Interested in what happened in 2014?
LIT me explain u a thing July - Dec 2014LIT me explain u a thing...about literature news
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 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:
Dreaming IrrevocableFinalized and unwavering makes
RevelationsWe have walked the universe and soared through infinity. We have brought Our wrath on the wicked and innocent alike. With Our whims oceans rise and cities sink. We have condemned kings of the earth to hell and lifted emperors of the galaxies to their empires. With Her fingers She spins starlight. With My voice I birthed the sun. Our decree orders the cosmos and Our sorrows crumple it.
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
Now BreatheThere are no constellations mapped across my skin and I am not a galaxy waiting for you to explore. There are no nebulae sprouting from my lungs and there is no stardust scattered in my veins. I am more than that, I am more than molecules that have re-arranged themselves into the vastness of the universe. I do not need you to tell me that I wear a circlet of comets because I am beautiful and because my gravity attracts celestial objects.
Allaying Alideya (9)Doctor Jin was the first man I ever killed. I wanted to feel remorse for it, but I couldn’t. I knew that he had invented the horrible torture solution and I could imagine him and Brelnin together, their grotesque, sick laughs ringing down the hallways. The moment he killed my mother flashed in my mind. It seemed liked forever as I stood over his body, alarms singing of my escape and his death. Blood pooled around me, but I couldn’t will myself to move, one death wasn’t sufficient for what he had done.
SaxAnd suddenly the music stopped, save for one lonely sax; wailing through the darkness like a lost child, drifting in and out of the smoke. Drone. Whisper. Reeling drunkenly, bouncing off shadows. Just when everyone was entranced, beginning to dream, it happened. The sax broke out into an orgasmic series of notes, rough and real, cutting through the room like a mad blizzard of sound and motion. Fever. Frenzy. Fury. Then the rest of the band stepped back in and the spell was broken. The sax man receded and lit a cigarette.
Death Whispered A LullabyWhat's more to say about the sky that hasn't already been said a million-times over? It was a pleasant aquamarine blue, with a light accenting of clouds, spread out nice and evenly across the sky. The career master sergeant had been decked out flat on the dirty road, amongst a thick layer of rubble and brick, near the front of a large plaza structure. He had been stitched left to right, across the stomach, by an hidden medium machine-gun position.
It was so quiet that the ringing in his ears could just barely penetrate, but none of the sounds from the outside made it to his head. He didn't hear the gunfire or explosions. They weren't important to him anymore. He didn't hear another of his fellow soldiers' as he fired a rocket into the nest of enemy aggressors that had cut him down; the building's lobby exploded and collapsed in on itself from across the street. He heard nothing of it.
All the man heard and saw was a story being told by a tall, hooded figure with a scythe. It was his to
Villanelle Composed by the Man Lost at SeaWhere am I today? Where are you?
I ask myself this every solitary day
I awake into lightness. I love you,
Maribelle, I say, to the calm blue,
gulping as it rocks the stern. Today,
where I am is where the ares of you
are not. What I wouldn't give to argue
with you, Maribelle, over melon parfait,
but daily I rise in stale light. Love, you
are the reason I continue to pursue
the ends of this endless flat slate—
wherever I am today—to find you
where I left you, in my mind, as renewed
and mine as then, when we parted, okay
with away. O, lightness of love. You,
Maribelle, are the reason for this view
and reason enough to want to stay
where I am today, where you
let me wake, into light. I love you.
FlyWith the covers pulled over my head, my room darker than the city night and the steady breath of my sister in the bed below me, I would put my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. I’m not sure who I was praying to. I knew God then, I suppose. Each night asking for the same thing. Never receiving, but I’d never stop. I couldn’t sleep unless I prayed. Dear Lord, I thank you for such a nice day. Please let us all have good dreams tonight and a good day tomorrow. And please, please, please let me have the power to fly. In Jesus name I pray, amen. I thought these words each night, and each morning I’d wake from my nightmares to find that I, in fact, could not fly. I was always disappointed.
