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Okay, here goes...

Journal Entry: Sun Apr 13, 2014, 1:41 PM


Many comments have been made, many people have hauled off and jumped and are now wondering what is really going on, many tears have been cried (at least by me cuz y'all--y'all are mean. Enough said about that, it doesn't matter. I wish everyone all of the best and more.

I would like to take a few minutes to say two things:
1) Many have come through DLD and been better in this literature community for it. Dedication and hard work helped forward their already progressing talent. Not me, not Will, not Lili or any other running administrator--just dedication and hard work. We have present and former hats, badges and most of all the owners of coveted Daily Deviations; all have come through here and I am damn proud to have been a part of the sacred space they passed through. I'm sure the sentiment is shared by many, many others.
2) I've been checking on this account for the last two years and have not seen any real growth that directly effects the literature community in a positive way. DLD has been doing the same things--rote, yes contributing to the success and exposure of unknown literature (though many of the same people seem to get recurring DLDs including staff members which has ALWAYS been a big no-no in my book) but not furthering its place in the community. No regular and new/exciting contests, no excellent forum management, no group oriented projects to contribute any number of things to the community, no outpouring of support for ongoing projects like FFM, Not-For-Sale, NaPo/NaNo, etc and so on, hell--no daily answering of fricking messages... there were one thousand nine hundred and sixty-two messages in the inbox when I came in to take down an article the other night. Basically admin has been enjoying the benefits of DLD rank and not running the account in the way I and others (especially Lili) worked so hard to lay out. Admin isn't just the fun of suggestions and the hardest of work when you get none and the recognition for being a part of something special--admin is every nook and cranny plus room to grow and give more to the lit community on dA.

That was my plan, that's what I spent near 24/7 doing for more than two years until we finally had a team that could function as a unit. This is all my fault though. MINE. I, in 2 years, have not had the wherewithal to step in and correct the errors, support the running admins as a team player and set it all to rights. My life interfered. My plan to close began to itch at the edges of my mind. DLD became stale and I did nothing but make an executive decision that pissed my most trusted admin off and got bent. Then I hastily--should have stuck with my gut instinct and just took that down and left it alone--posted the history. But no--I told the story as it had been told to me and announced the closing all in one breath. I apologize. There was a better path and I missed it. I only hope to be forgiven by those that seem to be hurt.

More later on how to leave the account sitting so the exposure for all in the past is still there and then there's the issue of points...

“We have art lest we perish of the truth.” –Nietzsche

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Will's Final Words

Journal Entry: Sat Apr 12, 2014, 8:03 PM


Final Words

It is with a hesitant mind and a bloated heart that I write this. DailyLitDeviations was something that was formed out of frustration and anger. I suppose I am not surprised to see it go out that way. A young man named Brandon and I were complaining in a private chat room about how little literature was featured on dA and that we were tired of it. We both wrote several emails to the staff only to be ignored like so many quality artists out there. Eventually we knew that we had to do something or explode from frustration. And so DLD was born. I stayed up for 5 or 7 days straight. My wife hated me and my phone bill went through the roof as I was constantly on it with Brandon. I set it up and then started my search for greatness. I found more than I expected to.

Moving forward, I needed help. Brandon did not do much of the running, he was more of an idea guy. I put out an all call for admins and got an overwhelming response. Jamie and Lisa, along with countless others came on board and helped me turn an idea into a community.

A little inside information: I am a paranoid schizophrenic with several other psychiatric disorders. I was not properly medicated and my life and mind were in a constant state of turmoil. I would sleep for days, not sleep for days, not shower or eat, not realize I had another person in my life, I was a mess, but I marched on for a little over 2 years. I had a break and I could not take it anymore. Brandon was gone, so I needed someone to turn it over to. I chose a friend of mine named Caron. She only had it for a minute before she realized it was too much. Lisa then assumed the helm.

I stepped away completely soon thereafter. Lisa ran the account to the best of her ability. It flourished. New articles formed. The community got larger. New people spoke up and found their voices. It was a wonderful time to be a part of the literature community on deviantART. However, Lisa has some things going on in her own head and in her own life. She ultimately could no longer do the day to day things that needed to be done and so Lili stepped up to the plate and hit a homerun.

I tried to come back and help out a time or two, but I was not as stable as my unstable mind led me to believe and ultimately nearly burned that bridge down.

Move on to the present. Lisa held on to the account, but let others run it in her stead. It was putting out what it was supposed to, for the most part, but some of us were not happy. Content was degrading and the account itself was being neglected. I read the articles every day. I was moved less often. When Lisa logged into the account and there were literally thousands of unanswered messages she got more than a little mad. That was not the first straw.

There is the issue of the historical article.

I was contacted several months ago by Shane who asked me to help him get the article together. At the time I was still coming under control and my memory was failing me badly. I told him that it was impossible for me to remember all of that, but he should contact others. He took great pains to do all of that and put together what he thought was the most accurate version of the past. It looked good, but it was not 100% accurate. Not his fault.

Shane was asked to change the article on more than one occasion and he did at least once. Eventually he would no longer change it for whatever reason. I have not spoken to him on the matter and thus do not have the whole story, but I have what I have.

Lisa decided that the article should merely be taken down to avoid any drama and Shane stood his ground stating that if she took the article down he would resign. She took the article down and he resigned. That was the final straw. Lisa then stated historical facts as she knew them and decided this was as good a time for closure, as any would never be good.

It is not the first time the account nearly shut down. There has been a lot of drama over the years. Admins have come and gone and some of them made a huge stink. Where there are people there are problems, but problems need solved and the only ones who can solve them are people. So DailyLitDeviations is gone. I am sorry in some ways. In some ways I knew this would happen someday. Lisa did not consult with me, but she did not have to. She did not have to consult with anyone. I cannot say I would not have done a similar thing, but I cannot say I agree 100% with her decision. I stand by her as a colleague and a friend and I always will.

So now we have a problem. The community is not ready for this end. I understand, but it needs to be accepted. DLD is no more. It is over. It had a great run, but it is time to say goodbye.

The admins of the club/group will be contacted to see where they want to go. The community is welcome to do as they wish, but I will say there will be a new refuge to go to. Please see TheKrimzonDemon or VertigoArt’s personal journals for more information on that.

I want to thank everyone who has ever been a part of this. Whether you featured someone as an admin, you wrote an article, you suggested a piece or you were featured, we love you and we wish you all well.

This account will remain open. It will be inactive. Please do not send notes to the account as no one will respond to them. You may post comments on the account and some of us will try to check back occasionally and answer you. If you have something you wish to get off your chest contact me privately and we will make it happen.

As a final note, I want to plead with you all to stop attacking Lisa. She is a person, just like you, and it hurts. Don’t be a bully. Don’t sink down. Don’t do to her what you would not want done to you. She is a wonderful person. Without her I would probably be in an institution for quite some time.

With all my love, I will leave to your pens.
VertigoArt

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New Information...

Journal Entry: Sat Apr 12, 2014, 4:57 PM


It seems that all of you in need of seeing this tradition go on can be satisfied. I would direct you to the account of TheKrimzonDemon where you will find links to a new account where his version of DLD will go on in a new and different form.

I am awaiting a journal entry from VertigoArt to post here with his thoughts on our closing of this particular project. It will be posted soonest.

Few know of my own love and time put into this project because few worked night and day alongside me to take care of everything possible from general administration duties to contests, to answering 100s of messages a day and soliciting everywhere possible for all that we needed and more... that is all I have to say about that--those who know, know.

Though nothing I did or said was untrue or unprofessional in my own mind, I do owe the community an apology for the sudden nature of this closing. It has been coming from behind the scenes for some time now and not even the admins were aware. I understand and appreciate all of the love for DLD and the protective, albeit insulting, nature some of you have displayed in defense of DLD. So let this be my apology for taking you all off guard and also my best wishes to the lit projects spawned as a result of this closing.

May all continue to be well and I'll post Will's thoughts asap.

Peace.

Lisa

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Everyone, please hold on...

Journal Entry: Sat Apr 12, 2014, 7:58 AM


Please be advised that we are in the process of deciding what and how to do with this account by way of moving on--by "we" I mean myself, VertigoArt, and various seniors/members that are interested in sticking with something DLD or DLD-like. Everyone's responses are being taken into consideration--even the personal attacks made on me are valued opinions. This account owns a number of points and I am considering doling them out to a group of people who would like to start-up a new group in the same vein. A group of people who are concerned with the work of the literature community and not the kudos that go with serving the community. I have heard from some of you expressing an interest in keeping DLD alive, please note me kersee9  if you are interested in an independent, group-owned opportunity to take the basic ideals of DLD and move on. I will have no part in the forward movement except to roll over points and information, especially since I am under the fire of such venomous hate messaging and even fb threats. tsk, tsk.

Also, be advised that this account will sit, not be deactivated, to keep the plethora of fantastic literature and the record of deviants received of DLDs available for all to access.

Thank you to everyone for being so strongly supportive of DLD, please stand by.

Lisa
(kersee9)

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EDIT: 1) I am enabling comments because of such strong response to this journal. 2) This account has NOT been hacked, I own it--I have all the proper documentation that proves so. 3) We are not closing simply because of an error. That resignation just made me think that it was probably time to close. DLD has been a wonderful part of the lit community, but it has run it's course. This has been in my thoughts for some time and now just seems the time to bring it to an end. I apologize to all of you who are disappointed.

