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About Literature / Artist Premium Member LJUnited States Group :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
 
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Critique "Like Math, but with No Numbers" You left no questions so I'll just give you my opinion about whatever strikes me. I don't think this story is too short or too long. It's just right. I like a story that presents word-pictures right away and doesn't spend a lot of time explaining everything....

Um

Critique for "Um" You didn't leave any questions, and I'm operating on opinion only, but here we go into a short critique. 1. It's short because I see the need to advertise such a Society, excellently made into a business card that can go up on the 'fridge. I like the address you left for FB, and ho...

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xlntwtch
LJ
Artist | Literature
United States
Interests
Twenty years of nursing emergency room wounds and my grandmother puts down her fork, rubs her brow and tells me the female suicide is a more methodical, calculating beast.

by Nichrysalis
__________
Hearing those horns play, that easy Reggae strum on the guitar, the sound of the bongos with a steady hip hop beat in the background, I imagine heaven sounds that way.

by Jay101
__________
He was the type of man who would use a cigarette holder for style, but never smoke the cigarette after he lit it with a cool and classic Zippo.

by LancelotPrice
__________
my hands fold in on themselves, close up/like beach front shops in the gale of winter.

by LiliWrites
__________
"No, I'm telling you, I saw it with my own two eyes!" cried the Five-Horned Mac, and he swung his huge crested head back and forth.

by doughboycafe
__________
it meant little to her, she told me as much/but I loved her more each time.

by FallingAsleepTonight
__________
Uncle Levi and Auntie Gertrude and Katie didn't miss Gramma. They didn't even think about her until her Soul Fly Day came.

by Leonca

~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks to watchers and visitors. I appreciate all you do! :heart:
~~~~~~~~~~


ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
That Part of LondonLuke Sanderson was not a clever man; or at least, that's what he'd always been told. Of course, he had a different kind of wit about him – it takes a special sort of man to give directions through his city via off licenses, bars and police stations. He knew the funeral parlours in this part of town by name, and had seen twelve of his friends die; one for each year he'd spent in school. If he was rich, people would have likened his personality to Charles Bukowski, not that that was a compliment in any shape or form – he just like the smell of liquor on his own breath talked as much and as fast as he could to compensate for that.
Sixteen is too young for a man to have been drinking for five years now, but Camden was like that, especially in 1997. It was the part of London that didn't get glossed over as cosmopolitan; the part where 'rude' wasn't a fashion statement but a survival tactic, and if you carried a purse you were either walking hurriedly or running away from its pre
The Marquise   For as long as I can remember, my grandmother has never been very talkative. And yet, her thoughts were hardly idle and she always found a way to reach me, to say more than words could tell. I suppose that’s why when bedtime drew near, she would have infinite stories to tell me. Saving her words like pennies in a jar, she hoarded treasure troves of wisdom, excitement, and mystery in the form of fables and songs.
   No matter how fast I grew up, no two bedtime stories sounded the same. Playful stories of young animals gave way to legends of magic, of beautiful damsels and errant men, and of robbers and sorcerers as I grew older. One night as we sat together by the hearth of our home, she told me a story she had been told as a child. Like any rite of passage, it had to happen whether I liked it or not. I was no longer a little girl and it was time for me to face a world that wasn't so gentle.
   Her last tale was the scariest one yet. That

i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
the mechanisms of ocean waves When I was little, I loved sea foam.
Running forward to the shore, I would watch waves lap up at my feet and then recede, dragging the sand under my feet back with it. Sea foam would fringe the edges of these silky waves like lace, and I would grab at it, cup it in my hands. I would remember the origins of Aphrodite (born of sea foam, risen out of the ocean as the most beautiful goddess of all), and I would cradle it, hold it close to me, as if I could absorb it into my being.
By the time I brought the sea foam up to my face, it had leaked through my fingers, dissolved. Leaning down, I would cup it again and again and again, gathering fragile lace like a fine seamstress, hoping to maybe sew it onto the edges of myself, make myself some semblance of Aphrodite. Yet it crumbled, leaked through my fingers, leaving only the trace of salt behind.
Eventually I gave up on the sea foam. One cannot keep chasing after things that just barely exist.
 
***
My father told me never to plunge int
Six Million WastedDoctors never listen. Especially Air Force doctors who get to add rank to their titles. When they pulled me from the remains of my space capsule – bruised – burned – bloody - I could barely see out of one eye but with it I caught the gleam of greed just beyond the glimmer of hope in their own. They said I was lucky to be alive. They said they were astounded I had survived. The term “splashdown” usually insinuates the presence of an ocean beneath your craft. I got an asphalt stretch of Interstate in central Florida, that and the greasy pinball flipper of a Mack Truck doing close to eighty.
“Seriously, Major, you should be dead,” said a doctor through the haze, “as an ordinary man you would never walk again, but with us we have a specialist in cybernetics. Dr. Martin Caidin. He can rebuild you, make you - better - stronger - faster - than before. We have the technology.”
“Don't want it,” I groaned through the clusterfuck o

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:iconbark:
Bark Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Professional Writer
Thank you!
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:iconjade-pandora:
jade-pandora Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2015
Thank You by KmyGraphic
dear friend, for your always amazing support, and fav'ing my work, you really do honor me!

"Late departure, going south"
"Will I also return"
"Children at the Gate"

:heart:
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:iconblackbowfin:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello there, LJ.  Thanks so much for the fave.  Have a great weekend.  :)
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:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015   General Artist
Tag a quality deviant: You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have. Send this to 10 deviants who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them! Heart
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:icong-r-fracassa:
G-R-Fracassa Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you for the +fav
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:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Dec 30, 2014
Thank you kindly for the new fave, LJ. :)
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:iconthetaoofchaos:
thetaoofchaos Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2014   Writer
Thanks for visiting, LJ. :)
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:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2014   Writer
:glomp:
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:iconbark:
Bark Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2014  Professional Writer
Wow, thanks for the very generous donation to the 'Childhood Fears' contest! I'll add them into the prize pool soon, (making sure that your generosity is recognized!) :D
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:iconkarinta:
Karinta Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2014  Student General Artist
Thanks for the points, lovely xlntwtch!!
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