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Literature
thesaurus
all I ever wanted was someone to hold my hand, dance in the rain
read poetry by candlelight
rock me to sleep and tell me not all tears are an evil
someone to climb mountains with, tell stories to
to hold my dreams in the palm of their hand and scatter them over the earth like seeds
someone to wake up to with a heart full of laughter
someone whose soul reminds me to live
all I want is to love and be loved by the wind,
fleeting, effervescent
(do you mean evanescent? ephemeral? transitory? i think
your head is too full of synonyms)
all i want is the touch of the sea and the storm
the moon in their eyes and the stars under their skin
i want the night to hold me like a lover
and the dawn to kiss my eyelids into wakefulness
all i ever wanted was someone to show me
how big the world is
(the universe? pretty damn big darling.)
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Literature
music in the palms of my sweaty hands
songs are like
whispers (shipwrecks) in my fingertips
telling me
life
is not a duty
but a truth.
so listen
open your ears, eyes, nose, skin, tongue
taste the bittersweet-salty beauty of
instant gratification and
the soles of your feet
won’t stop dancing.
but really, who
who would give me something like this
only to say,
no
your body is not enough
your mind will not suffice
to make this
real.
songs are like
shouting (outcry) in my knees
and I can’t run
fast
enough.
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Literature
an essence of impatience
But listen. I haven’t been waiting for the answers because
well,
not because I’m afraid exactly.
Whatever I am, it’s not a coward.
No,
I haven’t been waiting because the need for movement
springs eternal,
like an ache in my sinews and marrows and every damnable neuron in my brain is hammering inside of me
urging me on
out
upwards
to infinity, or whatever else is out there.
I haven’t been waiting because
hell,
waiting isn’t in my nature.
:iconJustBecause62:JustBecause62
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Literature
waiting on worlds
her eyes are caught in a spiderweb and
she can't feel her feet. Only the stars
are constant, tugging at her despite everything -
they can't be
disappointed
in her. Listen to the way they dance
like art or tears. until the end of your mind
they will dance, and you will stand
unable to see the road or feel the earth beneath you
but the whisper of nighthawks calls you on and,
somehow,
you keep going. There is blood on your hands and in your heart.
the emptiness won't let you go.
Try to be freer than you know how. She reaches out for things
she can't see. she know the end of this story
but that doesn't have to matter. she'll be the truth
no one else knows.
she'll keep reaching and the spiderwebs
won't hold back.
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Literature
(Hi)Stories
"History repeats itself,"
That's what they always say. So does that mean that
Life, the Universe, and Everything is just one great big broken record
playing the same line again, over and over? A single line
that's just enough to somehow express the simultaneous anguish and
(occasionally) bliss that manage to be humanity? Or maybe,
on the other hand,
the music only tells us the wars and detentes, the injustices
and Revolutions. Maybe we,
Ourselves, so completely mutable and so eternally human,
maybe we take the wars and the weddings and turn them into emotions,
Into stories. Because there's something in us that knows
(insofar as anything can be capable of certainty in a world made of
illusions),
Something that know how everyone not only has a story, everyone
is a story, a million stories,
endings expressed in scars or smiles or the nervous tapping of fingers.
And we take words like "discovery" and "progress" we scrape the letters off a page and
turn them into billions,
trillions,
of mom
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Heeyyy by JustBecause62 Heeyyy :iconjustbecause62:JustBecause62 2 0 Victory Emote by JustBecause62 Victory Emote :iconjustbecause62:JustBecause62 3 3
Literature
A Song Unsung
To see him, one would think he was alone, but, somehow, he was not. He inhabited a place where no one could ever be alone, because part of everyone was always there — most people just didn’t know it.
Most people, in fact, had not the slightest idea that this place existed — because, technically speaking, it didn’t. But before we become too mired in existential paradoxes, let us return to our original subject.
He was reasonably tall, and fairly skinny, and his indeterminately brownish hair was short and a bit greasy. His eyes, which were wide open, were hard to discern in the dim light, but on close inspection one might term them pale green.
He was, at present, standing so close to the edge of a rather precarious sea-cliff that anyone with half an ounce of humanity would have rushed to pull him back before a breath of wind toppled him carelessly over the edge. Luckily for him, no one with even a milligram of humanity was in the vicinity, and the dragons knew bett
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Literature
Daemons and Faeries: Chapter 5
Rescinne froze, hands at her sides, still clutching the old knife blade.
The stern, helmeted figures pointing sharp sticks at her chest were obviously guards, and she felt a little guilty about her earlier assumption that this gate was poorly guarded. She hoped these people couldn't read minds (she knew such a thing was possible, from her studies of magical science long ago), or they might be . . . provoked.
"Drop the knife, kid," demanded one of them, gesturing with his own pointy stick. "I mean - hang on - are you a girl? Is the kid a girl, Bristo?"
Bristo peered at Rescinne's face. "Maybe. Kid, are you a girl?"
"I -" Rescinne stared. This was something she had not been expecting, though to be fair, she was still dressed in her work trousers, and these men would be unused to seeing women dressed so plainly up here at the castle.
But her voice had given her away the moment she spoke. "She is a girl," murmurs the first. "Never had that problem before. What should w
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Literature
storm
and the thunder falls
- like a madman's heart,
fighting with itself.
and who do you think wrote the lightning?
or have you forgotten already when the gods sang
and cried themselves empty onto the ground?
and there's something like
a love
(or maybe it's just really heartfelt rage)
in the rain as it scatters and doesn't have time
to make puddles.
[I remember rubber boots and yellow raincoats
and stomping in brownish pools of after-rain.]
but this is the wrong kind of rain,
this rain is for singing and
exulting, even
in the wildness that will break you because it's too strong
to simply hold your hand: this is for
understanding that science is a religion
and you can't even know that you know
nothing.
this rain is for being somebody you never thought you could be,
because nobody can hear you laughing
and if you die, at least you die living.
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Literature
Empty Hearts
“Potter, Harry.”
The name rang out from Minerva’s always-half-pursed lips; it echoed against the walls and ceiling in a fading attempt to escape the confines of the Hall. Whispers rose among the students. Was it really him? Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? That skinny, knobbly-kneed, messy-haired kid with a look on his face like he was about to vomit all over the Sorting Hat?