It has been 5 years since the birth of DailyLitDeviations and we recently published an article on the history of DLD that I had to take down. The article was unintentionally incorrect. It gave credit for co-founding to a deviant who was only an admin, who never had the account password, and who did not take part in the initial chatroom conversation that spawned DLD. That conversation occurred between Will VertigoArt and Brandon Eloquent-Weapon. They were the two creators of DLD. TheKrimzonDemon came along after and was an excellent and dedicated to the cause admin, but not a co-founder.

As an unfortunate result of my taking the article down, a treasured and key staff member has decided to resign... therefore I am closing the group and will be shutting down this account. DLD has had its run, a very successful one and it has morphed from what it was at the original vision into a beautiful love story under the tutelage of so many dedicated, contributing staff members. I look forward to seeing where all of you will go and what you will do in and for the thriving lit community here at deviantART.

It's time for our end. Thank you so much to all the present and former staff members and to the supporting dA staff that have stuck with us despite our upstartedness. :XD: I regret that we should end so suddenly and without warning but good fortune to all of you... Namaste.

Always remembering the good times,

Lisa
(kersee9)
    


Daily Lit Deviations for April 10th, 2014

We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.</b> 
Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one 
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.</b> 
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:


Poetry

Suggested by: OHiNeedTea

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

lovesick lass with a dog-eared dresshe knew her like a novel
read beyond repair;
his palms spread heat all down her spine,
and crinkling in her hair.
only he could love her now
cruel fate endowed,
cruel fate,
begged for in the dark
as her  pages ripped and scattered,
and “lovesick” found its mark.

lovesick lass with a dog-eared dress by drifter-dallyings

 

From the suggester: Very interesting metaphor 
and a really pleasing word choice and rhythm.

 

 

Featured by: SilverInkblot

I'll Wait by the WaterThis is the place where our memories began.
A creek at the bottom of a canyon,
red cliffs on either side and a giant
pond dam to the north that wildflowers grow on.
Paths that we created through the woods
and up and down those copper canyon walls
while we pretended to be wild Injuns
or wanted outlaws being hunted by a posse.
You were on your knees,
in the middle of the creek,
when I found you.
A neighbor girl, trespassing.
I had a mind to chase you off
until I asked what you were doing.
You looked at me, smiled, and said,
"Catching crawdads. Come help!"
After that day, we spent Springs and Summers
building fort walls and chasing frogs,
skipping stones and arguing baseball,
sharing comic books and trading punches.
You could hit as hard as any boy I knew.
We had our own bridge to Terabithia,
our own kingdoms of knights and castles,
won the World Series with back to back homeruns,
settled the Wild West and discovered gold in the mountains.
My parents thought you were imaginary
until I bro

I'll Wait by the Water by Iago-de-Xibalba

 

A lovely narrative poem, 
covering an entire lifespan.

 

 

Suggested by: OHiNeedTea

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Stingray
see you
and i see him
i see you both and i
i see myself sometimes
i see you and him and me
and my stealthy sharp stiletto
slicing through you one after the
other because neither of you can give
me what i need and i need so so
much me and my brain
and my words and
my tears that
swell behind
my eyes
which
i
d
r
o
w
n
in
gin
after
work
all
w
e
e
k
l
o
n
g

Stingray by peaceinnadisworld

 

From the suggester: The shape added 
so much to the rhythm, it took my breath away. 
Remarkable work, really!



Prose

         

Featured by doodlerTM

The OneSnierk gaped up at the swirly blue on white letters which boasted the existence of the Misty Mountain Muffin Top Sweet Shoppe. A fly buzzed by his face. A fur-tipped ear flicked at it, doing the job his mesmerized brain forgot to assign to his hands. If the Misty Mountain Muffin Top Sweet Shoppe were a living organism, its immune system would be fine tuned to ward off customers such as Snierk. Unhindered by such preemptive measures, he stretched to his tip-toes, gripped the doorknob, and let himself in.
There were several humans between him and the counter. He took his place in line behind an old woman whose form was indefinite under heavy layers of clothing. The wait was boring, but that was what humans did in these places, so he waited. He passed the time by using one of his toe claws to scratch funny pictures on the shiny floor.
The old woman reached the counter and made her order in a voice that oozed like syrup. Snierk fought down the growing urge to break something. He peaked aro

The One by Leonca

 

A well-written and humorous story
about a mischievous troll in a cupcake shop.

 

 

Suggested by: ShadowedAcolyte

Featured by: SilverInkblot

Real MenThere ain't no real men anymore. I remember when men looked like men. They had the hair on their chest and they weren't afraid of it. These days men wax like pansies and all the girlies go chasing after the hairless fairies. Ha! My girl, she likes me the way I am, she likes the way I never use any of that sissy deodorant and come home smelling manly.
***
I think Dwight might be leaving me for a man. He keeps going off on these rants about real men, and I've caught him looking at my vintage Playgirls a few times. And he keeps mentioning this bodybuilder guy Barry, who apparently is the epitome of a "real man." I don't think I'm masculine enough. I think I read somewhere that scrawny men like Dwane like masculine women.
***
I kept thinking this old geezer was gonna make a pass at me, the way he was staring. Then he tells me his wife started lifting weights. But chicks ain't supposed to do that! And then she stopped shaving her legs. I tell ya, the days of real women are long gone. Now th

Real Men by bluesman

 

Suggester: "This well-woven 369
(3 flash fiction stories of 69 words each)
explores how perceptions and assumptions
about gender norms can turn out quite ridiculous."



For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation 
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by: TwilightPoetess

    


Daily Lit Deviations for April 9th, 2014

We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.</b> 
Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one 
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.</b> 
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:

Poetry

         

Suggested by: OHiNeedTea

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Path to the MoonYou stood on the carved, blue moon of a late December night
wondering how you ever managed to land there.
On your cheeks, imprinted scars, cracked fissures from the times you've cried.
Now, they seem as dry and deserted as a desert.
Sometimes you leap back to earth
Strolling about, as if searching for a memory but then,
you return to the moon when you've failed to find it.
                                       Yet again...
Have you ever felt like your insides were hollowed out, replaced with an inconspicuous nothingness?
and your mind is strained and hurt and pained—
beyond repair. When you
try to put all the pieces back together but 
they never fit.
They're rugged and jagged and they rip your deft fingers deeply until you're
unable to do the only thing you ever knew...
You ran out of sugar to coat your haunting words with.
And then you're airborne
floating through time and s

Path to the Moon by TheLaughingDreamer

 

From the suggester: Lovely poem.

 

 

Suggested by OHiNeedTea

Featured by WorldWar-Tori

SnowflakeThe frost steals my thoughts,
freezes my focus
and I am suddenly a six-sided sliver
of something else.
I fly away
beyond the leaking panes
and the chipped frames
that would dare to hold me in.
I am enthralled
starstruck by the pinpoints that are falling;
the galaxy that swirls lazily in an icy echo;
bits of soulful warmth in a void of absolutes.
And as I lay
stunned
on a cushion seeping cold into my skin
one tiny daydream lands
and I taste its effervescent story
and inhale its chill
and I am floating with the suns
the tiny angel feathers kissing my cheek
as they suspend themselves in silence.

Snowflake by stargirl2791

 

Suggester Says: "The final stanza 
is like an orgasm, so satisfying! :D"

 

 

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

FloatI wish I could introduce myself to you
But we already met.
In a hiccup of spin
We tottered instead of meshing.
Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
When you float into the vacuum I’ll be waiting
With a lanyard to pull you back,
If you want.
I know how to find the air but not
How to box it or
Bring it along.
Pay me with a story to learn.
Start at the tips of my fingers
And work your way down my arms.
When I look at my hands
I am tired of staring at fate.
Ink doesn’t need oxygen to whisper.

Float by Sasukesadork

 

The last line of this beautiful poem 
will leave you breathless.


Prose

         

Featured by doodlerTM

Ode to Lost TimeBefore my parents came to America, before I was born halfway across the shining Pacific, before the emperor was chased out from the Summer Palaces in a haze of glass and rising industrialization, there was a house in the far country surrounded in a sea of lush bamboo.
It’s gone now. It’s a story like all stories, once upon a time. There was a beautiful place, a garden, a palace, and we were chased out of it. Like animals fleeing a burning forest, like grains spilling from a torn bag, like petals from a passing season, we left as if in a great hurry. Tricked from our homes, like rats from a flooded house, we made our escape. We were the bottled years of an old man who spent too much of his life around underwater palaces and jade embroidered worlds. In our escape, we unknowingly marked the end of an age fashioned from sheer gold.
I was born with a name made of feather and deep jewels. In America, they took one look at the nonsense on the papers before them and stamped it out.

Ode to Lost Time by TheGlassIris

 

A touching piece about 
the loss of identity.

