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About Literature / Hobbyist Senior Member Lauren23/Female/United States Groups :iconlitrecognition: LitRecognition
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SilverInkblot's Silver Box

The Good Stuff

I have a big gallery. If you're going to read anything from me, make it something from this box.

SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
Some Lovers III died on a cold
day, numbed fingers flexing,
grasping at the last traces of embers  
withering in the grate.
I died holding your hand,
the hand I accidentally fractured
when I pushed you  too
harshly near an edge
and you flailed to find
a more elegant way
to fall and then
I heard the scaphoid crack –
but I didn't. I heard the cry
first and the pain came later
but you held my
hand anyway.
I died with my arms
held over my head,
pinned down to the sheets by your solid
mass, fingers entwined  
with yours until I
could no longer tell which bones
were my own. I baked
in the aftermath of the dying
heat and felt the blood
back into my fingers
before forgetting again
as you sighed into my neck.
I died on a cold
day, but I never felt
SurrogateI stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,
elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore –
except when he does.
Stories of feelings with no names - Revision i.
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses.
You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. You checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die. You are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
September blues,
chasing airplanes,
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss
is the hush of the ocean,
the glossy paint on your car,
the gleam in your eyes.
It's the ruffle of parchment in the glove compartment
of your susurrating '57 Thunderbird
as we leave the last rumble of brontide behind
on a salt-crushed highway.
Traces of powdered sugar noses
and mint milkshake lips
were cold reminders
of warm nostalgic days
when summer could melt the tarmac
like my bones under your gaze.
Old SoulsDoc says I’m an old
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
Turn my words against me.I want my words to take
root in your stomach and grow
up your esophagus, the calyx
of your tongue brushing the edge
of your teeth until the words blossom
from your lips in a slow
explosion of elegance, jawline
trickled with nectar, charming
hummingbirds and honeybees
with the promise of butterfly kisses.

Helpful Stuff

Button Links!

Browse Critiques!
I do Critiques upon request, though I've been known to dish them out occasionally for no reason at all ;) Feel free to ask if you'd like me to look over something for you!

Donate Points!
I'd like to be able to have enough points to make donations to contests, help people extend their Premiumships - I love being helpful :D

All You need to know about DD's
Suggest one today! :D

Suggesting DLD's
DailyLitDeviations has been having trouble garnering suggestions lately: why not help them out?

Using HTML on dA
On of the most helpful resources I've found. I refer back to it frequently :)

Using Font on dA
Because I'm a sucker for formatting :XD:

Large Thumbnails

Useful for features!

News Articles I've Written

The Visual Novel: Video Games as a Literary MediumWhat is it?

A visual novel is more or less exactly what it sounds like. It's a novel that can be played. While the form has been popular in Japan for decades, they have only recently reached Western audiences, thanks largely in part to the influx of anime, manga, and Japanese Role Playing Games (JRPGs) saturating the market. Consequently, many games of this type have anime influences in the design.
The visual novel is most easily compared to interactive fiction or the Choose Your Own Adventure series - at various points, the player is prompted to make some sort of choice that has the potential to affect the outcome of the game.  A typical game usually has at least three endings; a Bad, Neutral, and Good (also called the "Perfect" or "True" ending). However, this is not necessarily standard - most seem to fall somewhere between 4 and 10 unique endings. Often
Foreign Words the English Language NeedsOh hello. I’m finally getting around to making this news article that I said I might do, like, a month ago. Sorry, I’m not used to writing news articles. Bear with me.
Back in August, I started a series in my forums for cool foreign words. It went over extremely well and numerous people requested that I combine them into a handy-dandy news article for deviantART at large to enjoy. So, here you are: fifteen foreign words that the English language needs to steal appropriate.
Hiraeth (Welsh)
What it means: A feeling of longing associated with displacement, but not necessarily displacement from one’s original home. An intense yearning to be somewhere you are not. Hiraeth also expresses a sort of ache or longing for something of the past, somewhat similar to the notion of "golden" or "good old days," but with more ancient connotations.
Why it needs to be a thing in English: I speak as someone from a country
Untitled is just a synonym for lazy.Well, the color poem form I introduced to dA was a rousing success, but interest of late seems to have died down. So I'm back with a new form for you all, something exciting and new, something different, something that I will probably make into a contest once I get some points in the bank. You ready?
There's a group now - feel free to head over to TheTitlePage! We're still in set-up mode, so excuse the plainness for now.

