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About Literature / Student Buried man, stray dog.Male/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
Excision
Excision
This is the only way to cure it. Would you trust someone who’s never been? Now listen: you need to get yourself a rope. Coarse preferably. Tie it as close as you can to the wound. Make it tight enough to starve it of its origin. Isolate the damage. Let the abrasion as you move distract its cause for you. Let it twist and spark and scrape away the rust into a clean flame. Take the flame and douse your fingertips as deep as you can, then deeper every time. Work your way up to the knuckle. If it scalds, good. Let it erase the infected nest from the forefront of your mind. The problem is self-constructed; unnatural, not organic on its own. It breeds when you doubt. Don’t give it that advantage.
Now do this for every time you feel it reclaim some length of you. Do it until you run out of rope, or until every laceration is covered likewise. You must become raw like the rope itself. There is no room for mercy (not if you want to heal). If you hesitate, the weed will grow
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Literature
Tribute
Tribute
He corners us before we have a chance to run.
Bring it up. Disrupt the surface. Come on, we’re all friends here. Stagger to your feet. Face me. Draw a line in the sand if you must. You know I’ll wait. How many rounds will it be this time? Three? Six? Nine? How long will you last? How long will you keep trying?
For 20 liquid minutes I was solid, I was game, reacting, flowing. Then that sudden recoil, that jarring rip-cord reflex as the engine turns over and barrels off the cliff.
Fire’s only got one meaning: it’s an answer.
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Literature
Velocitas eradico
“Velocitas eradico.”
Breakneck – the traceur hurtling – cut from the stream, broke from the rank – blending all the shrapnel primed – reactive answers giving traction – throwing him from any height – incendiary force – shoving him against the wall – defiant, but he needs it like a trigger – one after next it chambers and pulls – when it fires he goes crashing through the soundproof wave – like acid-rain on asphalt – it thrums and jumps and talks like one – but there’s no time – it’s behind him now: circling, serrating – caught up with his future tense – no telling, just run – then he’s split between the wavelength – fiber optic razor wire – bone deep lacerations – dripping down like lithium – pooling on the surface of the sun – “You’re a trace,” they said, “not enough to form a whole” – drow
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Mature content
Discovery of Fire :iconsigma-echo-seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven 2 0
Literature
Anti-flash White
Anti-flash White
Built to detonate. Anticipated, given every courtesy and then dropped from 600 meters. Prophesized, too: and He said “Next time it won’t be a flood.”
---
Off in the distance they watched it bloom: the pillar of smoke the sidewalk priests promised would guide their 40-year march. It branched up through the sky like a great ash tree, the tendrils at its base constricting around the city’s heart. Whether lions or sheep, it did not matter. All were immolated. For a few thundering seconds the omnipresent roar came crashing from the superstructure’s throat, then slowly faded to the noise of a single bomber engine flying away.
Can you imagine the resources consumed in the fires that produced such a weapon? The years, the money, the genius, the formulas, the questions, the camaraderie, the disillusionment that must have followed after? It must have been maddening, knowing all that scientific progress would only flicker on their heads for a few sec
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Mature content
Sculptor :iconsigma-echo-seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven 4 7
Literature
Snowblind
Snowblind
Here, I’ll describe it for you:
It’s deep winter and you’re lost. The sky is ruptured overhead. The myth of progress stains you. The muted road is all that’s left (you’ve no choice but to take it). Almost solemn, but not enough to make you turn back; it’s at once an anomaly and a godsend. The indents in this bleach-white wasteland propel you further, deeper towards that howling rift. You cannot see (it doesn’t matter); the whole of it is frozen and that should be enough. But it’s not enough, is it? You still hold that question (that unanswered) inside you, close to the skin, in the vain hope you might get some reward. Too stubborn to let go, and so you drag it with you onward.
Shivering and penitent you march. No way to tell if it’s morning or night or months ago or closer than you wanted. More questions considered, though not nearly so heavy. You should have dropped it when you had the chance; left it in the snow o
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Literature
Tranquil
Tranquil
Examine for a minute: in this one instance, there is quiet. There is solidity. There is a certain trace of certainty; discolored in suspending flux. I find its formless nature calming, but you may think it less so. I can see how one would grow anxious at the milliseconds pooling at the bottom of the vial. Almost like they’re waiting for something to come—to arrive and disrupt and realign what may have been true all along. Does that change you? Does it alter what you felt or what you thought just moments prior? Does it render you dispersed among the static pinpricks or does it feed you a negative charge? It’s alright to admit it; I’m charged too. I feel the magnetic push and the disorienting sway. I think most of us find our way back to the pit eventually. We’re all pulled down the same.
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Literature
Surrealia
Surrealia
Thick ash fills the dreaming jungle. The scalding rivers rise up to greet your neck with their steam. You are capable of standing silent, of the long slow inhale; anything to take the taste from off your tongue into the air.