 

 

Suggested by: ShadowedAcolyte

Featured by: SilverInkblot

Mr Evers's War
Mr Evers jabbed the Black No Sugar button and tugged at the neck of his tie. He eyed the steam gusting from the gullet of the coffee machine and thought wistfully of the days when the staffroom was entrusted with a kettle.
The machine issued four loud slurps and hissed to steamy silence. Half a plastic cupful of gritty water stood in the repository. Mr Evers thumped the machine's side and jabbed the Black No Sugar button again.
'Playing up, is it?'
Mr Evers's insides lurched. He hadn't realised he was observed.
Squelched in her seat beneath the window was Miss Duchy. She had an iPad balanced on her large thighs, which displayed a crossword. One word was filled in.
'Yup.' Surely, he thought, he was capable of greater articulation than that? He thumped the machine again. It groaned with the effort to excrete more steam. 'Again.'
'Unh, was it broken before?'
The machine splurted dribbles of coffee like black diarrhoea.
'I don't think I'll drink that after all,' he mumbled, picked up this

Mr. Ever's War by CrumpetsHarvey

 

           

Suggester: "This is an excellent 
characterization of a good teacher, with 
a lot of delightful elements. 
A very enjoyable read."


For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation 
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by: TwilightPoetess


Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings

DLD to DD April 8th, 2014


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 thetaoofchaos.
We will include you and your piece in this special recognition news article. :pointl:




momo-madness


Received Daily Deviation November 6th, 2012
Originally Featured by TwilightPoetess
if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.
ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.
iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.
iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.
v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the wind kept whistling
blue skies are coming
and i sighed
if only
if only

vi. our film expired in may
but time replays it in my dreams
as a flock of birds
head north in the sky
(if they can move on after summer
and gather their souls
then maybe i too will try.)

if only, if only. by momo-madness

From the suggester:  A fine poem about life,
seen partially as possible dialogue between lovers
that soon expands to include the world, done with words
that have depth and beauty to spare.




Pailei


Received Daily Deviation November 8th, 2012
Originally Featured by Carmalain7
for unseeing eyesladen with sky
we stumbled
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.
between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
steady-soft,
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.
keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
and somehow
build kingdoms under
upturned noses.
with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determination
we built a pyre of peace
in the shadows
of dissonance
and watched it blaze
the truth across our
pliant hearts.
as solemn
as new leaves still curled
and stretching hands
unfurled in suppliance
we lifted our heads
in broken laughter,
for this light is our burden,
and even a whisper
can shatter silence
and bring the blind
to sight.

for unseeing eyes by Pailei

Truly, I can feel all of the weight
of the world in these words. All of it.




NoQuestions


Received Daily Deviation November 11th, 2012
Originally Featured by SilverInkblot
Things ChangeHe rode their tandem bike, alone.
Things Change by NoQuestions

Six words can pack an
impressive punch as this
piece demonstrates beautifully.






For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

On behalf of the Lit community and DailyLitDeviations, your support of this project is appreciated!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by: thetaoofchaos

    
Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings


Daily Lit Deviations for April 7th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.

We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:


Poetry


Suggested by: OHiNeedTea
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

School And College DaysBack to bed my eyes are closing
on their own, and I am dozing.
Hoping that I'll be reposing.
Dreaming way beyond the dawn.

School and College Days by SrTw

From the suggester: I love this.
Great rhythm. I wanna go and doze!



Featured by: WorldWar-Tori
ContrastsI know a girl who
paints her lips bubblegum pink every morning and 
rocks out to Metallica on her way to work everyday.
I know a boy who
wears muscle shirts to show off his work in the gym, but 
likes best to read a romance novel in the privacy of his apartment.

Contrasts by Nina-Lyn
Everybody has something different,
unexpected about them. This is a perfect
example of all of us in some way.



Prose


Suggested by: willwriteforhearts
Featured by: SilverInkblot


scrawli.
We met where someone had eons ago carved meet me here when your world falls apart into the grey, crumbling, concrete path separating the road from the park. Though I doubt she noticed the graffiti.
It was either dusk or dawn; I can’t remember which—the light was in a temporary stalemate with the darkness, and there was the faint promise or impression of stars, coming or going, led or shepherded by the moon looking as though it had been slightly erased from the deep, middling blue of the sky. There were no clouds.
I didn’t notice her coming until I heard the scuffing of her shoes. I was glad I could only hear one set of footsteps: she’d heeded my request. Turning, I felt in my pocket for the square of tightly folded paper, passed it over without a word, trying to converse through our eye contact. I went home without looking back, silent.
ii.
When school started back after the summer holidays, she sat next to me in Engli

scrawl by BlakeCurran

Suggester: "He's got a great voice
throughout the entire piece and the
passage of time is shown so wonderfully...
the changes within the man's heart,
and what stays the same."



Suggested by: Echolalic-Ellie
Featured by: SilverInkblot


NakamurafMy name is Nakamura. Seven months ago I committed suicide on the twenty-second floor of an apartment building in Niigata.
I had felt sad for some time. I would step onto the balcony at one or two in the morning, having put on my work clothes. I would think about throwing myself over the railing. Sometimes I smoked a cigarette and sent the flickering remnant spinning into the darkness.
I did not know why I was sad. I worked hard and my boss was generous. I was able to buy noodles from my favourite place every evening, to rent films, and to hire a cleaning lady. My apartment was small and I kept it tidy - nevertheless, I wanted to share my good fortune.
One day, before leaving for work, I left an envelope stuffed with notes on the kitchen table and a note addressed to the cleaning lady: 'I no longer require your services. Thank you for everything.' When I got home the envelope was gone. In its place was the key she had let herself in with.
I will not describe what happened next, ex

Nakamura by farand

Suggester: "I love this piece. It is quite
bleak throughout the majority of the piece
but at the end you get this small twist
that really helps to set it off."




Suggested by: Edges-to-Everything
Featured by: SilverInkblot


Emeralds in IvoryThe love of my life for seventy years was finally slipping away from me. She was just a frail shadow of the girl I'd been so tempted to kill, that night she first invited me into her home. When she spoke it was a different story; she had all the sardonic verve as that femme fatale in 1940.
Back then, during the Blitz, London suffered an air raid almost every night. A creature of those dark hours, I stalked the alleys and ruinous streets looking for charitable young women to let me into their homes. And then, as they slept, I would feed on their blood until they could offer no more. If I had done that to my darling Vivian, I would never have known true love...or true heartbreak.
She saved her life with that one sly look, when she invited me in. Those eyes, like emeralds in ivory, they shone through my soulless body and awakened a passion in me, when I had only known passion for blood. There was something in them that was as supernatural as I.
I took her to bed that night, in her bomb sh

Emeralds in Ivory by SgtPossum

Suggester: "Amidst the 1940 London
Blitz of World War II, a vampire roamed
the streets - until he found much more
than he was seeking."



For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by: SilverInkblot



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Daily Lit Deviations for April 6th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.

We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:



Poetry


Suggested by: VertigoArt
Featured by: thetaoofchaos

Our Words.Epilogues before prologues––
These stories only make sense in reverse.
Tear-tainted-table tops, where tattered pages fly.
An abandoned desk overlooks the open window,  what a breathtaking view.
A homely typewriter nests the ultimate-– in it’s inanimate soul.
Shards of sunlight seep through the pale meshed curtains, flying playfully with the inked pages.
We write and die tonight.
We write and die tonight.
We’re all just stories, aren’t we?
Some are long, others short, some crazy and others mundane.
The thing is, we’re also the authors.
Life’s just inspiration, isn’t it?
––For the final masterpiece; act three.
We write and die tonight.
We write and die tonight.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez

Our Words. by rociobelindamendez

From the suggester: "The piece brings forth
thought that so many others lack. The repetition
of the piece brings it together in a tight
round package. Read. Enjoy."



Featured by: TwilightPoetess
curing deja vulost our latent heat
experimenting with paper castle skies
owl-eyed
we spread thin the idea
that ideas have consequences
and wore the night wet on our lungs
supine
as soft bulletins buried
old myths in our coaxial spines

curing deja vu by thesquareroot

The word choice and metaphors in
this poem will leave you thinking.



Featured by: thetaoofchaos
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
thumping
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
recoil
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
and shore
biting lips. maybe--
no
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
                         oh wait
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
stop changing
disturbing
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
step outside
my tongue the weight to talk
it out
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
fun
under the backspray of someone else's wheels

poem for borderlines by tubefed

Stream of conscioussness imagery
pours effectively through the sieve
of tragic circumstance.




Prose


Suggested by: OHiNeedTea
Featured by: Gingersanps

Mr. FluffyMy cat is a small god.
No, don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking - that I’m just another crazy cat lady, driven mad by loneliness.
Really, my cat is a small god. All those stories of witches with cats, well, they had to start somewhere, don’t you know?
Anyways, my cat is a small god. Not one of the big gods or tricksters, like Zeus or Raven or whoever else you think. Small doesn’t only refer to the fact that he’s only three pounds soaking wet.
You’d think that being so small he couldn’t do too much damage. Of course, you’d be wrong. Granted, most of his mischief is restricted to messing with my neighbors who have dogs. That’s how I first figured out something was wrong, when he went out one day, got chased by the dog, and the next thing anyone knew, he was back inside the house and poor Zack had his paws on backwards for a moment. They changed back before my neighbor could notice, thank goodness.
He talked to

Mr. Fluffy by LadyBrookeCelebwen

Suggester says: So short,
but has a great voice.



