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Deviant for 9 Years
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Flower Background Request by JesterSeven Flower Background Request :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 0
Literature
Wind Chill
"Wind Chill"
Shining on doorsteps, the cold
That pinches every hair in your nose,
Nips at your cheeks, ears;
Hits your lung like buckshot.
Fresh, biting air on sluggish skin.
Filled with broken snowflakes,
Budding frost on bare skin.
Moments, precious few, before bone-aches
Fight you for your hands,
Breathing freezes your lips, tongue,
Fumbling,
With dull fingers.
Winter revels beneath your coat
A few steps from the door.
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Literature
Of the Living - WIP
My life is a sham. My maker tried hard to convince me otherwise, but I never really believed it. I am made of pieces that are dead or that have never lived. If I were born from an animal, I might be an animal too. If I were born from decay I might be a cousin to a mushroom. If I were born at all, I might be a relative to something, but I was not, and, for what it matters, I was not. I haven’t grown; I haven’t changed. My life is a sham, but I don’t mind. It’s the one I have, so I’ll take it.
I am something of a program, I am told. I can learn, but I don’t know how I do it. I am something of a physical form, but I am not biological. I don’t need food of any kind, or water. I don’t breathe. I see my maker doing it. I watch her chest move in and out. She doesn’t seem to notice it, but she says she must, to live. It’s automatic. I do not have lungs, but she says I have veins and a heart of sorts, but they are too deep beneath my skin to not
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
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Literature
Bored. Read at own peril 1
Things go downhill when the ace of clubs starts to get annoyed at me for my insistence on putting it last in the order. “Classist,” it mutters. The spade genuinely minds its own business at the front. It’s not his fault it’s viewed as the highest suit, or the highest suit in Bridge anyway. My finger slips on the touch pad and the heart jumps into the first slot. Why am I not playing first come, first serve today? I ask myself. Because I don’t feel like it, and I jump the heart back and forth through all the slots before putting into its proper second position. I can’t have it contaminate just one.
There is no one to look over my shoulder at the moment. The tilt of my laptop screen makes that difficult anyway, so I invent them. They bug me about what goes where, and how could I miss it and why am I not doing ‘that.’ I do have a plan you know, and not all of it involves jumping on every possible move that appears under every click-flipped card, tho
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
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Literature
Raven Court
If you’ve ever killed a raven you know how they scream. Not the dying bird, but the others. Gathered around in the trees, perched on the chimney stack and powerlines, the fence, the eaves of the house surrounding where you stand over disheveled black feathers, screeching and beating their wings. Screeching and cracking gavels, echoes doming around pleats of black robes: screaming murder, they scream murder.
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 1 2
Literature
Soup Bone
“Soup Bone”
Look out world!
I’ve got my very own
Bone to pick!
It’s not much;
There is not even meat on it
To make a good soup,
But I’ll cling to it like a bear
Before persistent wolves
Persisting to snap it,
My soup bone.
And I’ll find other things to bubble
For brain food.
When it’s clean I’ll wrap it
In newspaper and twine.
Then I’ll walk the avenues
And look for the window
To throw it through.
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 1
Literature
Delicate Poems
Fragile poems flutter
Like butterflies. They bloom.
From winter in buds, they emerge
Like rose scent, from the flower.
Until, like rose petals, they drift
And are stepped on. Trodden
By hard soles bearing loads
Of mannequins bearing flak. They lie
Scattered and broken in decay
Clogging gutters with loose words.
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 0
Literature
The Koi Pond
Still water draping,
Rippled by nudges
Of fleshy noses
And lips, bubbling.
Thick fish, orange, pearl,
And black motley scales.
Fins sifting, buffing
The water bed, them
Surrounding, afloat.
Pink buds tap, breaking
The surface, speaking.
Crowns bumping wet shapes,
Coins in the water
Bejewelled, winking.
March 8, 2006.
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 1 4
Mature content
Manticore :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 0
MAKE WAY, VILLAINY... by JesterSeven MAKE WAY, VILLAINY... :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 6 12
Literature
Tyger Series, 3 parts
Tyger, Tyger
The surface of the water rippled, broken by fleshy noses as peach-mottled koi pushed languidly through the pond; nudging in the shade beneath the footbridge that arched across. The trees, neatly pruned and shaped with a discriminating hand, tossed their branches overhead, showering the garden with delicate, silken petals. Vasha lifted her tea to her lips, the scent of pear tingling her sensitive nose, and stretched her brush across the parchment to better capture the shadows beneath the trees. She looked up at her husband, leaning against a wood pillar of the canopy that shaded the sliding, red stained doors that led into their garden. Armond cradled his violin beneath his chin, coaxing the music forth with a steady hand. He drew the bow smoothly across the instrument; claws lightly working the strings. They exchanged smiles, washed under the long notes of the violin.
The faint scent of ash was carried in on a hot breeze.
Vasha returned to her painting, adding a few
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
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Migration by JesterSeven Migration :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 4
Mature content
Fire Ants :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 0
Passing Time by JesterSeven Passing Time :iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 3 0
Literature
One-Winged-Angel
One-Winged-Angel
The moonlight cast a luminous glow over the trees, bare white towers against a night sky infused with deep navy blue. Cradled in the pearly, leafless branches, Cor looked up at the sky. The moon was especially large. Mother is watching. Rising from his repose he crossed to another tree and leapt from the boughs. They whispered and shook behind him as he landed in a crouch, water arcing and spraying droplets on his face as the waves broke against the trees. Looking up at the moon, he smiled. “I’ve found him, Mother. Just like I said I would.”
The water ebbed around his boots as he strode through the water, a low valley once, now flooded into a wide, shallow lake. He walked slowly, the treetops gradually curling into a corridor lit by the moon’s reflective glow and the green cast of fireflies. The only sound was the rolling of the water and the ripples lapping at the tree trunks.
Deeper into the corridor the wood began to take on life. Small bl
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 0 3
Literature
Diva
Drumroll,
Cymbals in a startled sky,
Storm drains overflowing;
The show before the storm.
Wild spotlights.
Neon in cracked glass,
A riot of applause.
Encore.
Cool air,
Clouds in parting curtains;
A sashay of fickle sequins,
The original superstar.
:iconJesterSeven:JesterSeven
:iconjesterseven:JesterSeven 2 4

