Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community: Part 2This is the second half of my Reasons to Love dA's Literature Community. If you have no idea what is going on this explains it a bit more. ♥
God of WarI took a lover who looked at me like I might have conquered him. Like I had cracked open the sky and drank out all the light. He looked broken, too sad to give a fuck.
Before he met me, he had been a king. Before he met me, he would bring girls out of the window to his bedroom and onto the roof. He would point out constellations and spin stories for them. Then he would bring them back in and have sex with them while the stars were in their eyes.
He should have kept his distance from me.
The night he took me to his roof, he told me he had been born under the sign of Leo, the regal symbol of the zodiac. After asking me my sign, he told me that we were a perfect match, Leo and Aries. I laughed, saying he reminded me of a different king in the sky, Cepheus. My answer to his asking of why should have been an omen.
“You are Cepheus, with your arms raised, begging the gods to spare your precious Andromeda.”
“Who does that make you? Andromeda?”
The History of StarlightHere, in the darkness of a cloudless night and on the crest of a hill, Máküs stands beside the most welcome of familiar strangers. There is a thunderous silence beneath the throbbing surge of blood in his ears. It is muggy and still: a mosquito night. He feels the dampness of sweat trapped beneath his shirt, and he blushes at the threat of revelation in it. There are ways, he has heard, to read the presence of pheromones in human sweat, and he wonders—now—if telepathy is simply a matter of recognizing the language of odor.
—if lust can be named in the mingled redolence of sweat, cigarette smoke, and wine consumed in a cellar bar more than twenty narrow steps beneath Vodičková Street.
Can Nathaniel—standing so close to him on the ruined, crumbling base of a dead statue’s pedestal—smell the lightning-bolt surge of amatory turbulence burning through Máküs
constellationsShe travels between worlds as others travel between sunflower fields; cords joining two fish, knotted together, and maybe you can see them, if you squint - (the brightest of those stars is fourth magnitude, so better get your telescope, and better know where to look, if you're searching for those specific pinpoints of concentrated light) - and when the sun transits the area from three hundred thirty to three hundred sixty degrees, that's when the dreamers are said to be born.
Spring children, with big eyes, and declared sensitive souls. And so I am a spring child, with small hands full of dreams and many more unspoken words.
The last of the signs is about harmony and swimming on, eternally attracted to the endless blue horizon, Neptune's loyal subject. Have you met her? No, and neither have I - but I imagine her hair to flow like waves and her hands to be the cooling pools whose touch invites you to rest. Two fish said to have transformed (Aphrodite and Eros, or Venus and Cupid, anyway
Ruminations on a Fallen Star, Not Yet Fallen A priori:
Though I am not in love yet, I will be.
I remember how our eyes will meet;
you will see the green stars in my eyes for what they are.
I am afraid.
1. I am star-crossed, tattooed and traversed;
my clumsy limbs build a bridge of my belly
for the constellations to write their paths onto my pounding heart.
Some days these star charts are a chain link fence across my body
and on others—I can trace your name in the lines between my stars,
not the name you bear now but the true one I have always known,
the one that is for me.
2. Nostalgia is always poetic, but the blood memories
are harder to pinpoint; they do not catch like butterflies.
We cannot feel their feathered scales, their veined wings
just their violence against the insides of our veins,
the strength they give us, the gods they hope to make of us—
cruor vult, and I may only hope to survive their frantic seas.
3. I have never been so aware of all the muscles in my neck,
of the way my
The Sky BullEuropa, most beautiful: even in dreams you are fought for.
Asia says she is your mother,
the other land is a stranger
and she plies you with fame.
She says she will take your name.
It is over. She has already won.
He has spied you.
Fate rides swiftly. Can you hear the hoof beats?
Can you feel them shake the earth as they ride through morning?
Fronti nulla fides.
You garland the head of a lie in wild roses and narcissus. You marvel and caress the coat of purest white mockery, then boldly mount it's back. Europa, this is no stray bull in your meadow, nor is he gentle or tame.
Across the ocean he flies, bounding tirelessly over waves while you scream and hold white-knuckle tight to his golden horns. Sea gods and merry Nereids frolic beside you as you plead for your life, but it is Zeus that has stolen you away.
Fear, for it is not your life that he wants. Cast your beauty into the sea; let it slip away. Sacrifice it to Aphrodite, or fair Persephone, but keep none for yourself. Beau
I am the EverybodyNot the sun--have dawdled in the outside darkness,
discerning the Big Dipper and its bowl's guiding line
to Polaris. Everything else is foreign, an ebon map
with pinpoints of cities and near unpronounceable names:
Adhafera, Algieba, Denebola, Regulus--cultures uttered
in divination's two-toned newsprint dialect.
Then comes the thought of what if: life circulating them
as it does here, and if their soundless gap
can challenge the record between each human life:
the files of our moving lines on damaged roads, at work
and its day-to-day redundancy, the bits of information
we've become online: nothing but ones and zeroes. Even I
cannot find Leo and its heart of galaxies, the ruling sun
finally rising as I attempt sleep through its hindering light,
when it dawns on me as appropriate: unus multorum,
creativity's inhibition--an over-tasting, a dilution.
I am a lion among lions, a major and minor
against the unknowns of every other constellation,
the unknown of each smile in passing, th
Hoodie Cult 2.0We did it in 2010 and it's time to do it again!
A while ago Nyx-Valentine and I decided that we need to do it again. Grab any hoodie near you (if you don't have something use any other kind of head covering or be creative) and get your photo done!
Let's see if we can beat the amount of 82 entries from last time.
What are you waiting for?
The Hoodie Collection (16)
Goals / To Do List
Critiques for ProjectDFC 3/4
Something showing my complete (and endless) love for TheFulkrum.
A description of master's tardis control room farsh-nuke
Full Goals and To Do List [mainly for myself]