|These are the wonderful people who make this group happen!|
happily ever after
if you keep folding a piece of paper, eventually it will disappear.
just like the trees. and the water. and all the good people.
paper crunching doesn't feel like a demolished forest. or a glass half empty. or the person who drank it.
a crumpling paper just sounds like the end.
like a chainsaw running out of gas. a body being filled. or the wrong body being filled.
but when it's the trees that die, the water that dries, and the people that kill, it's not the paper that's disappearing.
12010:233804the truth comes out the same way. little staggered pieces. it doesn't make complete sense with all the missing bits. but those are the pieces we keep for ourselves, or else we'd have nothing left to prove we were ever there.
"because we're the same like that, and it feels right"
(telling you the whole truth, feels right, you can keep all the bits and pieces, or else you'd have nothing to prove i was ever there.)
the words may come out backwards, but you can turn them around.
you make them so that the caboose takes the lead while we're upside-down.
MetamorphasisMy life always knew when it was coming to the end of its best-before date. Before now, it's tried to tell me, you know, "the time has come" and stuff like that. But I never believed it. That is, until last month.
It was around eleven twenty and I was pleasantly digesting some cold pizza when my life just popped up. Completely out of the blue, you know. I mean, it's talked to me before, mostly about maintenance checks and the like but never like this. "Sid", it says "your time's up." And just like that it's gone again, leaving me with nothing.
And then the packages started arriving. From all over, you know. Singapore. Japan. Africa. Sweden. Australia. England. Canada, even. And at least one from each state. There was even one from Alaska, for crissakes. They all wanted to extend their condolences to me.
Yeah. To me. For MY OWN DEATH.
And if you think that's screwed up, just wait until you hear the rest of this.
I burned them, those packages. Dumped them in the super's n
PulseYour feet hit the ground and you're running, your heels to the wind and your soul to the devil. It doesn't matter where you go as long as it's away. You pray the tears won't follow you.
The pounding of your feet strikes a cadence with the harsh staccato of your breathing. You want to run until your heart bursts. And you know that you can. Nothing and no-one will stop you.
You can feel the pain building and suppress the urge to stop. Your body will not betray you this time. Away looms in front of you and you run into it, trying to loose yourself in the blackness of what never was and what never will be.
The tears have caught up to you now and your body folds itself around wracking sobs, though no water falls from your face. The darkness is calling to you, and you to it. Pounding fills your ears as you stumble on.
Your traitorous body can hold you no longer and you fall, your running swallowed up in the away. You can feel yourself sinking, the tears from your face dripping into the empty
This is a general group for all types of artists! If you live in Alberta, are from Alberta, or consider yourself Albertan, feel free to join!
There is a submission limit of 3 deviations a week.
Submit your best work only. Quality over quantity!
Here is an overview of the galleries and where to submit.
If anybody has any events or meets that they would like to plan or share don't hesitate to contact me and I will post it up here.