|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
BD1: Diary Day IThis time round the challenge has posed a few difficulties for me. Firstly I sprained my wrist whilst doing the garden work, and then further damaged it at work. This has made typing and using the mouse sheer agony, and at times, darn right impossible. Nonetheless I promised Hypermagical I would participate so I was determined not to back out just because of a that…I still have one fully operational hand right. Then once I found myself starting I soon noticed I actually had an attentive audience awaiting for my daily submissions and so my promise to Hypermagical quickly found itself extended to my fellow participants who I have drawn on for that extra boost of ambition to see it through to the very end.
The second difficulty came in the final week (flashbacks) as having wrote submissions before of each of the week’s topics I was in rather a pickle as to where to go with the topics without being repetitive…I’m sure others shared this dilemma. Having this problem
BD2: Diary Day IIThis time round I have really felt a sense of community between us fellow Souljournalists throughout this challenge. The conversations with Bloodawni, VickyandRaq , Quina-Chan and Eremetik have allowed me to delve into the lives of others whilst simultaneously revealing my deeper layers without fear of judgement, helping us forge out new friendships. Particularly with Eremetik who I think for my most part we are on a similar wavelength.
Having said that it seems that our community has become a small, tight-knit one as there was a very limited number of participants this time round. However as the old mantra goes ‘Quality over quantity’ and I’m sure we can all agree that the quality of the content has been an absolute marvel. Truly top rate entries time and time again by everyone who has taken part. Add to that the commitment and drive that has gone into this challenge by the participants to make it work is testament to how hard Hypermagical has worked to put it all to
W4: D7: Pens/SwordsThe final day (well proper day) of the challenge, and for me the most challenging as having already written about pens before I am now stumped about what to write this time round *screams madly at screen*.
As a poet a pen is to me what a wand is to a wizard or a witch. It the tool through I channel my energies, cast my spells, and bewitch my victims. My emotions, thoughts and imaginations are compressed by the pen into a thick, jet coloured ooze which flows silkily across the snowy pages as they sit on my desk in suspended animation, hearts frozen, life not yet established.
It is the pen which activates the spark of life and sets it ablaze across the sheets awakening their souls, bringing them into a quasi-existence where they breathe my very spirit, and sing my words.
Unlike their partner in quote the sword. Swords do not take life but destroy it, a simple, but swift movement can tear apart an ink sodden page, extinguishing the fragile slice of life it was given by that murky, black b
W4: D6: HomeIn the twenty-four years of my life I have had seven homes. The first was a one-room apartment where I spend the first couple of years of my life along with my mother and father. Then Sarah, my eldest sister, came along so we moved into a three bedroom house in the middle of a cul-de-sac just off a main road which had a park on the other side, at the time this open green space seemed to be a completely different world with its trees, small stone bridges and babbling brook.
Then Lisa was born two years later so we up-sticks again to another three bedroom house on a different council estate. I refer to this period as ‘the dark ages’ which lasted for the next eleven years seeing out my childhood. During these years a third sister, Tracy was born and my parents divorced leaving me to head up the household and take care of my father whose long-term physical disability was by now beginning to take over. On top of the constant bullying that occurred, which only ever got worse as t
W4: D5: SelfHaving this topic pop up once more has forced me to go back to read back over what I said last time, and I have to say a few changes have occurred.
Alas I am still a meagre five foot so my vengeance on the cookie jar is yet to take place, but as I am now on a low-fat diet to reduce my cholesterol not being able to reach said prison of biscuits it no longer bothers me that they remain out of reach. Furthermore I no longer don the black rimmed spectacles. Instead I now wear a rimless pair of designer Ben Sherman frames.
According to one online quiz which determines what Final Fantasy job is best suited to you based on personality and outlook on life I am a black mage, this delights me as many a morning I have spent riding the bus to work thinking to myself how wonderful it would be to just sit and watch the world burn…I’m much more cheerful once I get to work and have my first cup of tea of the day…honestly I am.
I have since then found myself to be an uncle to Harrison
W4: D4: Free DaySeeing as this week’s theme is flashbacks I think my free day should be used to talk about just that…flashbacks.
I actually suffer from flashbacks, mostly in the form of night terrors. Not so often now but growing up it was a regular occasion (many years of therapy and counselling has helped me manage this issue).
