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About Literature / Artist Premium Member LJUnited States Group :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
 
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Deviant for 5 Years
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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
There's enough anger in the air to strangle anyone.

by FuzzyHoser
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"I'm here to take you to the Other Side," the chicken said, cocking its head toward the thin strip of road.

by Abbi-Normal
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On June seventeenth at 2:33 pm, Jacob Fantana falls off the roof and hits his head.

by G-R-Fracassa
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There is a shiver along my circuitry when he comes in to check on me.

DrippingWords and IrrevocableFate
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Roar of wind through dry autumn leaves/Sound like the surf on some white beach...

by Bark
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Thank you to all watchers and visitors. You make my day. :heart:

Oblivion SongsOblivion Songs
I’ve arranged all of my memories
Into photos and put them
Upon my wall, then
Sat down in my great armchair
And gazed upon them all.
My memories aren’t chronological, but instead linked by scraps of string, reaching across the yellowing wallpaper like the silk strands of a spider’s web. I’m older now, and I do this mainly as a way to waste my time as I sit in this great house that I worked my whole life for, now empty, and think of what could have been altered.
In my study, books sit as my audience, thousands of them. Three thousand four hundred and sixty two. I counted them last week. A fire cackles behind me, illuminating the dim room. And I place my legs, pale and feeble, upon an ottoman and stroke my long-since-grayed beard with one hand as the other hangs lifelessly over the side of the chair. The cat walks to and fro, chasing shadows in the dark. My eyes scan the wall of photos, searching for something that resonates and brings back the sweet
Battery MendellIt was just about sundown in the Marin Headlands. Away on the horizon, the Farallon Islands were silhouetted against the sun; the breeze had fallen, the world holding its breath. Across the Golden Gate Bridge, glorious in the dying light, The City sparkled and hummed inaudibly.
Kicking around the old bunker in the lengthening blue shadows, conversation had fallen into a lull, as well. Tired of scuffing pebbles with his shoe, Josh followed me down the crumbling concrete steps as I went to examine the heavy iron doors, rusted shut with the fog of a century.
“That’s where the Morlocks come out,” he said, jokingly.
Two things happened at once. The sun dipped in its final dive below the horizon, the last gold melting into the cold fingers of waiting fog on the western sea.
And in the empty warren of corridors riddling the mountain beneath us, we all simultaneously felt something wake up.
It was old. We knew that much. And we knew it was dreadful.
And it was comin
What You SeeThe land where I live is a peculiar place, though not as peculiar as some. The place where I live is full of children who play barefoot in fields, but know that it hurts to run through stalks of ripe corn. A place where the fields burn at least once a year, flaring allergies and settling a haze in the sky. Where dust drifts across the roads in place of the dry tumbleweeds seen in photos, and residents know to pull over and wait the clouds out.
I live in a place more beautiful than most, where the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, yet somehow is more breathtaking each day. When the sun sets on the horizon, the glow of the city fades and the stars litter the sky like the sprinkles on a child’s birthday cake. This is a place where we garden in the warm spring afternoon, only to watch petals of snow drift to the ground after tucking the children into bed that very same night.
This place where I live is much sweeter than most. Though we have no grand and majestic mountains t

FirefighterI'd always known what I was going to be when I grew up. Not everyone has that kind of clarity at such a young age, but I did. I was going to be a firefighter. I knew it the very first time I watched Fireman Sam - he was my hero.
I couldn't understand why people laughed at me when I told them of my ambitions. Even my father, who'd always been supportive of me before, patted me patronisingly on the head when I told him. "Yes, yes, and your brother wants to be a ballerina," he chuckled.
I didn't understand that. Ricky certainly did not want to be a ballerina. He wanted to be a masked vigilante. I knew because I'd overheard him talking to his friends the other day, but I didn't say that. There were certain things that you just didn't do, and correcting my father was one of them - I'd learnt that the hard way.
Ricky didn't approve of my ambitions either. I told him that he was the one being unrealistic for wanting to be a masked vigilante which wasn't even a real job; he just
RagnarokHe came through the front gates.
In doing so, he shattered the walls he’d helped to build—his own suggestion on how and his own ingenuity to prevent payment.  In doing so, he made no secret of his freedom.
The other gods panicked, a thing largely unheard of in Asgard, and most dove for their weapons, but there was no immediate battle-horn:  no demons rose, no giants came clamoring down from the heights.  Even Jormundgar and Fenrir remained still and chained.
Of all the monsters foretold in the battle of Ragnarok, only the Trickster had come.  And neither Odin with all his foresight nor his ravens Hugin and Muninn had foreseen this occurrence.
But Loki came on, with eyes burned sightless by acid—though this did not seem to halt him in any way—and something, some aura about him, rendered the other gods powerless to stop him.  Then they became curious, for despite his terrible appearance, no wake of death followed him.
He stopped and spoke only when he reached the

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:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner 3 days ago   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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:iconlindartz:
LindArtz Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2014
Thanks so much for all your support! :glomp:!!!
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:iconjade-pandora:
jade-pandora Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2014
Adventure Time - Flame Princess IconHello darlng , I come delivering many thanks to you for supporting and faving 
                                                    Philomena Emote 
    . . . .  Fired Up "Defying the omen" :flame: revamp

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:iconluckydragonfly:
LuckyDragonfly Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Wow!  Thanks for the donation, you didn't have to :D
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:iconclockchat:
Clockchat Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2014
Hello! Thank you so much for making a favorite out of my deviation "Remover!" That was a looong time ago, but I've been practically extinct from dA up until yesterday, and couldn't recall if I had thanked you...Better safe than sorry! Thanks a plenty, friend!
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks very much for faving my work. I appreciate it.
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:iconcopper9lives:
copper9lives Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so very much for the :points:! :happybounce:
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:iconbark:
Bark Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2014  Professional Writer
Thank you very much!
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