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The Tea ComfortThe slightest shake. The tea squirmed gently. His jagged hand, curved around the handle of the mug, was stubborn in its disposition. It refused to move, and he struggled to move it without the greatest effort – but even then, the only sign of his effort was the slightest, gentlest shake.

His glasses fell down his nose. His legs ached, his back ached, and his hips ached yet his mind was alive with unfulfilled adventures. The steepest mountain wouldn't have fased him, nor would the longest marathon have given him cause for concern, if only he had dreamt in clichés: his fantasies were much more alive than the unobtainable, far more ac
Heroes of GaiaWhat would you do for the world?
What would you do for Mother Earth?
What would you do for God's creations?
What would you do for yourself?

Would you protect it like others do?
Would you create a cause to save nature?
Or would you be tolerant, passive,
and continue to destroy the world?

The Almighty has given us,
everything we need.
He has allowed us to use it.
But we have abused it.

Man is greedy.
Man is restless.
Truth hurts.
But the truth remains.

We need to start.
We need to start now.
Don't procrastinate.
For we have limited time.

Let's start with ourselves.
Before helping others.
For if we are corrupted,
How could
Mirrors
"You don't understand me; I need some form of pain to keep me going. I need this."
The young woman was seated  in the valor armchair, legs crossed, a delicate pout forming on her face. A dying cigarette hung limply from the hand she left to dangle over the armrest, smoke curling in menacing whirls as it rose to greet the dark ceiling. Shadows hung like cobwebs, draping themselves in every nook and cranny in existence, dancing like daemons across the walls and floor as flames leapt and crackled in the fireplace. A man lounged across from her, lithe, spindly form draped across another chair, his face hidden in the darkness. For seve
A Rose for Whom it May ConcernWe hung our legs over the edge of a springtime of wisteria, calling back to the birds that made their homecoming heard. We told you, try listening with your ears instead of with your predisposition. You were hardly in a position to argue with Father watching from the window. You asked us when roses would be in bloom, and we laughed at you.

"You more stupid than you look, boy? You see any rosebushes here?"

You said, well, no. But roses had always been your favorite. So the girls all giggled at you and the boys laughed too hard just because that's the way that boys are. "Roses?" They chided you, and continued to laugh, and you looked upon the
Farmer's tans and moonbootsTo a hardworking father, who loved his family like he loved to take off his shirt in the summer for fear of ... a farmer's tan.

To a loving daughter who misses her father like she misses thunder showers on the back porch with dad.

To a crying mother who wishes for sun, while watching the weather channel like a loyal fan.

To a strong son who breathes every b r e a t h with a little bit of guilt and sadness because he knows it is one b r e a t h his father never got to take.

To a young daughter who is in public school now, making more friends then her sister can keep track of... Who is the strongest redhead a crying mother can ask for.

To
And No More Razor Bladesi.  there's a man in the street who is walking with the loping grace of underbred idiosyncrasy, whistling improvised lullabies to the passing clouds. i want to know such a life, one touched by the willow's insane sadness, a myopic existence of seams hidden on the inside. i am messily sewn, an apprentice's pride, wound up and set out to the fangs and claws of promises held together by scotch tape and apologies.

ii. i find him waiting on a park bench, stretching his branches to catch the sun's rays which are so greedily devoured by the lucky mountain dwellers. he shows me the scars that they left when they fixed him, behind his ears
To the UniverseTo Lightning:
You were my enemy and my friend for the exact same reasons.

To Sound:
The only time I didn't listen to your brother is when I fell in love with you.

And don't get mad at him. He said "Don't" for both of us, even if only I, ironically, heard it.

Back then, I wasn't the kind that liked to share. You couldn't get enough of it.

Though, despite the painful ending, you were one of my favorite chapters.

To Nature:
My darling, while not your only dimension, you are the mistress of colors.

You've owned my heart forever, and only I know what forever means. But I settled with your friendship instead.

You were a dream in many a sense
The Forest.The forest;
It is my friend.

The woods;
They are my home.

The wind blows through the trees
And they speak to me.

The water flows down the stream
And it sings to me.

Leaves play beneath my feet
And moss gets caught in my hair;
Mud clings to my jeans
But I find it hard to care.

As I walk through my forest
I hear the world come to life,
I hear the history of that spot,
The constancy of nature
Before humans lost the plot.

Now as I walk through my forest
I see barbed wire fences,
I see rubbish on the ground;
The conquering of nature
And what is it that we've found?

We found money,
We found power,
We found pain
And we found
$20Just $20.

That's all I need.

$20 and all my dreams come true. $20 and I'm in heaven. $20 and endorphins will flood my system faster than a cheetah on steroids.

But what have I got instead? What have I scraped together, from my coin pot, from the bottom of drawers, from the laundry machine for crying out loud? A pitiful $4.35, plus $11.90 from my wallet. Sixteen dollars and twenty five cents. It's just not enough.

So I stand on the threshold of the shop of dreams, and within my chest my heart contracts. The crushing agony of disappointment weighs me down as I stare longingly at the object only three dollars and seventy five cents out of re
Obligatory LoveJonathan loves his brother. He does, he really does. It's just that sometimes Emil can be rather... strange.

If you've ever met Emil, you'll understand.

If you haven't, well, Jonathan and Emil are polar opposites. Really. You might think you've seen people who have nothing in common, but this is beyond that. And yes, on Jonathan's part, that's on purpose.

But that doesn't mean that he doesn't like his little brother.

Since the car-crash that killed their parents, Emil has been quite clingy.

No, no. Before you roll your eyes and think great, another 'tragedy' to make someone seem sympathetic. I'm outta here, you need to understand: it was
Forget their taste anytime...Forget their taste anytime soon

The angel enters the other angel's shrine bowing, its halo a faint autumn purple.