I would shout and scream in my sleep, kicking out and violently raging. On one occasion I managed to hurl something across my bedroom something I have no memory of doing. I still do talk, shout and scream every now and again but fortunately the raging has stopped.
Connected to my problem with flashbacks is an aversion to loud noises which act as a trigger for the flashbacks which in turn elevates my anxiety levels and pulls me into a panic attack. Which on one occasion meant I had to be carried home by one of my best mates from the university campus ruining what was, until then, a perfectly good evening.
I’m guessing by now some of you may be wondering what
Singer and PlayerGuitar Playing
" Baby I'm going to leave you"
Maybe I don't understand subtle.
But I sang your tunes
Listened to your blues.
Sometimes, making music
was the only way I could talk to you
the ache in my heart was so loud
that I thought you had plucked it out,
and played with my veins
the most beautiful melody
but would never let me hear it
I wonder constantly
What am I supposed to do?
But I still sang
like a little caged bird
trapped in the hollow of your guitar.
Sun and MoonSome days I can't sleep
Smell your cologne in my sleep
Remember my childish squealing
Remember that now I'm still healing
From the cigarette burns,
that you left on my heart,
From the pills that were left in me
Poison from the start.
Do you remember,
the first time we met?
Eyes across the hallway
and the beating of my heart
Just like your guitar
and the squealing of the
children around you.
Oh the irony
Maybe I'll tell you one day.
But did you count
every day that went by?
because I know that I counted
every sleepless night
When I wondered where you'd gone
and if you were alright.
And the what if's that drove me crazy
and your motives that were unknown.
I swear I'm coming to California,
as soon as I get home.
If we'll still be able to get along.
Even if the time difference
is so wrong.
Can we still get tattooed?
If I don't speak to you.
If I can't trust you.
And the future
is so bright
Like the way I
Togliere il disturboNon fu straordinaria, speciale;
fu una storia come tante altre,
eppure merita d'esser scritta,
e stavolta almeno non per gli occhi di tutti.
Si vide e pensò che era ora di avere di più; subito rifletté e concluse che quel "di più" così vago aveva poco senso ma il solo averlo pensato le fece assaggiare la disperazione di ciò che non aveva e dentro di lei creava continue assenze che, seppur invisibili a chi le stava intorno, non lasciavano mai del tutto il suo sguardo che spesso puntava al nulla che le sembrava sempre troppo lontano.
Nel giro di pochi mesi, le sue condizioni divennero però manifeste e non poté nasconderle; la sua capacità di dissimulare divenne così flebile, tanto quanto la sua forza di inghiottire l'aria; si sentiva soffocare; letteralmente.
Preoccupati, più per educazione che per affetto, chi le stava accanto si prodigò affinché fosse curata; chi la visitò disse che in lei
Uvod te price 1 i 2Život je skup priča. Neke su vesele, druge žalosne. Neke su uzbudljive, a neke možda nisu vrijedne spomena. Ipak, sve je to život te stoga svaka ta priča, bez obzira bila ona vesela, žalosna, uzbudljiva ili nekakva drugačija, zaslužuje da ju se sačuva. Neke od tih priča dogodile su se jer smo nešto napravili pa nas je taj događaj pratio dugi niz godina. Druge su nastale jer smo se možda našli usred slijeda događaja koji se već odvijao duže vrijeme, a neke su nastale jer su događaji koji uopće nisu bili vezani za nas na ovaj ili onaj način ostavili neki trag u našim životima. Kako god te priče nastale one su jedinstvene i upravo nas one čine osobama.
Moj život nije obilježen velikim brojem priča, ipak imam samo 23 godine. Međutim, ipak ih ima. Ima ih svih vrsta i sa raznih mjesta. Već ih neko vrijeme pokušavam ispričati, ali sve
The Day of Dread 7/20/2014I've had some bad days. I think we all have. But never, have I ever, had a day as bad as 7/20/2014. Let's start with the interesting events of the night before!