Yes, you fools, of course that’s him. What did you expect? Some kind of grinning superhero? Just because he lived . . . it’s not like he actually did anything. It was Lily who saved him, it was all Lily, but she died so this scrawny brat gets all the credit instead.
And the silly old hat sank down over those eyes—Lily’s eyes, what are they doing in that awful face?—and it sat there, and it must have been thinking hard, because it sat and it sat and it kept on sitting, and what if he’s a Squib? It would serve him right, f
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Death at Paranor by JustBecause62 Death at Paranor :iconjustbecause62:JustBecause62 2 0 Pirates by JustBecause62 Pirates :iconjustbecause62:JustBecause62 1 2 Pellinor: Truenames by JustBecause62 Pellinor: Truenames :iconjustbecause62:JustBecause62 1 6
Literature
Daemons and Faeries: Chapter 4
Rescinne was wishing she hadn’t come this way, because the castle looked a lot more threatening up close, and how was she supposed to get in, anyway? But she seemed to have very little choice: her feet dragged one another forward, clinging with each step to the dusty, pebbled ground. Subconsciously, in the deep recesses of her mind where even she herself never ventured — though she suspected they were rather old and slightly smelly — she knew that, somehow, it was a good idea. She hadn’t a clue why she knew this, because it wasn’t the sort of thing she was in the habit of knowing, but she did. Indubitably she knew it, and as inexorably as the movement of her feet was the steady growth of that unusual knowledge.
The portcullis loomed ahead of her, growling it seemed, its many iron feet like the claws of a giant, flattened spider. The ironwork looked deceptively delicate from a distance, like the lattice on the top of a pie, but up close it was made of metal
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Literature
to be on a train
Truly, the train travels, calling its coming,
Weaving and wandering through thicket and thorn,
Slipping so swiftly ‘twixt houses and homes,
Rickety, rocking and thwacking and thrumming,
All as an awful and wondrous and worn
Dragon (or damsel) that rambles and roams.
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Brotherhood (+ Youtube Process Video) by JoJoesArt Brotherhood (+ Youtube Process Video) :iconjojoesart:JoJoesArt 7,234 261 Firewalker by JoJoesArt Firewalker :iconjojoesart:JoJoesArt 7,224 203
Journal
The Best Weekend Ever with my Favourite Little One
Hello all! Firstly, Ch17 is actually coming along well. Just getting that out of the way before I launch into the really fun important stuff!
As probably most of you know, I've gone home for a month to visit family back in the States. This last weekend we traveled downstate (we live in Michigan) to visit my little cousins who I adore to the extent they're more like nieces and nephew than cousins. The eldest is 9, the middle is about to turn 7 and the youngest just turned 4. The youngest, Aubrielle and I have always had a really close bond. When she was only a week old we visited and played the usual "pass the baby" but when it got to my turn, everyone left to go shopping for dinner... so I was left holding the baby for the next four hours. And she slept the entire time. And ever since, even though she was only a week old and I don't get to see her as much as I'd like, I've been her favourite person in the whole world.
Anyway, on to this weekend. We kept it a secret to be a surprise tha
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White Rose by Mertus White Rose :iconmertus:Mertus 1 2 A Maze by Mertus A Maze :iconmertus:Mertus 2 4
Literature
Inert
Once upon a time
He thought he was a reactant
Unstable
Prenatal
Something to be transformed
And used up
Something to be made different
Just by virtue of happenstance
His friends say to him
'but you don't ever change'
'don't ever change.'
He took it to heart
And stopped for a minute
An hour
A day
Months
Years
He looks away from the clock
Losing hours like spare change
The days pass so slowly.
He can't remember yesterday
But sees right through tomorrow
The days bleeding into each other
Stacked like bitter pennies
Once upon a time
He thought he was a reactant
And maybe he was
But now he's a catalyst
and he watches
Chemistry go on around him
And tries to remain
Unaffected.
:iconMertus:Mertus
:iconmertus:Mertus 5 3
Cadvan's Big Problem by gemini-m4c Cadvan's Big Problem :icongemini-m4c:gemini-m4c 17 23
Literature
The Hideaway, Part Five: Terminal
Severus sat in St. Mungo’s chilly waiting room, face hidden in a veil of black hair. His mind felt as though it were unraveling – tendrils of his brain unlacing and twisting out of his skull and into some dark void where light could not reach.  He was dizzy, shaken. His mother was dying and he couldn’t save her. Lily was unreachable – and even if he could reach her, would she want to speak with him? He doubted it. He felt blindly for the wand in his coat-pocket. For the first time in his life, he felt the uselessness of magic.  How could it help him out of this? The doctor, a perky fellow named Rossmire Russ, had rather cheerfully just broken the news to Severus: Eileen had a few months to live, at best, and it would be better to send her home where she could die in comfort. Severus wondered if he was alone in thinking that home was not the most comforting place one could be. He knew at least one person agreed with him: Eileen. And that was what prompt
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Literature
Road of Glass
Sometimes I wake with sorrow
And feel I can't go on
Perhaps I'll wake tomorrow
And find the whole day gone
Sometimes I down a drink
To swallow all my pain
Perhaps I will forget to think
And vomit it up again
Sometimes I lose myself
And rant and scream and fight
But then perhaps, I think,
Things will be alright
And I know I'm here forever
Like liquid in your skin
It'll be uncomfortable
Until I settle in.
I am doing the best I can
My heart fractured in my chest
And of everything, you know,
I've always loved you best.
:iconMertus:Mertus
:iconmertus:Mertus 9 5
Literature
The Adventures of Harriet Potter: Year 4 - Ch2
(All characters and locations within belong to J.K. Rowling unless otherwise stated.)
Chapter 2
Back to the Burrow
“Ahh to relive the days of being young and in love with everything you see.”
General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk
The sun rose on another perfectly ordinary Monday morning on Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. Every house was perfectly sized. Every lawn was perfectly mown. Every hedge was perfectly trimmed. Every car was perfectly clean in every perfectly swept driveway. The postman was humming happily to himself as he walked down the street, turning up each driveway and sliding the mail into each mail slot.
Privet Drive was his favourite stretch of his route. He could get into a perfect rhythm; each house equally spaced, each driveway the same length. It was always quiet this time of the morning, which afforded him time to think and contemplate the world.
He kept humming as he turned up the
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This is a shout-out of immense gratitude to the wonderful yet Anonymous Deviant who gave my a Premium Membership! You're wonderful! *sends cyber-hugs to unknown wonderful person* Thank you thank you thank you!