Featured by doodlerTM
Glass Hearts    She should have known. She should have known there was something wrong that day, as soon as she woke up. Her father was being kind. She wasn't asked to do any chores, or go out to do an errand. Her father must have been guilty. That day she was free, free to do anything she wanted. Until the royal carriage showed up. At first she thought it was for her brother, he may have not been overly clever, but he had enough brute strength to take a few hits before going down. That was until her father showed her the dress, it was beautiful. Shimmering blue with metallic silver accents. She should have ran as soon as she laid eyes on it. A girl came outside of the carriage, bidding her enter. There were two armed guards that stood outside the carriage, there would be no escape. She sat inside, her head hanging low. If only she had enough time to run away. There were balls, where girls that had come of age came from every village to try and win one of the princes attention. Amelia Ja
Glass Hearts by Bbburn

A great opening to a promising
fantasy tale about a reluctant
princess and an evil prince.








For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

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Prepared by: thetaoofchaos



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Saturday Spotlight for April 5th, 2014


Daily Literature Deviations is proud to feature this special recognition article!
You can show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into the person behind the art. Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artist!


 Artists will be featured in a special news article every Saturday. Major points to SilverInkblot, TwilightPoetess and DrippingWords for doing the hard work and research that goes into these articles!  

Today's featured deviant is:
 :star:setmyworldintomotion!:star:


 

Questions

 

1. Tell us a little about yourself and your writing process?
i'm twenty-two & reside in sydney, australia. i like gigs, chocolate, & having meowing conversations with cats. i keep busy with uni & work, but i'm still figuring out my life & writing helps with that.

sometimes words & phrases pop in my head & i immediately try to write them down & let the words course through my veins until i can pour them on paper (or my laptop). other times, thoughts & ideas rush through my mind & i lose the flow as i'm writing it out... so then i devour chocolate. :aww:


2. How do you feel about dA as a literature community?
it's a wonderful community & everyone is incredibly welcoming & encouraging. there are a plethora of great writers on here who dedicate much of their time featuring others (like you at DLD!), managing groups, running competitions, providing tips (like those at projecteducate) & prompts, to ensure that it's a great website for both, new & experienced, writers. i haven't been as active on here as i'd like, but i'm changing that.


3. Where do your best ideas come from? Is it mostly internal, or do you prefer to pull from your environment?
most of the things i write are an emotional response to something in my life, so i guess it's a bit of both. however, when i start to feel like i'm telling the same stories in different ways, i turn to dA for prompts &/or contest themes to mix things up.


4. Do you ever re-write your pieces, or do you let them come as they will? How long do you have to work on a piece before you can consider it "finished?"
i don't tend to re-write pieces & i feel as if many of my pieces are left unfinished, mostly because i'm more terrible at editing. i usually stop bothering with a piece when i feel that i can't drill any more emotion into it, or when i've said all that i needed to, so i guess a piece is "finished" when i feel completely drained.


5. Are there any authors that have influenced your work?
i've been reading a lot of emily dickinson & sylvia plath's stuff lately, but my writing style is nowhere near as beautiful as their's. i'm also a fan of andrea gibson, neil hilborn, & jeanann verlee. spoken word poets with strong voices encourage me to develop my own (they have books & chapbooks so they still count as authors, right?).

dA is also a big influence; just reading people's works, where they create an extension of themselves so honestly & naturally, inspires me to try to do the same.



Poetry


hangman.i want to devour each letter --
allow it to resonate on my tongue
like the sound of silence
striking a chord with emptiness,
before it weaves through my organs
to course through my bloodstream,
again &
a        a    
    g          i
n.
i want to dismantle each word
from the tips of your fingers
& carry them delicately,
like atlas holding the celestial sphere,
until they seep through me
to replace each adrenaline molecule
released out of fear.
i want to swallow your lies
as if they are pills to pop
or candy rocks,
& i'm merely indulging:
the beauty of fabricated words lures me
like the feeling of death
of each cigarette to a smoker.
the act of stealing breath
without regret is the art
of destruction, but an art,
nevertheless.
i want to feel complete
with your
o
         f
    f
s
         h
    o
o
         t
s,
inhale

"hangman." by setmyworldintomotion


hook, line, and sinker.dear god,
you're becoming a cuss word &
i don't know if you've heard
but he's rattling the gates of heaven
alive.
he says he's wasting his time;
that the day will arrive
when the same string of pearls that sew orion's belt
will fashion itself
to adorn his neck -
alnilam drawing out his pulse from his wasted existence,
atoms colliding with beauty in their movements
to form a speck
a light year away.
dear god,
he has a tattoo of peter pan
inside the hollow of his wrist,
& leaves open his window
'cause he seems to think
it would help peter to find him.
he believes that we are a collection
of the same atoms of stars peter lives on,
that neverland is a compilation
of lost boys' souls you've drawn him from -
that gravity is no barrier
from keeping his head in the clouds.
dear god,
this week i've seen many shooting stars
& i don't know if you're weeping,
but those clouds are seeping to his bloodshot eyes,
fireworks blazing through dark night skies
like it's midnight all the time -
but dear go

"hook, line, and sinker." by setmyworldintomotion


glossy magazines:love your body!
lose weight now.

"glossy magazines:" by setmyworldintomotion


selling/buying.you appealed to me.
i ran.

"selling/buying." by setmyworldintomotion




For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this special feature project!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by:  TwilightPoetess


    
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Daily Lit Deviations for April 4th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.

We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:


Poetry


Featured by: TwilightPoetess
Day 11Do the hard things--
Not to prove yourself to them,
But prove yourself to you.

Day 11 by blackoutpoet

This senryu reminds us all to tackle the
hard things--not for others, but for ourselves.


Suggested by: chromeantennae
Featured by: DrippingWords

HeartacheThere's a reason why
both my heart and my gun
have empty chambers baby,
       and it's you.

Heartache by BloodshotInk

Suggester says: "This piece is just so
beautiful, very emotional, but oh so beautiful."


Featured by: Nichrysalis
Qllau'si Flworren Li (Song From The Wall)Qllaut qwamai ti qllau’si sauci?
Yen mang khyelli woti waurkor!
Roar is rroak mang flworren wofi!
Lein mang feil æfu fyel ti sauci?
Haul mang hykha aurt li sauci?
Mang willyt ætu flworren wel li!
Ikh ahwe two hycsi tu yu!
Hil kho mang famæ kin woli!
Sæ’ei mmor kho! Sæ’ei yoarnyef!
Tuk two cye’fi, som shkil tuk two:
Twemkof wokik-tywis qyngo.

(What song does this voice sing?
Our people are furious!
It grows in our stone walls!
In what mountains does the city lie?
What falls from the clear skies?
Arrows from these great walls!
We know not fear of death!
He hears from our red mouths!
Bind him! Pillage!
We finish now, as we will finish:
By their foolish flesh-god.)
With what voice is sung this song, then?
Folk gain fury with each morning!
Anger grows in wall and girders!
Where in hills is hid our city?
What is hailing down from heaven?
Arrows raining from the ramparts!
Death and dying do not pale us!
Hear us howl from reddened gullets!
Wrap them, rope them; r

Qllau'si Flworren Li (Song From The Wall) by Yitik

An impressive feat of lingual creation
from a conlanguage creator extraordinaire. Yitik
not only composes the original language the
lyrics are then written in, but provides two possible
English translations and the opportunity to
learn the language word by word.



Prose


Featured by doodlerTM
Family FeudBig Sister is screaming again.
In a torrent of ice and hail, she is fuming and yelling, causing cold to blast from her mouth and through the room. Dear Mother is trying to calm her, to lead her to nap time, but Big Sister is struggling and weeping frosty tears from bright blue eyes. She doesn't want to nap. She's been allowed to play for far too long. It's Baby's turn, Mother shushes, but more tears come. More ice, more cries far and loud, more frosty flailing that sprays snow to the four winds.
Big Sister is screaming again.
A pair of big, doe-brown eyes peeps around the corner. She watches, in silence, the frigid display her sibling puts on for show. She's all ready: little sun dress bright with the coming blooms, hair smelling like the fresh earth, little shoes ready to walk the garden paths and hands warm like a pale May sun. She was certain...it was HER turn to play now, wasn't it?
Big Sister always puts up such a fuss.
She peers around the door to the living room, and stares in h

Family Feud by HeadmistressMercedes

A delightful personification of the
seasons in a short prose piece.


Suggested by: NamelessShe
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Give Me a Name"Excuse me, do I have a name? I think I should have a name, it seems only fitting that a living person should have a name." There were astonished stares at the human-like figure sitting on the table. There were scattered tools everywhere, everything from a screw driver to a soldering gun. Circuit boards and chipsets in static resistance bags were sitting neatly on shelves, and the sound of hard drives whirling  could be heard over the amazed silence in the room.
"We've done it!" The room full of people jumped up and down, clapping their hands and laughing happily. "Six years of work and we've done it!"
"Excuse me, what have you done? What is my name? I need a name."
"You are not living, therefore you do not need a name, but you will have a designation. You will be Pal100."
"I am living! I can think for myself, I can move, I can do anything I want." The people in the room looked at the man who had been talking and quickly made themselves busy. No one wanted to explain these things,

Give Me a Name by RainbowMonkeh

This short prose piece explores
human nature, gender, and personal
preferences in a touching, sweet way.




For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


Prepared by: DrippingWords

    

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Daily Lit Deviations for April 2nd, 2014

We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations! 

You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!

 

 :pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one

of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.