I went to the bar with my dear friend Charlie, and we sang some karaoke and drank some drinks. Was an interesting night.. Had a drunk guy come up behind me, kiss the back of my head, grope the bartender and get 86'd. A bit later, outside with my buddy and I'm making the predator noise. This chick starts getting in my face, telling me "you're done. Go home. Get the fuck gone." I find this humorous as she is trying to be threatening and can't even hold herself up. A man that works at the bar told her to back up, and to stop being a bitch. Ends at that? Nope. After closing my tab and going out to my truck to leave (TACOS AHOY!) the girl that was in my face and her cousin start screaming at a car load of people for no reason. Charlie is already on his way out, but I stick around to make sure the two bartenders, who are really frail
In Lieu of Saying GoodbyeWhen you’re full you must become empty
When you’re empty you must become full
Without either of those things, you will not have the other
And to appreciate being full, you must know how it is to be empty
And that , in the end, both are temporary states.
And neither will last
Love is both being empty and being full.
It is flying so high, and still being able to touch the ground
It is fighting and making up.
It is being the best of friends, even though it’s only been a few months.
It is holding hands and skipping
It is sharing music
It is comforting each other when it’s all going to hell.
It is the little promises that are made and that can’t be kept.
It is the big promises that are made and fulfilled
It is the experiences you have, the places you go, the books you read, the things you watch and the music you listen to,
But most of all, it is the people you cherish and hold in your heart, even when they’re gone
Love is being empty and being full.
My Swimming StoryThis is a piece of my life that I’ve been keeping locked away for a long time. I don’t really like to open up about personal stories, but for the sake of people I hold dear, I wished to share it.
I hope you can glean something from it; whether that be inspiration, understanding, comfort, or anything you might need most internally in your life right now.
This is my Swimming Story.
I had been a competitive swimmer since age 5 (though I really started swimming when I was 4. I have one of those awesome moms that signs her kid up for everything in town; dance, soccer, drawing, sculpting, crafts, piano, violin, cello, track, debate, horseback riding heck even foreign policy for toddlers… I did just about everything our little town had to offer, but that’s a different story).
Swimming came pretty natural for me. I always loved the water, even at the end of spring and start of fall; I was the first one in
SchoolThis arrangement worked pretty well until it was time for us to go to school. Since I did not like clothes at all, my mother was worried about me trying to strip while in class. I guess she got lucky, because apparently she explained to me that I had to wear clothes when in school, and I accepted this.
It was around this time that my nakedness stopped being just nakedness and became true cfnm. At least that is how I think about it in my mind.
The first couple of months that we were in school, I would come home and actually keep wearing my clothes until it was time for my bath and bed. I still slept naked, as my mom could not get me to wear pajamas, but I was dressed at any other time.
My mom ended up getting a new job, and my sister and I had to start spending the first few hours after school staying with my aunt and cousins. The first day we were there we walked in we took off our shoes at the door (as my aunt didn't let anybody wear shoes on her carpets) I started to walk towards the
RockyYou see that pile of dusty gray fuzz over there?
What is that? Is that an old dishtowel that blew off of someone's clothesline into your yard? Hey! It's moving!
I know. It's a raccoon.
Raccoon? Don't they only come out at night? Is it sick or something?
No. Apparently some of them just prefer to live their lives in the daylight. He's not sick. He's just kind of unique. His name is Rocky.
He was named by Paul McCartney. Not personally, but you know, in a song by the Beatles. My family just decided we should call him that.
We came back from a week long vacation to discover he had moved into a bundle of sticks and leaves high up in a tree which grows right outside our kitchen window. This tree has previously housed squirrels, owls, woodpeckers, possums, grackles... it's like a suburban wildlife condo or something. And I normally don't mind these neighbors, but previously they've all had the sense to be dis
W3: D2: CampingI have only ever been camping once and that was on a long weekend to Hemsby (near Great Yarmouth). Me and a mate went as a treat to celebrate my GCSE results (mostly A grades except for geography and IT which were B grades). Even though it was mid-July it was cold and rained most of the time…typical British weather, as the old joke goes “How do you know when it is summer in Britain? The rain gets warmer.”
I remember one funny incident happening during the first evening as we were pitching up the tent. We had managed to secure the first couple of pegs into the ground and were working on the third when suddenly the first peg launched itself from the ground, shot up in the air then plummeted back to Earth smacking itself on the car bonnet and bouncing off. We both stood there in a state of surprised paralysis momentarily before erupting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as the bizarre event took place.
All in all in was a good few days and as soon as I got back home
Keep in Touch!