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Activity


  • Listening to: Caladan Brood
  • Reading: Memories of Ice
  • Watching: Nothing.
  • Playing: Guild Wars 2
  • Eating: also nothing.
  • Drinking: Need something....
So what is new? God knows it's been a while since I've been around. I think the place needs a bit of a face lift. Half-tempted to shunt everything aside and start again, at least from the now rather than the then...I think that came out all right. No, really, I wasn't intending to rhyme or anything, but I do tend to stick to posterity so perhaps some organizing of folders is in order.

So yeah, how have things been? Dangerous question, that. I have a new computer, which means new games, so yay but also moved, new(ish) home, new job, so neutral, and adulting, and cancer. That sucked. I'd reconsider the commas in that sentence and whether or not some restructuring, perhaps with some semi-colons or other lines, but I'm too tired to be bothered with much beyond commas right now. Just pretend it's natter. I do that a lot.

Well then, yeah...too much indifference, not enough art.
Cheers.

deviantID

JesterSeven
Meaghan
Canada
Current Residence: Vancouver, BC, Canada
Favourite genre of music: Metal or intrumental, depending on the state of my head.
Favourite style of art: Anything I like to stare at.
Skin of choice: what's wrong with mine?
Favourite cartoon character: Wile E. Coyote
Personal Quote: Look at me pretending like I know what I'm talking about.
Interests

Comments


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:iconpascale-marry:
Pascale-Marry Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2010
merci :rose:
Reply
:iconserafitus:
Serafitus Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2010
Thank you for the watch! <З
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:iconpascale-marry:
Pascale-Marry Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2009
MERCI :rose:
Reply
:iconayhantomak:
ayhantomak Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2009
Reply
:iconpetrova:
petrova Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2009  Hobbyist
Thank you for the fav :D

(Hope you find the poem)
Reply
:iconinexistences:
Inexistences Featured By Owner Nov 17, 2008
Oh and thanks for the :+fav: on my short story, it's much harder to get favorites on text in this graphics driven society ;)
Reply
:iconjesterseven:
JesterSeven Featured By Owner Nov 18, 2008
You're welcome, and I actually think that text has a lot to offer in the way of images at least. Text offers a level of freedom of imagination that doesn't come with a piece of visual art. Where a person may look at a picture and imagine a story to go with it, and a person may also read some lines and imagine the images to go along with them.
Reply
:iconsvera:
Svera Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2008
Thank you so much for the fav on 'Ben Barnes - Prince Caspian' :)
Reply
:iconpascale-marry:
Pascale-Marry Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2008
merci :heart:
Reply
:iconis-b:
IS-B Featured By Owner Oct 25, 2008
fiddling with buttons.
i love the art work you have up here.
Reply
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