We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:

 

 

Poetry

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

for Erkyou must have heard by now
that diamonds are only made
beneath a million pounds of
pressure;
you must have heard by now
that pearls are only made
as a form of self-defense;
but darling, have you heard
someone tell you to your face
that you are brilliant,
beautiful in your own skin, in
every freckle, every frown,
in every graceful good morning
and every war waged and weathered
in the marrow of your bones - 
you are so much more
than the scars you wear
and the stories they will tell;
you are so much more
than the lines you will draw
in love and laughter
and landscapes made alive;
you are so much more
than the climb you have yet
to conquer - 
you must have heard by now
that we are all of us newly made
every seven years;
you must have heard by now
that we are none of us prisoners
of our past, but products of it;
but if you have not heard by now
that every new day and every disaster
is another chance to write bad poetry
between horizons;
and another chance for someone to

for Erk by neonsquiggle

 

A reminder to always stay positive.

 

 

 

Featured by: WorldWar-Tori

letters for dadyou’ve taught me a lot of things.
like how to not make promises
you can’t keep, because
one day all of those words
that have fallen off your lips
the same way people fall
when they’ve hurt too much
will one day be as tangible as those
orphans in all of those novels
you read as a kid, always having
a place to stay
but no home to return to.
but i am writing this poem to tell you
i am not a hero of any novel,
and i remember every single one of them.
like how you said you would use your day off
when i was in the seventh grade
and go fishing.
when my brother asked why
you hadn’t woken at three in the afternoon
i just told him you have forgotten
like you forget a lot of things
because i wanted that to be true.
i remember in the eleventh grade
i told you to go fuck yourself
and go die in a ditch
because you made me feel
like i was nothing
and i wanted to make you feel
like less than nothing, because
you taught me
power is about making others powerless,
about telling ot

letters for dad by back-bones

 

 <sub>This is a powerful piece about 

the power of hurt and abuse that 
doesn't bruise... 
this piece had me in tears at the end.

 

 

Prose

Featured by doodlerTM

The Scientist   The Scientist stopped and looked down at the Subject. Bright, intense eyes took in form and figure, dissecting the mechanical workings and a myriad other complexities. A sharp, precise mind kept detailed notes and facts in check. Quick hands made everything everything pristinely clean, perfect white light refracted off of wiped surfaces and glanced into thin air. This last was the only other thing in the room aside from the Scientist and the Subject. Everything including oneself was nonexistent to the Scientist, save for the Subject, which lay curled upon the floor. From time to time, the Scientist would kneel and more closely observe. The Scientist did not touch the Subject. The Subject simply lay silent and unmoving. This is how it was.
   Perhaps, somewhere, a planet’s shadow incited the waxing and waning of a satellite.
   The Scientist stopped and looked down at the Subject. Bright, intense eyes took in form and figure, subtle shadows and hin

The Scientist by AngeloDellaMusica

 

  A short piece that is at once 

beautiful and heart-wrenching 

in its brevity and ambiguity.

 

  

Suggested by TwilightPoetess

Featured by doodlerTM

Sounds of the city„Drip, drip, drip“
I mumble along, staring as the raindrops hit my window. It’s dark outside with no stars to be seen and yet it’s so bright. The streetlight in front of my window is shining its’ artificial light on the surroundings. It’s creating different shapes of shadows. They are crawling behind people’s backs following their every step. Lingering in each and every corner of this city.
A light crosses the sky and brings me back from my dark thoughts.
The water droplets on the glass increased in number. They are desperately clinging to the smooth surface only to lose the battle with gravity and fall. No, they are running. And as they do, they wash away the dirt and the filth brought there by the dirtied air. The city left its traces everywhere. Garbage on the streets, dirt particles covering every building. When the rain comes, it tries to undo what humanity had done even though it is bound to fail. It’s too much of a task for a few w

Sounds of the City by bluewaterlilly

 

From the suggester: "As said 
at the end of this lovely non-fiction piece, 
"Everywhere are stories which want to be told." 
We just have to remember to listen for them."

 


Foreign Language

Featured by: lombregrise

  UntitledComme elle est douce l'illusion de l'après,
Ce réconfort de l'au-delà.
Au diable la raison et ma vérité,
Je voudrais maintenant, maman,
Faire le rêve facile
Que le ciel existe pour toi.

 Untitled by drolebouillon

 

 With simple words, a poignant 

and vibrant poem for a beloved 

mother. In french only - if you can, 

read it (or translate it).

 

 

For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation

to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.

 

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

 

~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~

 

 

Prepared by: TwilightPoetess


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DLD to DD April 1st, 2014


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 thetaoofchaos.
We will include you and your piece in this special recognition news article. :pointl:




Solaces


Received Daily Deviation November 4th, 2012
Originally Featured by Carmalain7
don't get tired of elephants yetI've had my crippling moments.
They'd either start in my stomach
with an ache like broken glass
or stab me right in the catharsis,
somewhere near my heart or breath
or maybe my left foot.
I wouldn't know how it feels
to hurt to walk, but I imagine
with a destination like farther,
it's no pilgrimage.
So take the burden off your back.
Life is not a sandstorm
and your lungs are only a mirage
if you expect to see your breath
every time you breathe.
So take a breath
back, just one step
and listen with your smoke signals.
Help is on the way.
I just can't promise
it knows much about this lifetime.
It's the same way I could never promise
elephants remember everything
or that every Elvis impersonator
means thank you very much outside
of his facade. Don't bother asking God either.
He wouldn't know and he wouldn't care.
He's still trying to number the hairs
on my head, hoping he won't lose count.
Our days are often double-digit jerseyed.
And go ahead and tell me now that this isn't a game.
Very f

don't get tired of elephants yet by Solaces

Suggestor: "I have yet to see a poem that includes
elephants as striking as this one - beautifully written,
with a strong beginning and a fantastic ending."
An amazing literary depiction of emotion and catharsis.




VShaw


Received Daily Deviation November 4th, 2012
Originally Featured by xlntwtch
The Lady of Chains (Part One of Five)
As soon as the doors closed, Viola knew she'd be lucky if she was ever given the chance to step outside them again. The sound didn't just echo throughout the tower, but appeared to signal the ending of her old life and the beginning of an entirely different one.
"You'll have to watch this one," Mrs Casket said, holding up a frail hand speckled with age. The index finger was missing. "She bites."
Viola averted her eyes, trying to ignore the ball of apprehension growing in her belly. She gazed up at the winding staircase. Her tongue felt like a strip of dried leather and it was difficult to form words around it. "How much longer until we're there?"
Mrs Casket stopped in her tracks and raised the lantern. Her hair was pinned back and greying at the temples. In the dull light her eyes looked almost black, glittering like a beetle's shell. Viola half-expected them to scuttle around her face at any moment, disappearing between the creases of her skin.
"You doubt yourself, my girl," Mrs Caske

The Lady of Chains (Part One of Five) by VShaw

If you're interested in the steampunk genre, this
story is for you. From first sentence to last, it's
engrossing and contains great imagery, mounting tension
and an easy flow. Every word is irresistible.




GeneratingHype


Received Daily Deviation November 5th, 2012
Originally Featured by innocencedied2nite
InvictusWhen they start talking months, well--you know it's pretty bad. They have charts and graphs, shiny pictures on a projection screen, and cute little pointer-pens to highlight Area A and Mass B.  They discuss the odds quietly, as if afraid to tempt Fate, and make strange suggestions along the lines of affairs and order.
All the while, you listen.  You listen, and listen, and try to smile when they do.  The hand atop yours is tight, and white, and you kiss the knuckles to keep it calm.  You can feel tears through the skin, though they haven't yet fallen, and you nudge a shoulder with your own.  Chin-up, you say without saying.  Chin-up.  It's all going to be okay.
And then you're in the car staring out windows.  The hand is still with you, but the other is on the wheel, and his eyes are on the road.  He's afraid to speak, and so are you, but you both slide smiles when you think it's most appropriate.

Invictus by GeneratingHype

There is so much to be said about this piece.
But I think, if you strip away the strong voice,
and the great tone, you find the best part of this.
You find the heart, and you catch a glimpse of the
incredible man behind the words. In his own words:
"I am unconquerable." It reminds us to live each day.






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Daily Lit Deviations for March 31st, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

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Poetry


Featured by: TwilightPoetess
how to wish on impossible thingsThere is a girl made up of impossible legends.                                    
She lives in the fragments of wishes that will never come true.
When pennies lose their shine and heads become tails  
After every eyelash is lost in the whisper of a breath
Until wishing wells dry up and all the stars fall from the sky,    
She will only be the words that created her

how to wish on impossible things by reechy

This short poem speaks volumes
about the things we believe...and where
they lurk when that belief fades.



Suggested by: chromeantennae
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Whiskey Woman.I only wish
it weren't so easy
to quit me.
That I was more
of a nicotine girl
lighting lungs
with darkness,
sending nerves
into nervous frenzies
when people finally
got their fix.
Or maybe even a whiskey woman
in a private booth,
the crutch of a broken man
with nothing left
but the promise
of inebriated peace,
of paradise found
at the bottom
of bottles.
But substances
have substance,
and then there's me.

Whiskey Woman. by BleedingProphecies

From the suggester: I really think
this piece is cleverly-written and it really
holds some great, stark imagery as well.
Truly a great, powerful poem in my opinion.