Found Poetry Project - Titles as Art

One of my favorite things about the creative process is coming up with a good title. The title can make or break a piece; it can give context not provided in the piece itself, set a tone or mood, or just give that little extra something you can't put a name on.
You know I'm right. How many times have you stumbled into an ordinary piece with a beautifully creative title? And it's not something
Managing Your Inbox: Some Tips on StreamliningI'm not really an organized person. Yeah, sure, I like to TRY to be one, but most of my attempts to clean house don't stick. The one exception, however, is in my online life. I keep everything to do with the computer tabbed and organized and that includes my dA life.  
I posted a poll asking visitors what their inbox looked like on a typical day. As of this writing, of the 52 responses, 35 have full inboxes that is, somewhere between 200 and up to (or over) 1000 messages to sort through. So about 70% of the voters have quite a lot to page over.
I hear horror stories quite frequently from deviants who are overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things passing through their inbox. My personal inbox rarely reaches three digit numbers, and the few times it has, it's always been because something of mine has made the footer. While I can't promise that my personal methods will work for everyone, it n

I Am A Swing Admin For DLR!

What's That Mean?

That means I keep an eye out for the best literature on dA (specifically prose). If you think you have a suggestion for me, read on!

What is DailyLitRecognition / LitRecognition?

DLR is a group dedicated to promoting the work of Literature artists on deviantArt.

By showcasing one featured DD per day, the Literature Gallery Moderators provide the community with a showcase of excellence in Literature. In contrast, we will be showcasing excellence with a series of literature pieces each day in a News Article to serve the community. We are a diverse group featuring 5 pieces of quality literature every day.

In such a large community many writers feel that their work goes unnoticed. DLR is here to help change that!

How do I suggest a DLR?

Please see the profile page for the general guidelines and a list of the other Admins you can suggest to. Please only suggest a piece to one Admin at a time to avoid any confusion.

Okay, but what if I have a suggestion for YOU, SilverInkblot?

Top right corner - send me a note! Here's the rundown:

:bulletblue: Please send no more than two suggestions at a time. This makes it easier for me to keep up.

:bulletblue: I can feature Prose or Poetry, though I try to focus more on Prose. We have lots of Poetry Admins who are very dedicated to their job and our Prose is sometimes lacking.

:bulletblue: Please include a thumb and a description of why you think this piece deserves to be featured. It doesn't have to be a full critique - a few sentences will do nicely!

:bulletblue: Yes, you can suggest yourself! If you deserve it, you deserve it! But please don't send me your entire gallery - remember I have to actually READ everything sent to me.

:bulletblue: All the Admins have a certain style they enjoy. I myself like reading flash fic and prosetry, so I'm more likely to feature things with those qualities. However, I WILL read and consider anything sent to me. I do have to ask though, that they are standalone pieces - not chapters. I can't accept fanfiction either.

For My Own Sanity

DD Stuff!





I'm trying to get into the habit of suggesting DD's - having the links on my page is easier than hunting them down everytime :XD: Links go to the respective DD guideline pages :D

Fun Stuff


Click to see what I'm reading! I love recommendations and chatting about books :la: I should start a book club sometime.

I make bookmarks for pretty much anyone who asks. Just give that flourish a click, and you'll find instructions on how to request your own!




Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States

Autumn Brontide

I bleed ink. I have unusual taste in music. There is a Mario composed of sticky notes on my bedroom wall. I have a giant top hat. PlayStation is the best game console. I have discovered an obsession with making origami stars. I have been featured multiple times by Daily-Lit-Deviations (and a DD! :la:) and consider that the highest achievement of my life.