“Jezebel, what are you thinking about?”
There is laughter. “Flying is for the birds, dear.”
“Then I’d like to be a bird.”
“And what would you do as a bird? You couldn’t speak, or walk.”
Shift (Version 2)Human legs were not built for speed. No more than human teeth were built for ripping throats. But we make do with what we have.
My bare feet pounded the soft mulch of the forest floor, kicking up dead leaves as I raced between trees. Biting cold lanced through my shoulder. The needle-like dart that dug in behind my shoulder blade sent spasms through the muscle, numbing it. My breathing was hard, and the sound of air rushing through my lungs was almost as loud as the blood in my ears. But not so loud as to drown out the sounds of voices calling, and heavy boots slapping the ground behind me. They were getting closer.
A gunshot cracked through the air. The tree just to my right spat bark and wood chips as the bullet slammed into it. I ducked instinctively, raising a hand against the flying splinters. I veered left, and the next gunshot scraped my arm. I hissed as a line of heat was drawn across my elbow, tearing the thin cotton of my shirt.
I needed to rest, to hide. I needed to get the
THE DEPARTUREMomma, your daughter is dripping down the side of the world, dissipating slowly.
I thought you should know.
At night I hear the police helicopter circling like a fat buzzard, contemplating if it
will kill- perhaps, not kill. It hums as it picks the city clean while I am a sieve,
howling hungry. I gape and gape and run right through the days, thinking: to kill
or not to kill. I thought you should know.
Tuesday rolled into Wednesday and I was caught somewhere between, slipping
through myself. I dreamt of orchards: tart citrus splitting my tongue and bees
working themselves through my hair. Grandpa was there, asking after Grandma,
his shirt, crisp from the iron, eclipsing the fruits. He was no more reachable than
the summers he spent under the verandah, his shirt, crisp from the iron, safe from
the sun. I was eight, treading water, and from the edges: bursting oleander. You
were coming to pick me up, Momma. When I dried off, my legs read: MEAN MEAN!
MEAN and I was balled
UntitledThe clock sounds, sounds, sounds.
It's a soft wood, like a weathered plank for a playground seesaw.
Is there really deafening silence?
Does it not make a difference if you can't hear it?
Sure, you can feel it,
But can't you always?
The last marble from my ancient Newton's cradle fell
From my desk to the tile overlay floor.
Rat. Tat, tat tat-tat-tat.
Dun is the smoke the hellfire exhales,
And indefatigable is the man at the bellows.
Let the darkest seal shut my eyes.
It's too much for a quarter of my brain to handle.
Why, then, do my eyes sting at night?
Hey, what's that green thing across the room? If that's
The Boogeyman, I'm running to the preschool.
Little nose-pickers will eat him for me.
That exercise ball could be a good instrument;
It reverberates and resonates within itself.
I'm licking the screen door; it's metal
But doesn't taste like it. It's fresh outside.
Rubbing my tongue against the screen makes it feel hairy.
I hope there's no bug juice on it.
dawn orbitmy mother dies every morning.
here is how: i wake up.
i am already wearing today's
clothes. i am already humming
today's song. i am already
breathing today's air.
i go into my mother's room
without knocking. i say good
morning. she says is it? i say
yes. or sometimes i say no.
or sometimes i say maybe, it
depends. sometimes i don't
say anything. either way she
kisses me on the forehead and
calls me her lovely. she smiles
and she chokes. her skin pales,
her hair greys. i have breathed
away all of today's air.
i make coffee, walk down to
the bus stop. leave the body
behind. when i come home it
has begun to decompose into
the sheets. has begun to sink
into the house. i make dinner
in today's clothes humming
in the evening i play video games
and leave the doors all closed. my
veins are expanding, my tear
ducts do not work properly. i
climb into bed. when i wake up
clothes and song and breath and all
i go into my mother's room
without knocking. i say good
morning and she says