Prose


Featured by doodlerTM
Mr. FiveI checked my watch as I strolled down the halls of the Midvane Asylum. My supervising officer hadn't told me what I was walking into, unfortunately for me. A male nurse met me at the building office. His scrubs were smeared with what I assume was saliva, and his glasses were uneven on his face. He had no hair on his head, but there was a black soul patch staring at me from his chin.
"Are you here about Mr. Five?" the nurse scrawled across a clipboard as he spoke.
"Mr. Five?"
"Yes, the patient that we called about. You were told what the situation was, weren't you?"
"No."
The nurse sighed and nodded towards the door of the office and walked out. I followed him down the hall, struggling to keep his pace. He never looked up from his clipboard on our trip through the Asylum halls, even when he had to step around gurneys and patients. I kept the brim of my hat tipped forward throughout the walk. Something about the way crazy people stare, it unsettles me. The nurse tilted his head back towa

Mr. Five by TheVoiceofMadness

A fantastic story about a detective,
a man with five personalities, and an important
question: Which personality came first?



Featured by doodlerTM
If You Could Ask God One Question...He died.  He died in a clean white bed in a clean white room.  There were no tears, no last gasps for breath, no alarms, no dying confessions; he simply stopped breathing sometime in the middle of the night.  In the morning a nurse in a clean white uniform checked for a pulse, made a note on a chart at the foot of his bed, then made a phone call to some men in black and gray uniforms.  The men came and carefully packed the body away in a gray vinyl bag.  A few days later his body was sealed in a vault at the Sunny Vale Mausoleum.  There was no ceremony, there were no mourners, there was only a cold body in a stone vault.  It could have been sad and lonely.
But  it wasn't.  It was simply quiet and uneventful.  He had out lived all of his friends and family so there just wasn't anyone left to mourn.  It was like he was the last person to walk across the tarmac to a waiting airliner, there was no fanfare, no waves goodbye, he was simp

If You Could Ask God One Question by kilkegard

An imaginative story about
one man's question of God.



Featured by doodlerTM
Lost in Translation"Hello," a standard human greeting, happened to be a way of expressing that all Tornax were born of questionable parentage. Their standard greeting, "Cocksucker," happened to be a way of expressing that the human subject engaged in excessive fellatio with other species. Fortunately, both races were completely understanding of one another during first contact, each well aware that the other had no way of realizing this before the fact.
However, it is a constant source of contention, as humans insist upon greeting Tornax with "hello," and the Tornax refuse to defer to any other salutation than "Cocksucker." Matters were further complicated when the Duchy of Maternalfornicaters (typically spelled Matrn'al Furnicutres) entered into this burgeoning galactic community. No sooner had this bizarre coincidence been pushed to the wayside for proper diplomatic and cultural exchange to begin than a species which spoke almost entirely in words that seemed to be compound English profanity (the noble

Lost in Translation by SgtPossum

This story tackles a humorous linguistic
question about a potential alien species.



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Daily Lit Deviations for March 30th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


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We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:



Poetry


Suggested by: Bark
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Baggage ClaimWe are at the baggage carousel. My bag is easily spotted because of the twenty-foot palm tree sticking up from it. And there is yours, I see the sleeping lion through the slotted side and hear the animal's heavy breathing. There is a bag on fire, and a man picking it up from the moving strip with his bare hands. There is a woman with an invisible bag that is very heavy, judging by her posture and expression. Well, we have all arrived. Let's get out of the airport and into the city and see what this is all about.
Baggage Claim by RichardLeach

From the suggester: A surreal little
trip that leaves you thinking.



Suggested by: xlntwtch
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

post disentanglement of selfas one listens
silence dispels
in whispers
of cosmic hiss
listen to this:  [but]
do not sit and listen
nor feel your clothing
nor peer beyond thoughts
as one by one
one ceases to sense
one finds one's mind
luxuriously grand
behind closed eyelids
where everything bides
awaiting one's call
or recall
great and small
ideas will sidle
to satiate
the barren and needful
unmoving unseen
like timid vixen
epiphanies lurk
noiseless nearby
be quiet
be patient
wish one to approach
as one may
quite soundless
soul-weighted
on softest of feet
lightly becoming
of a sudden
there it is
new truth!
so well worth the wait
where silence
[yet not total silence]
is surely
placidly golden
llp - dA - mar2014

post disentanglement of self by alapip

From the suggester: It speaks worlds
about silence and self awareness.



Suggested by: OHiNeedTea
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

I lay down-I lay down in the grass
and slowly realized
just how close the ground is
to the sky. 

I lay down- by sentienttree

From the suggester: An interesting
way to think. Sometimes i feel like
the sky is getting closer...




Prose


Suggested by: NamelessShe
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

The Danger of Following DreamsBy Marshall Norman McCarthy
In all his life in the Time Before he'd never once set foot in an airport. Never enough money to go anywhere by air, his childhood had been one of hours-long car trips to the wild north, where nature ruled with an ironwood fist. He'd dreamed it, sure, of riding the skies clear across depthless oceans to the distant lands of his ancestors. Now he imagined those lands were just as empty as his own.
Leaning one filthy hand on the concrete barrier of the overpass, the other holding binoculars up to his eyes, he studied Pearson Airport with the cautious scrutiny of survival. He hadn't seen anyone for days, and that last pact of Ravers had no doubt torn themselves apart by now.
He remember going to Pearson once before, ten years old, with his Ma to pick up Grandma.  She'd just come back from visiting family way down south, where, an Uncle had told him, Canadians go to die. Florida, he recalled, the name of the Heaven where the elderly are transf

The Danger of Following Dreams by mnmccarthy

From the suggester: Post Apocalyptic.
Interesting scenario, interesting main
character, and excellent descriptions.



Featured by doodlerTM
Not Like Most Girls“I’m not having this conversation every time. It’s absolutely out of the question.”
“Why? It’s been almost two years.”
Cara turned to him. “David. You categorically cannot meet my parents.”
“Do they have something against solicitors?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with that.”  
David scowled. “What then? Puritans?”
Cara unbuckled the seat belt, and fought the urge to smile. “Not exactly. Look, just trust me on it.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The half-smile vanished like a fox down a hole. “What?”
“Not many women in their thirties still live with their parents, Cara. Look, if the situation’s delicate, just tell me. I don’t need to know details. But only dysfunctional couples keep secrets.”
She stared at him, suddenly furious. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Not Like Most Girls by Lethus1

An outrageous story about a
girl, her boyfriend and a set of
..."interesting" parents.








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Saturday Spotlight for March 29th, 2014


Daily Literature Deviations is proud to feature this special recognition article!
You can show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into the person behind the art. Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artist!


 Artists will be featured in a special news article every Saturday. Major points to SilverInkblot, TwilightPoetess and DrippingWords for doing the hard work and research that goes into these articles!  

Today's featured deviant is:
 :star:Meggie272!:star:


 

Questions

 

1. Tell us about yourself and your writing process?
My name's Meg, I'm turning eighteen in a month and I live in the South-West corner of Australia! At the moment I'm a seasonal labourer at a raspberry farm and I'm spending the year being a hermit and eating my parent's food before going off to university.

I write a fair bit of poetry - other things as well, but poetry is what makes it on to deviantArt these days.

I've never really thought about my writing process as such, but I suppose as is the case with everyone, it begins with inspiration. Most of my original writing draws from my personal experiences and emotions, which is frustrating to me sometimes as I wish I could get outside of my own head a little bit and be more of a storyteller than a journal-keeper.

Usually for me, a poem begins with an emotion or an experience, which I want to put into words (because I want to vent, or I want to record it for posterity, or just because I think it would make a good poem). I then begin thinking about the particular atmosphere or ambience that is associated with that emotion/experience in my head. The way it made my body feel, the thoughts it sparked in my head (or the lack of thoughts), the smell, the taste, the sound of it, the way the world felt to me in that moment. From this atmosphere I source the kind of language I want to use, the metaphors and similes and descriptors that will recreate as accurately as possible exactly the feeling I am trying to put into words. I wrap that language around the narrative and subject matter of the poem, and hope that the two combine in a way that will most accurately portray the moment.

I use poetry as a sort of journal-keeping, as I've said above, so often it's a way of venting my feelings and transforming intense emotion into creativity, making something new and interesting out of thoughts and feelings that have been rattling around in my head in repetitive cycles.

Often a poem will get away from me and turn into something quite different than I originally intended. This happens, and it's best to just let it happen, most of the time.

I am a big fan of descriptive language. I have a love affair with beautiful words, and every poem I write, even if the subject matter is ugly or sad, I try to imbue it with a little bit of beauty. I think a poem about a rainy day in a dirty industrial part of an ugly town can be astonishingly beautiful, and I think the rain falling on the concrete and steel itself is beautiful - I try to create a tug of the heartstrings, no matter what the context is. Luminosity and loveliness, even if it's off-kilter, mournful or warped, is generally my aim.


2. How do you feel about dA as a literature community?
I think dA's literature community is lovely. It's helped me so much - the feedback I've received, the groups I've joined, the wonderful artists who have inspired and influenced me and shown me so many new styles and methods of expression.