Stuff I do around dA:

:bulletred: I am the Founder ofDailyLitRecognition / LitRecognition. I'm responsible for Monday's article specifically, as well overseeing the various group functions and special events, and managing a team of 30+ people.

:bulletorange: Suggest DLR's every week, either directly or through the other admins. Please, by all means send me your literature suggestions! See below for guidelines.

:bulletyellow: Maintaining TheTitlePage.

:bulletgreen: Creating and selling bookmarks; feel free to request one!

:bulletblue: Suggest DD's on occasion, when I run across something particularly good :D

:bulletpurple: Weekly journals with lit. news and features :la:


Make a Difference 5 by 3wyl Night Owl Stamp + PLZ by Mirz123 Write. -stamp by Rivana Anyone Can Critique by Haters-Gonna-Hate-Me I was featured on DLD by caybeach Thank You For The... Stamp by Mirz123 Listening to the Rain by savagebinn homework stamp by sjthunder Reply Comments Stamp by Mirz123 I heart my Laptop by StamPorMole Typing Stamp by In-The-Machine DD Stamp by Drake1 Hot Chocolate Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Share your joy by Drake1 Being Nice Makes Me Happy Stmp by Mirz123


Well this was an eventful week. Russ was over for the entire week again - we went to a museum, got some new pets, had a little party at Gram's house - I think he had a blast. Me, I'm just exhausted now. Still, I managed to make it to the bar tonight for Doc's radio fundraising shindig and discovered he actually does have a lovely baritone, something he's told me before. The music really was too loud there, but how often do you guys get to watch your professor's sing onstage? Twice in one night in fact :P

Dunno how much they made, but it was enough to at least finance a show. Our last project has been picked up by a larger station, and we're pitching the new one to some larger stations as well, which is good for me cause I could use the writing credit on my resume.

The rest of my week can be summed up in pictures:
Russ' fish died, so I bought hermit crabs! This is the larger, adventurous one, Magellan. The other is shy; I still haven't managed to coax him out. I named him Sebastian.
My new pets are super-into climbing the skinny, plastic palm trees attached to their water bowl. I'm going to have to get a bigger cage and something for them to climb on.

I had hermit crabs way back in the third grade, and I do not remember these pets being so funny. They love those stupid trees; the smaller one climbed up and stayed there for hours; Magellan got up and did a victory pose :XD:
Chocolate face from the party cupcakes :D Gram was babysitting my cousin, Chloe, who is Russ' age. She told Gram that she wanted to have a party, so Gram bought some dollar store toys and some cupcakes. It was all very cute :lol:
On out way to the Mid America Science Museum. We stopped at a McDonald's gas station for breakfast and I was pleasantly surprised by the nice view.
Walking to the museum. The boy on the right is another cousin of mine, Joe.
The museum had a section of nets and tunnels to crawl through; I didn't mind the dark/ dim lighting, but those tunnels were absolute murder on my knees. I was still sore three days later. The boy behind Russ is the third kid that was on this trip, Kaleb, another cousin. Gram was watching one of my aunt's boys while she did something or another related to nursing school.
Digging for dinosaur bones - I would have loved this as a kid; I had aspirations to be a paleontologist back in second grade.
One more: I wanted to share this because I think it's hilarious. One of the neighbors out near my parents house bought some ducks a while back - this is the only one left. I don't know what happened to the rest; I didn't know there were others until recently.

Anyway, my family lives a ways out of the city. It's not a suburb, but it isn't the country either. But there are these deep ditches along stretches of road, and a section of one of those ditches has a very large, permanent puddle where this duck hangs out. There's even a tree at the edge of his little pond so he can have some shade. And nearly every time I drive to my parents house, there's this duck, just chilling out in his own private lake.

I swear, it's one of the funniest things I've ever seen. A duck in a puddle. Granted, a large, fairly deep puddle, but still. I just giggle to myself every time.

Around dA

:bulletblack: DailyLitRecognition would like to draw your attention to these wonderful examples of Visual and Found Poetry.

