R.I.P., Robin Williams Man. It's been a week and his death still feels like it didn't really happen. I mean, I know that a lot of comedians are troubled souls and that he was no exception. I know that he has had troubles with depression and substance abuse before. and I know that he was experiencing the beginning of Parkinson's, which chemically induces depression. But despite all that, he of all people seemed to have had too much of a genuine love for life that suicide seemed so out of character for him. in fact, he had such a lively energy that it seemed almost impossible for him to die (which is REALLY saying something coming from me).R.I.P., Robin Williams by NathanielFlyingOwl
Well, the great thing is he lived a life he loved, bringing joy to a world that sorely needed it (and still does), and despite the setbacks that inherently come from being human and being famous, he lived it well. From all that I have heard from people who knew
Take a TumbleGrounding myself on elbows meeting the abrasive road where my six inch stilettos gave up, I am left with a red trophy that will mar my ribs for weeks. Inside I swirl around a mirror, myself, my hair let loose, my tears crawling as gravity desires and I shout the profanities from ex lovers’ mouths against the slick pool of glass. Another day ready for bed and dreams and bourbon as a pungent precursor to those delightful retreats.Take a Tumble by Kelcobi
My verdant life is magnified by grey skies, storms without gusts and gales, no thunder because there is no lightning. My sad eyes, dull with sleeplessness and apathy sit sullen in a face riddled with emotions I hide from the very people who would comfort them.
“I am sad.”
Keeping time with my heart, my breath, the rain on the roof; my mind knows remedies for everything save the crippling passivity in which it is mired. I am still in this void of myself, suspended in an abyss of marketing, political, religion fueled con
AgeAgeAge by Lostboysmee
high cheek bones,
a cheerless grin.
The skull beneath
thanks for the inspiration! i couldn't get enough of all your talents. wish i were half as good. i am new here, am still finding my way around, am in the process of figuring out what to do... but let me start by admiring your pieces of art!
here's to waking up happy,
Three years ago, I thought of reconnecting with that side of me that writes poetry and stories. I needed motivation and inspiration. I had heard of Deviantart but never really knew how to navigate the site. So I joined and lurked around and I was drawn to it. It was a shaky start. I was nervous to post journals and deviations. I still am. DA can be this huge intimidating place. When someone leaves feedback on my work, that's when I feel good because I didn’t have friends or relatives who appreciate or bother to read what I write. So however small the attention my work gets, it’s better than nothing. I keep reminding myself that regardless of views, I’m here to share my art in the hopes to reach out to another person who might be able to relate to it. If I expect a hundred views or to win more watchers with every deviation I submit or if I compare stats, I may as well be asking for disappointments.
Halfway around the world, somebody's reading my poem which is a brand new experience. Then I joined groups, something I would not do in real life. A number of my submissions get rejected, a few get featured. The first group that featured my poem was WritersInk I have to tell you, any form of encouragement does pure magic to me. Receiving my first kudos and thumbs-up was crazy. Imagine me logging on startled to a daily deviation or daily lit deviation. I literally fly (I mean jump for joy) and on one occasion because I was so floored, I had to treat my buddy for lunch to celebrate.
UnspecifiedUnknown was one of the earliest watchers who took the time to go through my gallery and believed in me. TRexyBusiness made me feel at home. Then I met people along the way whom I have developed admiration for in terms of their sheer creativity, their passion, and their generosity. It would be hard to enumerate them one by one. TwilightPoetess granted me the only item on my wishlist; SilverInkblot sent me bookmarks via snail mail; and dreamsinstatic gave me three-month-premium membership. And all this time, I thought Santa was a myth.These people have the biggest hearts in the community: LadyLincoln, hypermagical, Nichrysalis, IrrevocableFate and Mrs-Freestar-Bul.
Eremitik has been my top supporter.
Looking back now, the decision to sign up for an account and stay on Deviantart has been worthwhile. Not only have I found a home for my little creations but I also have found amazing lit/art pieces. These are my first loves:PlyushkinLosing you-
It wasn't the same as throwing away an old couch.
We didn't peek around the curtains every hour,
half expecting to see someone lifting it into their
truck bed secretly hoping it was still on the curb
Stillness was in the air because the house knew
something was missing. Something is always going
to be missing. We can manage buy more things. I know
we are lonely consumers. The more the merrier.
Make the walls happy. Spring for the surround sound.
Maybe I won't hear your permanent laughter
resonate from the kitchen. Haunting.
I want to know what the spider was thinking
as it crawled across my IPod.
How many electronics can a man fit into his soul?
There has always been a compulsive need to own.
Nobody reading this is free.Static Smudges and Smears
The newspaper is illegible:
Crop circle smudges from heaven,
Or maybe sieved through the soul's portcullises
Forever closed off to the dangers of the world;
So, instead, I trace the fault lines in
Broken mirrors plagued with fingerprints,
A desperate attempt to read and
Ascertain the present and
But cannot seem to discern which rifts
Are simply my faults and which fault
Is actually my life line,
Where and when do they end.
But, as so often is the musings of fools,
This too is meaningless.
To shoreI think back to pulling your hair
from your face,
sticky strands in nut brown,
your lips like the frothy head
in a pint glass,
You cried in bed, neck twisted
like a giraffe looking
for the opposite side of a baobab tree,
and I told you that you were beautiful
even though no one
thought so, anymore.
It didn't matter then whether
I was holding your
greasy heart in my hands,
or my own,
they were the same fragments,
wracked with guilt and
weak sutures in their stems.
We lay in your bed for five minutes
before you choked
on your own salt water seasoning,
blew your nose into the white
like it was tissue and you
really couldn't be bothered to care.
And I remember thinking that
my whole world was a sea,
and I, a boat,
toward land.stefanshe stood on your dock
in black pearls,
and nothing more -
and the asian dream.
you loved her
when the snow fell
on the dock,
the following winter
remember why.CharlieI had a stalker.
I didn't know his name but I'm sure he knew mine.
I called him Charlie.
He always had a camera hanging from his twig thick neck and he cradled it in his hands; a wispy finger stroking the shutter release. His dark brown hair was a curly mess and his shirts wrinkly and thin. He had the most perfect eyebrows, sweeping and gentle. He must have the most captivating eyes, I thought every time he'd glance my way. We'd never made eye contact. Charlie preferred it that way.
He came into the bookstore once a week, not to watch me leaf through the used books or reach high to shelve the approved ones, but to actually browse them. He read the unknowns; the virgins with their unbroken spines. I imagine he liked the smell of them aromas preserved for him alone. Charlie appreciated the books wearing dusty coats and factory perfume a decade old.
The rest of the time he spent on the outside looking in. My co-workers were tickled pink. "What a geek." "Poor guy doesn't realize you
And if I should leave you with a single poem, it would be this. This is very personal.
It is where I'm coming from.i missed the train.experiences i will not own:
my baby's first word,
buying baby stuff,
happy mother's day,
a husband next to me,
on top of me, beneath me.
i caught old classmates' faces
from the train's windows.
they now know what life's like
oh well i
missed the train.
© december 15, 2013
Thank you DeviantArt for having me. Happy 14th Birthday!
© August 10, 2014
i do allow myself the luxury of dreaming
one day, life will be more than just getting by;
my art could take me somewhere nice;
i'll tend my own garden or farm
and live in my own house baking and decorating and enjoying the quiet.
and i will wake up happy (with you).
8/29/13:gyrate for them, greta.
4/27/14: handmade love.
11/17/13: canapés, . (link)
2/10/14: i missed the train. . (link)