The main thing about the literature community here is that it's not intimidating. The majority of literature contributors are open, friendly, organised and really dedicated to improving their craft and helping out other writers. Often in artistic circles it can be a little scary to start putting your work out there and really getting involved, because there's a sense of...these people are the elite and I'm just a beginner, I'm just a kid who writes about being broken up with by boys, I don't know that much about Russian modernism and your intellectual conversations while being fascinating to me might leave me behind. The culture of 'art' can be a little bit scary and a little bit snobby at times. And maybe a little bit exclusive.

But here on dA, there are so many of us who are young, unpublished, beginners, hobbyist writers. We're all making mistakes and learning from each other. We're all from different societies, different backgrounds, we all have different levels of writing experience and we've all been influenced by completely different sources. The one thing we have in common is that we're all just uploading our work in the hope that someone will read it and get something out of it. It's informal and communal and endlessly, endlessly varied. Art is best when it is shared and received with open arms.

It's a smorgasbord, and I love it for that.


3. Are there any authors that have influenced your work?
Many, although I'd be hard-pressed to name any particular one. E.E. Cummings was the first poet to open my eyes to the beauty of free verse. He showed me the doors opened by playing around with grammatical 'rules' and accepted structure and most importantly showed me the glories of lush, abundant language. So I guess he was a pretty big one. I read much more prose than I do poetry (this is referring to non-Internet reading) so I could talk at great length about influences on my prose, but since I don't upload prose much on dA (or write much of it at all) I'll stick to the poetry topic.

Probably many of the writers I follow here on dA have influenced me in some way. I soak up everything like a sponge, and unintentionally it gets squeezed out again into my own work. Free verse is the main type of poetry found on this website, and I pretty much only write free verse, so I guess you could say I've been firmly kept in that direction by the writers on here, even if I'd already been placed on that path by Cummings etc. I can't think of any one writer who has really, really shaped my style, though, at least not intentionally. Everything I read and love has probably reflected in my work in some way.


4. What advice would you give to a beginning writer?
Well, I am a beginning writer myself. I still have a lot to learn and my relationship with writing is complex and not always a positive one. But I do have advice to give, even if I don't follow it all the time, so here goes.

I would say...read a lot. Write a lot. Those are the two things it all comes down to in the end.

Don't be discouraged. Actually, scratch that, it's impossible not to be discouraged sometimes. Often, the words will not do what you want. Often, inspiration will fail you and you'll be left with nothing to say. That's okay. Don't let the discouragement win. Be grumpy for a bit, and then when your mind feels clearer, try again. Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing. Every idea you have, hang on to it, see what you can make out of it. Write them all down, so that when writer's block hits and you feel completely drained of inspiration, you have a list of ideas to start working with, get the words flowing again.

Experiment. Read widely. Find the kind of writing that you want to do. If it's poetry about your own experiences and the way you see the world, your own personal context, how it feels to be you, do that. If it's creating elaborate fictional universes full of dragons and imagination, do that. All writing is valid, no genre or form or style is better or worse than any other. Don't be afraid to try something new, and accept that some days, your writing is just gonna be shit. If it is one of those days, come back to it tomorrow and edit it. The important thing is getting the words on the page.

Just write. Read and write and worship words. They're beautiful things. Frustrating. But beautiful.


5. What do you consider to be your highest literary accomplishment?
Well, last year I participated in the Glory Be! challenge. For those of you who don't know, although a large percentage of dA writers would know about it, I think, a lovely bunch of writers organised a project in which we all wrote something for every day of the year. I managed to complete the challenge, and I'm incredibly proud of myself for it. I honestly wasn't expecting to be able to do it (I get crippled by writer's block and lack of motivation and self-doubt and laziness and blah blah blah). But I did it. I finished!

I wrote an awful lot of crap, uninspired dribble that I never even bothered to go back and edit because it was just...not worth it, but I wrote some good stuff as well. It was a real test of my self-discipline, which has never been my strong point, and it really helped me to discover what kind of things I like to write about. It also helped me in developing my own style, and it strengthened my clarity and control. I am able to write more complex, layered and sensitive poems now, and I'm also better at just sitting down and writing.

Now it's time to move on to the challenge of prose writing! Hopefully this year will provide even half as large a learning curve as 2013 did for me with poetry.



Poetry


Regurgitate.And she talks,
        and talks, and talks,
and she is crisply pressed, neatly
dressed, she is an apple of a woman, beneath
her skin there’s snowwhite flesh neat and vitamin
rich –
and my lip wobbles, rot-ness pouring
out of the corners of my eyes, black
inkwater smelling of stagnation, a lake of nothing,
and despair is dribbling
from the most intimate corners of my lips,
from the twisted scar where I fell off the swing
age eight, slammed my knee into my jaw and shoved
my teeth through the wet wet meat;
“but – ”, and my voice is cracked
and young and sour-thick, she tells me it
all just comes down to stress, dear, it’s
stress;
kindly she tells me all about how I made these stones
in the poisongrotto of my mind, how I built them
with fingers shaking and throat catching, how I built them
atom for atom amidst rainstorms, amidst
wire fences and the muddy coating
of my own fevered
twitching
brain –
they’re your babies and

"Regurgitate." by Meggie272


Pinching nervesDo not touch me;
I have torn off my skin in strips
because it weighed me down
like lead,
and the summer salt on the unfettered whorls
of your fingertips stings my
weeping blood and bones.
Don’t say my name into my ear
like it’s some kind of secret you like to
almost-keep –
I know who I am and I am dragging
myself through every day that tries to pull
me down into the earth. I know exactly
who I am.
You have no hot-hush revelations to offer,
wandering tradesman,
as if I would ever discover myself
through your eager breath. As if you
have anything to offer me now.
I have become rain and grit and lactic
acid burn in muscles begging for release –
I have become bitter cold underneath
your collar and the heaviness of
somehow enduring under buzzing fluorescent
lights and skin that’s made of pain – I am
all these and I am nothing,
nothing but the pound pound pound of a
heart, nothing but the sighs of a body
holding itself together for just another day.
And I

"Pinching nerves" by Meggie272


Prose



in my sister's carSitting in my sister's overcrowded car, amongst depressed and withered chip packets, and long forgotten jackets rung around with stringy, unhappy fur.
My fingers and lips are stained, sticky, multicoloured - redyellowgreenbluepurple from the rainbow coloured candy cane I'm sucking. It tastes sugary, false, and despite the slippery saccharine of my saliva it has turned my mouth into dryness that longs for water. Yet somehow this candy cane is real, and grounding, and visceral. It brings me back to my childhood, and I like the nudging reminder that I am a person with my past behind me.
Music swells. That is real. I close my eyes against the harsh gold of oncoming sunset, let it permeate and redden its way through my eyelids. That is real, too.
I need reality now, I need candy canes and Coldplay and sunsets. My mind feels lost, disconnected - illness lingers, and my brain has not yet learnt to see. I cannot remember ever seeing properly, but I must have once, because all my life I

"in my sister's care" by Meggie272


A Series of Observations on LoveI.
Subject one for today: the mental arithmetic of the early stages of love.
'He laughed at my joke and sunshine struck his hair and burnished it with copper and maybe that is a sign' can be added to 'I'm sure his pupils dilated, that's a sign of arousal, isn't it - well what are the chances of him having a tropical disease?'. But then you have to subtract those times when he obviously wasn't invested in the conversation, or last night on the phone when he sounded a bit funny.
And the sum comes out at...
...not nearly enough.
Mathematics does hurt on occasion. Impartial, unemotional and cold - it can pack a few punches of reality when it wants.
Tomorrow I must introduce him to a unique and little-known yet hauntingly beautiful Dutch indie band. That should work, give or take a few...and I have new mascara, which might help. Thank God for late shopping hours on Thursday afternoons. If I can't have sweeping, thick eyelashes, I can at least have clumpy factory-black ones.
II.

"A Series of Observations on Love" by Meggie272




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Prepared by:  TwilightPoetess

    
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Daily Lit Deviations for March 28th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!


:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note thetaoofchaos.

We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:


Poetry


Suggested by: NamelessShe
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Strength in All the Wrong PlacesThose muscles. I know them well:
once they lifted the heaviest burdens
from shoulders stooped and grave
without any effort
without any sweat.
Then they began to work out.
And work until they grew pale;
and lost a drop of salt-
maybe two-sometimes three.
And they became strong indeed.
Ironic then that,
the stronger they were,
the more atrophied they became.
Until they could no longer even lift
an eyelid.

Strength in All the Wrong Places  by Tanashai

From the suggester: This is great---
the language feels tight, good flow.



Featured by: hypermagical
Suggested by: Eevee1999

.the oaks crouch to greet
me, i sit with the ferns and
the forest listens

. by oaklungs

Suggester: ...She is able to convey the
place that everyone dreams of, one of solitude,
one that gives you a break from the world,
in just three simple lines...



Suggested by: NamelessShe
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

catharsis.i.
The devil watched me dreaming,
kissed my wrists
and painted my lips with blood.
ii.
I bartered for my place in heaven,
but I was buried too deep
to be heard.
iii.
He pushed me
out to sea and I
valiantly tried to drown.

catharsis. by 91816119

From the suggester: I really like the
way it flows, the words the author chose.
I don't know much about poetry or
interpreting it, but I thought it was darkly beautiful.