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JustBecause62

Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Hi. I've been dubbed Noodle by the illustrious the-mind-of-kleinnak, so you can call me Noodle. :D And here is my life story.

ONCE UPON A TIME...

Meh...I dunno. I exist. Do you honestly care, beyond that? Oh, and I write things. And sometimes people care about that. And sometimes I photograph things. And, once in a blue moon, I just might DRAW some things. Maybe.

THE END
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:iconlilynoelle:
lilynoelle Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2015  Student General Artist
Thank you so much for adding "Terminal" to your favorites! :hug:
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:iconjustbecause62:
JustBecause62 Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
My pleasure :D
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:iconh-a-cooke:
H-A-Cooke Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Aloha JustBecasue62!

Thank you for adding me to your DeviantWatch+ I hope you enjoy what I have to share in the coming year!

H-A-Cooke
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:iconrafaelgiovannini:
RafaelGiovannini Featured By Owner Nov 12, 2014  Student Digital Artist
thanks for :+fav: :)
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:iconjustbecause62:
JustBecause62 Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Sure thing :)
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:iconrafaelgiovannini:
RafaelGiovannini Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Thank you so much for :+devwatch: :)
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:iconjustbecause62:
JustBecause62 Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
You're very welcome :)
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:iconthe-mind-of-kleinnak:
the-mind-of-kleinnak Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
I only just now noticed your deviantid section...
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:iconjustbecause62:
JustBecause62 Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh, that thing? Right...I forget about it most of the time...
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:iconthe-mind-of-kleinnak:
the-mind-of-kleinnak Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
haha, me too, Noodle :-P
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