The room is clouded, sun filtered in the dim smoke of this early day. Your head rolls back with the heavy wave, the subtle push and flow. You are here but you are gone, just as well, you might be floating further out over submerged walls and sunken cities without name.
The next hit is stronger, slower; the depth changes as you drift. Deny it, but you are as malleable as the summer months to dawn. And should you remain so, you may find that you don’t mind so much the morning reach, the lazy stretch, the new unheard distraction blooming forth in all its awe.
But the steady solidness of the floor and the table and the glass in your hand and the pipe in the other bring you back from wherever you’d gone. So too does their laughter, their familiar j
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Literature
Atavistic
Atavistic
Step into the world of the civilized wretch. Its hair is bleached and thinning, its eyes are wide and rounded, its back crooks and it knows no threat; only dull inklings of what might come next or when the food will dry up or its mate will leave. Crippling adaptation hobbles its function outside the Confine, but within it struggles well enough. The conditions are skewed and splayed open thus. Mediocre, but adequate. Minimal, but sufficient. Alive, but not living.
Pity has never known a greater feast, the parasite leeching at its wheezing veins. The beast is too tired to swat it away, so it gets sucked dry. The only light comes at dusk, when the tainted-water yoke slips from its low shoulders and it collapses under its own weight. Such a creature is not worth pursuit. You’d burn more energy breaking its dried-out hide and urging it to run than you would gain from consuming it. And perhaps it knows this, and perhaps it weeps in secret for this shameful loss. But if it doe
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Mature content
Dog Parade :iconsigma-echo-seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven 4 0
Literature
Lo-fi
Lo-fi
An honest confrontation the other day—one without conclusion. She asked me what was off, how to fix it, why I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the words just then, but here they are for you: I want to have an effect. To be counted off in metrics. Corporeal: tangible shine or tangible rust. I want to write the stone and watch the ripple. I want others to measure it, engage it, feel it, taste it, scrap it, forget it, uncover it. I want to be inhaled in warm, smoky basements and exhaled in brisk winter night. I want to be the final thing they muse about before sleep drags them off.
The thing is that I know it’s all on me. Alright. But what length will this prove? I want to be worth something. (Or at least worth salvaging.)
So hold me to the fire. Shape me. Melt and bend the framework. Reconcile. I’m a creator; this is my release. Wrong like redscale film is wrong: purposeful, artistic despite itself. Expose something new, alter it and keep it. That’
:iconSigma-Echo-Seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven
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Literature
Barracuda
I have heard mistaken minds
say if you offer her your hand,
Blue in kind will bring no harm.
I have come to tell you this is false.
Listen closely now, my friend:
Blue is sharper, longer, leaner,
than Red on Red’s best day.
She will take your albatross
and slit it open in the night.
Blue is dressed to a fine point:
silk sleeves and noble crest,
predator-sleek with azure-spine.
She dares and she is tempting, I admit,
but you have not known Blue as I.
You see,
Blue can cut.
She can sting.
She can weave and dance and cut again,
and when she has finished
she is deathly still.
Blue feels no remorse;
she won’t reflect as you or I.
She drops and flows
and darts and thrusts
and when you go to grasp her
she has slipped and sliced your palm.
Take heed, my anxious friend,
you are her prey of choice.
She hides within the sun.
You take her in, you think you’ve won,
but venomous and silent
she dissolves inside your depths,
and
:iconSigma-Echo-Seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven
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Literature
Rainwater
Her hand pulled from mine –
slipped, like rainwater,
drifting through night;
her voice, confessed soft
sorrows as I dreamt.
"I no longer
believe
in storms like you."
:iconSigma-Echo-Seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven
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Mature content
Survival of the Fittest :iconsigma-echo-seven:Sigma-Echo-Seven 6 8
Literature
Diagnosis
Diagnosis
I was asked to write this down, in case someone needs to know how it felt. “Evidence,” I think she called it; tangible proof that I’m sick. Like a doctor’s note as a prose poem I guess. I doubted it would prove anything, but she insisted. Let me begin.
I told the doctor I hadn't gotten any sleep. We were standing outside her classroom and she looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Has anybody?" and for a split second I felt smaller than I am.
The doctor once told me a theory exists that questions whether our souls could survive in a vacuum. She said that all we truly have is a single charcoal portrait, and no one knows what the artist looks like. I thought she was only joking. But I sit here criticizing the shading under my eyes and the more I think about it the more she starts to seem right.
Am I someone invented? Did I grow somewhere in the back of your voice and rise out through another's throat?
Who are you, and what gave you the right?
The wors
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Literature
S.A.D.
I have made an industry
of separating skin,
peeling back the paper
to the sticky redness underneath,
watching droplets spill
like pomegranate seeds.
one, two,
three
vermilion beads
and my prison winds itself
around my thighs,
chrysanthemums and carnations
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that makes my body its home
for a fourth of every year.
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Journal
Daily Literature Deviations Color Contest Results
COLORS CONTEST RESULTS