Prose


Featured by doodlerTM
Wicker Chronicles    When the pastry shop opened up next door, well, that’s what did it. The Cakers left a box of iced strudels on the porch as a neighborly gift and, to Mr. Wicker—the world’s most devoted hater of sweet things—it was a call for war. While I sat on a stool eating the cherry-centered strudel of the bunch, he put together a concoction of his strangest ingredients and packed it all into a reeking glass bottle. I was munching on the lemon-centered strudel and watching from the attic when he threw the bottle in their open window and absconded indoors.
            The more righteous people in town were always ashamed that a curse-maker lived in the city limits and sold his ill-will to others. When I do the shopping every week, at least one of them asks me if Wicker’s gone broke yet and I tell them straight-faced that he most certainly hasn’t, because whether they like it or not lots

The Wicker Chronicles by Moonlightauthor

A well-written, hilarious fantasy
account of a prank gone wrong.



Featured by doodlerTM
Talk.  The whole room was dark,  harsh breathing was mixed with whimpers of the muffled captives. There was a bar, maybe a cuff, that covered their mouths. No talking, no screaming. Only the harsh breaths of fear. They weren't sure how they got there, nor remember anything. It felt like hell. They were chained, cold, and left in the dark with no sign of being let out. That is until a sign on the iron wall lit up at the same time as the cuffs around their chapped lips opened.
      TALK.
They all started frantically jumbling words together, one quoting bibles verses, one speaking an foreign language, one begging release from the 'prison'. The sign went blank and they quickly shut their mouths. The overhead lights turned on.
 There were six of them. All pressed against the opposite wall of the sign. Everything was metal. It looked like they were trapped in a factory. They all stared at each other. One was a priest, another a female wearing a

Talk by DeathReverence6661

A chilling and disturbing horror
tale that examines what people
would do to stay alive.



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Daily Lit Deviations for March 27th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!

You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!



:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one

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We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:




Poetry


Suggested by: haphazardmelody

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

Broken Rainbow."Describe your childhood in one word."
"Pink."
"Your childhood was pink?"
"No, the ending was."
"You're not making any sense. I thought you hated pink."
"I do."
"Than why describe your childhood as pink?"
"I didn't always."
I didn't always know. There was once a time when pink meant candy and bows,
charm bracelets and love. That was before pink had any connection with you.
First I connected you with red.
Red like the sunset of our first kiss.
Red like the roses you brought me.
Second I connected you with orange
Orange like the card you bought me when I was ill.
Orange like the dress you helped me pick for my sisters wedding.
Third I connected you with yellow
Yellow like the smiles you would draw on everything I didn't like, so I couldn't help liking everything.
Yellow like the dandelions I refused to let you call weeds.
Fourth I connected you to green.
Green like the spots on the umbrella you used to save me from the rain.
Green like the leaves of the trees that interlaced overhead whe

Broken Rainbow. by Crystal-Magic13



From the suggester: This is powerful.




Suggested by: Fragments-of-a-Pawn

Featured by: WorldWar-Tori

Parentheses(I wonder if parentheses
ever see all the letters
caught in between them
and feel that distance
as though it is tangible;
if they ever crave
to be close enough together
so they could intertwine
until their inkscratches
collide to incoherence;
if you’ve ever noticed
how your right hand ellipses
and curves just like a parenthesis,
and how my left hand is its opposite.)

Parentheses by saltwaterlungs



This poem is such a unique thought, 
combining the usually unrelated grammar 
and romance, and every single word 
makes a wonderful impact on the reader. 
The progression of the stanzas is just right, 
introducing new thoughts in a paced and clear way.



Suggested by: AlwaysRainCheck

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates. 
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave 
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,

I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence, 
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me, 

A void within me by WhitePlumFragrance



From the suggester: Lena knows how to
choose words in a way that makes her work
all the more vivid and powerful. While reading
this piece I found myself walking a melancholic
path near the river, with my mind filled by beautiful
music; the story she tells is sad, but very relatable.




Prose


Featured by doodlerTM

The Turtle Who Grants Wishes    Once upon a time in the land of Arthea, there lived a wizard. The wizard lived in a log cabin in the forest of Ven with his wife. The wizard was a grumpy fellow, and he enjoyed playing tricks and conning people out of money. He would trick travelers in the woods into taking the wrong path that would lead them to a river, with no way to cross except on foot, just so they would have to get their shoes wet. Other times he would give directions to the nearest town for a fee, only to include a path that would be wrought with poison ivy. He would cackle delightedly at the thought of their rashes while he counted the coins he was paid.
    His wife, on the other hand, was an honest woman; she did not take kindly to his acts of deception. She would often beg that her husband not suggest anything that would bring people harm, and often he would oblige just to shut her up. Other times he just could not help himself. It tickled his beard to see weary travelers with stubbed

The Turtle Who Grants Wishes by The-Lighted-Soul



A whimsical tale about a mean-spirited 
wizard and his entertaining path to redemption.




Suggested by TwilightPoetess

Featured by doodlerTM

StrengthMy grandfather was the strongest man I ever met. If you’ve ever seen someone on TV perform some superhuman feat of strength and thought that it wasn’t real, you’ve never met my grandfather. I have seen him rip a telephone book in half. He reached his full height of 6”4’ at the age of fourteen, and by the age of fifteen he had left school to work in the metal works. No one thought twice about it, because he was more than capable of the work and looked older than he was.
I am not strong. My joints frequently hurt, although I do not think I can convey to you how much of an understatement the word ‘hurt’ is in this situation. Most people didn’t understand why I didn’t run as long or as fast as the other children, or take delight in the frequent football scrimmages that almost all the boys I knew took such delight in. when I told them “I can’t, my leg aches,” they just told me to be strong.
My grandfather didn’t.

Strength by CatharticDistraction



From the suggester: "These lines 
from this non-fiction piece say it all: 
I realised then that was what true strength was. 
Not the ability to rip a telephone book in half, or lift a 
wonderstruck child with one hand. But the ability to do 
something that you found hard, that many others in the 
same situation wouldn’t even think of attempting."





For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation

to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.



Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!



~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~



Prepared by: TwilightPoetess



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Daily Lit Deviations for March 26th, 2014


We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!

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We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :pointl:




Poetry


Suggested by: Echolalic-Ellie

Featured by: SilverInkblot

Scars."There are scars here,"
she said, and her face said
she loved them even though
she put them there.
"That's okay,"
he said, "I've got my own."
And the way he held her
wrists, loosely, said
he loved them too.

Scars. by trembling-knees



Suggester: "I just find it to be a very beautiful concept."





Suggested Anonymously

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

MispronouncedIncidentally
My heart fluttered
(You were nowhere to be seen)
Incidentally
Nausea gripped me in the gut
(Worry has been stalking my thoughts lately)
Factually
I wasn’t hungry. Really,
I wasn’t.
Literally
I slept with a book
It stabbed me in the gut
While I was dreaming about the stars
Incidentally
My daydreams have been getting odd lately
(You haven’t been in them, I promise)
For instance:
I thought, maybe, I could leave
Just sink into the details
So you and everyone else will forget me
(You already have, I know)
I thought, perhaps, I could sing
Loud
Really, I did.
Incidentally
I forgot how to speak
(The people who were listening
Are getting very frustrated now)

Mispronounced by evanescentdark



From the suggester: I love the way this is 
formatted, and the poem entirely 
has a lot of emotion behind it.





Suggested by: OHiNeedTea

Featured by: WorldWar-Tori

Dreams of a PirateDream, little pirate.
Dragging the past in silence,
Chasing a lost childhood.
Stranded on your ship,
Without a crew.
From the shore, caught somewhere in time,
Solace seeks a dying man.
Your last words,
Caught in a scream in the wind.

Dreams of a Pirate by WishingUnderThatStar



Suggester says: A nice little poem.





Suggested by: haphazardmelody

Featured by: TwilightPoetess

spun out so far, i can't be true to you.he's still the way i watch the stars
and how i run like no one's watching
he's what i dream of when i'm awake
but maybe i'm done waiting
maybe it's you
then again
maybe it's me this time
and maybe that's enough

he still races through my veins
and no, my heart is not steady when i see him
but i was never one for patience
a year is too long to hold on
and he is conservative
and button downs
he is beautiful
but i am wild
i am dirty feet
and summer evenings
i am mud-caked nails
and cider throats
i am sun soaked
laced with drunken poetry
i am watercolour
he is oil based
acrylic
he is canvas in london galleries
i am doodles on napkins in mediterranean restuarants
you are cheekbones and dark eyes
winter mornings
coffee stained fingers
smirks and accidental brushes
i don't intend to know anything more
he is confidence
i am uncertainty
i live in the wind and the forests
we both spend too much time in front of mirrors
but whilst he kisses them
i crack them
and all the while he is leather

spun out so far, i can't be true to you. by empty-lungs



From the suggester: I don't even know 
what to say about it. 
It's just beautiful and perfect.





Featured by: WorldWar-Tori

I want to wake up and not be aloneI closed my eyes while I drove home tonight
I wanted to see if I could remember the curve
of your spine, your lips, the jut of your hip.
(if these walls could speak,
they would scream your name.)

I want to wake up and not be alone by dietcocaine



Short & simple; but if you know the feeling 
it will invoke more than just a few short lines; 
but a giant truth that no words can actually cover.





For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation

to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitDeviations.



Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!



~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~



Prepared by: TwilightPoetess