"Do you have a name?" it asks the other one sitting beside a window. "I mean, right now."

"I don't. I don't need one right now. Do you?" the other one replies, not turning towards the door. Then it adds "You are welcome."

"Thank you. As for the name, yes I do have one. I was asked to pass it on to you, after making sure you don't have one already."

"I had quite a few recently. None now," nods the one still sitting. "Do speak it to me then."

The one in the door moves in, crossing the small, bright room. It casts shadows, and
Snow AngelsThe memories rush toward me,
Attacking my heart,
Attacking my soul,
Dodging my mind.

I remember that winter
When we walked on that frozen stream behind your house,
And I fell in.

At first you laughed,
Then you grabbed my hand,
And, like magic,
We were inside, and I was drinking hot cocoa while my clothes dried.

I sipped too soon and burned the roof of my mouth.
You were so attentive, even through such a small thing.
Laughing your sweet laugh,
And smiling your sweet smile,
You shoved a piece of ice in my mouth to soothe the burn.

I remember having a snowball fight, dusting your face with soft white powder.
And that day,
We ma
The ReaperWhen I was a month old, my mom passed away then two weeks later, my dad died. That's when Death and I first met. That's when it really all started. Before that, I was a cute, innocent, chubby-cheeked baby named Milo, after Death and I met was the beginning of the end for me, now I call myself "The Reaper".

I was five when it happened again. It didn't really seem significant at that time. Well, to my five year old brain it was, but not to anyone else. My foster parent had gotten me a frog the day before my fifth birthday as a present. The minute I saw that frog, I knew I loved it. In the survival of the fittest society of foster care, there w
how to save a lifei want to save his life but i don't know how to
or maybe i do but i just haven't realize it yet.

-

10:00 am

"honey, can you please tell
me what you need."

"hot chocolate would be nice with
those little white marshmallows."

"okay, i can do that."

"i hope you can."

-

it's a miracle to me he hasn't died on my watch yet
but i expect he will if i don't do something soon.

-

1:30 pm

"shouldn't you eat? i mean
you haven't ate anything
so far today."

"i think soup would be good."

"of course. right. is chicken
noodle soup okay?"

"how about-?"

"it's the only soup i know
how to make."

-

he's been sleeping for three hours now.
NothingI am nothing
Whisper on the wind
Echo of the past
Cry of the present
Scream of the future
I won't be heard.
Browse More Like This
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More from ~Interpunct

Member: Interpunct1. Tell us a bit about yourself!

I like bananas, tropical fish, condensed milk, and science fiction. I'm currently attempting to publish flash fiction, and was born on Earth. Not that this last point has ever been put into doubt.

2. Where do you draw inspiration from?

Mostly from reading authors I love, but also from the places I visit. I'm currently living in Europe, and the history and art here is incredibly inspiring.

3. Tell us about something that made you laugh recently.

Dog chastity belts, courtesy of Smart Mouths podcast's WTF News.

4. Who are your favorite artists outside of dA?

My favorite writer is Jasper Fforde. It is amazi

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:iconthewrittenrevolution: #theWrittenRevolution
The words are the spark.

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January 25, 2010
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:iconinterpunct:
Yes, injectable books

:iconthewrittenrevolution:: Does the idea work well as it is, or could it use some plot to flesh it out? Is there anything I should expand, or take out for to make the writing cleaner?
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:iconapathy-not-an-option:
~Apathy-not-an-Option Feb 19, 2011
I was hoping that I could feature this on my blog? (tim-kershaw.blogspot.com) I write mostly about books and writing, and really liked the piece. I have embargoed the published post for 24 hours and have, of course, linked your deviantart account, thewrittenrevolution and put a disclaimer regarding copyright.

If this is a problem, please let me know and I will remove it immediately.

Many thanks,
Tim
Reply
:icon12memories:
`12memories Mar 7, 2010   Artist
Funny, nicely done.
Reply
:iconindigoskyes:
~IndigoSkyes Feb 16, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Brilliant concept! I love it!
Reply
:iconfluisteren2bomen:
~fluisteren2bomen Feb 7, 2010
:iconthewrittenrevolution:
so. ... LOVES :glomp:
GREAT descriptions and very true on the Poe. take in moderation please. honestly nothing to add. however, i never really thought of the authors as injections untill i read the comments. not sure if you mind that or not?
Reply
:iconinterpunct:
~Interpunct Feb 8, 2010
Actually, the injection was just for the comments :hmm:. Basically the concept is books = drugs (subtle, I know). It didn't really have a particular kind in mind.=p
Reply
:iconfluisteren2bomen:
~fluisteren2bomen Feb 13, 2010
haha, okay(:
you did good then
made mes all happeh inside. I read some Carrol earlier
Reply
:iconhtblack:
=HtBlack Feb 2, 2010
:iconthewrittenrevolution:

Really intriguing idea, refreshing to read. And nice choice of authors, I had never put in Carroll, I wonder why... but really well described. :clap:
Reply
:iconcindarellapop:
~CindarellaPop Feb 1, 2010  Student Traditional Artist
:iconthewrittenrevolution:

As an avid reader and collector of many books,... I can attest to the fact that books are in face addictive.
Reply
:iconinterpunct:
~Interpunct Feb 2, 2010
It's so great to find other bibliophiles on here...

Thanks for the comment!
Reply
:icon54viruses:
~54viruses Feb 1, 2010
*drops to one knee*
I know we haven't met and I'm not wealthy nor highly educated. My talents are few and weak, but would you please consider marrying me? *offers my copy of Don Quixote*

Books rock, purchase one uncut, undiluted high quality fix and get high again and again without worrying about to many nasty side effects... or the police... yet...
Reply
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