Update: The Colors Contest Results are Finally In!!!
OK, yes, it has been quite awhile since this contest ended.  There have complications outside the current DLD administration's control which lead to some of the delay - the rest of the time: procrastination.  :blush:  In any case, better late than never, right?
Anyway, here are the winners:
1st Place:

The color of betrayal by TheBrassGlass

2nd Place:

Bar
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Magma Core :iconrokis17:Rokis17 901 93 Blazing Bryce :iconmatthieu-parmentier:matthieu-parmentier 1,371 127
Mature content
Sea Blue : Stasis :iconis-lnds:Is-lnds 28 70
Literature
Shedding Stars II
you were the sky i was
the sea, with the sun  
              - apart.
in an offering of light
you wore the night as i
called your stars down
                 
into me.
:iconIs-lnds:Is-lnds
:iconis-lnds:Is-lnds 119 97
Cracks Are Bleeding :iconlimited-vision-stock:Limited-Vision-Stock 598 78 wish you were here :iconsangvine:sangvine 318 23

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Sigma-Echo-Seven
Buried man, stray dog.
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
What I listen to: goa trance, progressive, industrial, folk metal, indie, trip-hop, space rock
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:iconersatz-moon:
ersatz-moon Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
come back!
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:icontonepainter:
tonepainter Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday!
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:iconhfeather53:
Hfeather53 Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :iconcakeplz: :icondrunkplz: :iconballoonplz:
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:icondragon-fly-to-me:
dragon-fly-to-me Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2013
Hello :) I just wanted to stop in and say thanks a lot for collecting "First Time" the other day. I appreciate that very much and hope you have a wonderful rest of your week.
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:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Jul 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:heart: Thank you!
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:iconsigma-echo-seven:
Sigma-Echo-Seven Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2013  Student Writer
Welcome. :)
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:iconis-lnds:
Is-lnds Featured By Owner Jun 8, 2013
i wish i'd thought of your username
we're going to be good friends you and i
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:iconsigma-echo-seven:
Sigma-Echo-Seven Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2013  Student Writer
My username's nothing special. Not like yours, which fits your theme.

Indeed we will.
:icongoodsirplz:
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:iconis-lnds:
Is-lnds Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2013
i think yours could fit.
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:iconsigma-echo-seven:
Sigma-Echo-Seven Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2013  Student Writer
How so? What does mine represent to you?
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