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Anything Will Do"Got any change?"
She asks, as you pass, clenching wallet in a guarded stance--lest you have to give your poker night spares to a nearly starved woman.
"Got any change?"
She pleads, groveling to the masses, staring desperately to her dog, sole companion of the scot-free foreclosure market that stole her, and her only friend's, home.
"Got any change?"
She cries. "I'll work for whatever you can give."
Nobody will hire the woman who can't pay her bills post-layoff in the scot-free we-don't-need-you-anymore factory, whose robots work harder and complain less than mere mortals.
"Got any change?" She pleads, not asking for cash--demanding action.
"Is your life any better?"
She rises from her defeated pose--A vigor in her heart carrying her starved body to its frail feet.
"Change. Stand for good enough no more.
Since when is good enough good enough?
Since when is just fine fine at all?
Since when is just getting by acceptable?
I'm not the only one who needs change around here."
A Lot To Be Thankful ForI've come a long way in life.
Once upon a time I was little more than a child,
son to two loving parents,
a thing I am always thankful for,
even if it doesn't always show.
Since then, a small handful of amazing friends
show me that love can extend beyond blood
Friends who show me true kindness, loyalty and trust
A relatively new gift, in many ways,
but absolutely glorious, and something to cherish.
I'm happy to be born in a place where, even if it's dubious,
I do have freedoms, I do have rights, I can safely
walk out of my door, and not fear getting shot.
A place where medicine may not be free, but it actually exists.
I'm glad I have a fully functioning body, and fully capable mind.
I have the golden ticket. I have a stable family, health, mind, and home.
I have little in the big scope to complain about.
While these are the greatest gifts one can experience,
There is a lot in life to be thankful for.
I live in a place that has come a long way. It may not be perfect
But compared to twen
Of no embrace
Of no contact
Of no conversation
Of no escape.
Even in a crowded room.
Even surrounded by friends.
Even surrounded by family.
That missing feeling.
The longing for someone to be there--be yours.
Amidst empty hands come empty hearts.
Amidst empty hearts comes pain--not just for you
But those you're too blind to see care for you.
Five StagesWhen you're young, they tell you you can be anything. There is no "except" there is no "however" and there's kids who want to be ninjas and super heroes and it's beautiful. Alas, our life doesn't come with such a blank check on opportunity. There must come a day in every person's life where their wildest (and sometimes highly tame) dreams are dashed to pieces. It can be a long process, but it happens to most people in their lifetimes.
For me, it went like this: I wanted to be a computer engineer. I had a great deal of fascination with computers from a young age, and by seven, I decided my intended career path. It was stable, reliable, and paid well. It seemed interesting, and my work would be in the hands of thousands or millions of other people.
Then there was college. It took one semester to cope with the stages of grief. Denial, bargaining, anger, sorrow, and acceptance. I was in denial starting in late high school. I placed myself into a very demanding calculus class when I reached
En Fugue - Ch. 2 - Naming NamesI felt paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I needed to do something, and fast. – A.S.H.
The basilica was packed with curious gawkers awaiting the names of the selected warriors for the year. Many stirred and struggled to get closer as the village chancellor stepped out onto the raised platform, dressed in his ceremonial gold-trimmed burgundy robes.
He bellowed in a voice that boomed across the basilica, despite how packed it was. He carried out his traditional speech, which many in the audience had heard a dozen or more times in just as many variations.
“Soldiers and heroes of honorable Calaban, we gather once more to declare our fighters for the Duels of Nerivad. An honor granted to the lucky few, one from each borough of our fair town. Though there may be only one victor, al
En Fugue (Updated) - Introduction and Part 1Introduction
When I was young, I wanted to be a scientist, a biologist. Life has always fascinated me. Maybe that’s why I was always at odds with my society.
You see, I’m no fighter. Never have been. I’m not strong. I’m not aggressive. I hate fighting. That is, I used to be that, as a boy. I still hate fighting, but I had to become a fighter in spite of that. I had to take up arms to fight for my life, and for the lives of everyone dear to me.
Things change in the face of fear. Things change in the face of hate. Things change when you have something, or someone to fight for. I've done things I would have never dreaded in my wildest nightmares to escape tragedy. I'm not proud of everything from my past, but I'm proud that those I love are safe.
Over Eight Hours and Nothing To ShowThere's a thing known as the "Three Eights." The idea that eight hours of a day should be dedicated to sleep, work, and recreation, respectively. Typically this is how society tries to veil itself as functioning.
As of February 2013, the average cost of food in the US for a family of four (est. children of 7 and 11, father aged 30s, mother aged 30s), is, in the cheapest scenario shown, 636.30 a month, or 146.90 a week (587.60, the price we'll use for the rest of this, as it is the lowest scenario.) On average, a person who works full time minimum wage on a single job is $290 a week. Electricity, estimated by the EIA (most recent estimations only as recent as 2009), is around $103.67. Average gas costs according to
The CyborgA mess of wires, and an apathy for the human condition, uncaring eyes and a constant stream of electronic input, he works to please himself and nothing more, even at the inconvenience of others. A glowing device in his palm, relaying information from others like him, his head wired to another contraption in his pocket, he blends in perfectly with the surroundings. The vast majority of his input is vapid and vacuous, a stream of media behind shielded, darkened lenses.
Most of his motion is autopilot, so absorbed in his world. He jaywalks in front of cars without flinching at their blaring horns, or leaves carts in parking stalls, or, valuing himself over mere mortals, cuts right in front in lines of people, much to the outrage of the humans, behind.
He glances at his device again as it reads "U up 4 Pizza 2nite?"
"Ya, u'll never guess wut just happened, sum jerk blasted his horn rite n my ear."
He changes to the latest top forty on his MP3 player and puts his cell away. He continues to
The Little FirecrackerAlways full of pep and energy
Always wanted to play
Always wanted to spar
Even when the others wanted to rest
She was not always the cuddliest
But she was full of love, like the rest
She always saw herself as big as
Her brother, the one who towered
Above the others.
Shorter in stature, her soul and shadow
Rose above the others
But as with everyone,
Such things are not permanent
Kidney trouble came so fast
There was little time to futilely react
Within a couple of weeks
She was gone
A devastation, out of nowhere
The little firecracker
Had burned out
But her glow was so bright
No one could forget.
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Poem promptThe sky is not falling
We are rising.
As time marches forward
We make some terrible mistakes where the sky seems to creep further out of reach
Yet over time we get back to our feet
We, as people
We are rising up
Making this world a better place
It has taken us a long time to see some of the mistakes of our past
But now that we do, we can make things better
Step by step.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More