Bullet; Black Homelessness mini contest

Bullet; Black Love Letter Contest

Bullet; Black Nichrysalis wants to hear your thoughts on the literature community

Bullet; Black He's also hosting a flash fiction contest centered around the origins of Fella.

Bullet; Black
If you're looking for something to do around dA, AlphaManifest has a project worth looking into.

:bulletblack: DLR has a contest announcement coming up soon, so keep an eye out for it!


Controlour lips pressed lightly
like a petal to a bedsheet
but it was not flowers
or sweat stained satin
it was a mark, a claim
and I still don't know
who wants to own who
or who pressed harder
with a mouth of thorns
GoodbyeHumor me
tell me everything cause I don't get it
I just want to know why it seems like when
goodbyes were said...
you were quick to say 'em
language barriersi.
watch him walk,
back and forth.
back and forth.

and while your mouth grimaces,
your eyes are here to stay.
he had given you a smile
and you threw his gift away angrily;
convincing yourself it didn't fit
but the fabric was silk and it swallowed you
into a luxury you'd never known.

with a shaky voice you
unsheathed your courage and 
wilded it in the face of the dragon
unsure if you wanted to slay it,
or be slain.
laying there under his stars,
you waited
your naked gooseflesh stinging
under the touch of the wind's balmy thumbs

but his fingers never even whispered a single syllable to you.
you wanted to rip his eyes out of his head
so maybe he'd finally look at you.
stretching out,
he wound out roads 
for miles between you
and while driving on them 
you turned on the radio,
hoping for a little silence from your 
chatty regret.
he had constantly been h

God is...i met God at the laudromat
(one of those unassuming little places,
with cracked, but not peeling, linoleum tiles
and white walls partially covered
with do-it-yourself wooden paneling,
joined to a salon like the ones
your grandmother would frequent,
back when hair stylists
were only hairdressers.)
and He was so lonely looking
He smiled when i bought m&m's
(peanut, my favourite)
as if He knew i only bought them
because of the retro vending machine.
(it took nickels and dimes,
and you pulled a little knob
to get anything from it.)
together, we listened to the thrum of the dryers
and the click of buttons and zippers
tumbling against their insides.
we sat there quietly,
and i thought about all those God-fearing people,
all that lip service and smiles on Sundays,
but those same lips would make a deal with the Devil,
or anyone else who could get them ahead in this fleeting world.
and maybe i'm too cynical
(i know not everyone is like this),
but i met God at the laundromat
and no
WarmthYour skin glances
off mine, and
the imprint
glows orange
in the shadows.
NotesJack approached his new colleague Ms. Bösendorfer as she stood using the photocopier.
“Melody,” he said, “I wonder, do you have the notes for…”
“I’m going to have to stop you there,” said Ms. Bösendorfer, turning to look at him. “You mustn’t use my first name.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “Sorry—I didn’t mean anything... Yes, I suppose we haven’t been properly introduced yet.” He put out his hand. “I’m Jack.”
Ms. Bösendorfer took his hand and shook it firmly once before releasing it again. “Lovely to meet you, Jack. But you still shouldn’t use my first name.”
“Right. If you prefer…” said Jack.
“It’s not a case of what I prefer.”  Ms. Bösendorfer sighed. “I suppose you’d better know.” She looked away slightly. “Once someone has said my first name three times, I instantaneo

A Letter to MozartI have a confession to make.
I think we should break up.
Don’t get me wrong, you are a collection of stars. Every time I hear that little night music I look up in the sky and I see your magnificent constellation shining ever-so-bright down upon me. I am so thankful for our little infinity, but I just can't see this working out.
Anyone with eyes could see what a distinguished composer you are. What with your sumptuous symphonies and celebratory sonatas, you are a heartthrob; oh, what I would give to have you tickle my ivories if even just once. But you see, I think I’ve had enough of your distasteful dissonance. All that’s left between us are aggravating augmentations and catastrophic cadenzas.
I wish that I could taste our mellifluous melodic memories one last time. Last I remember we shared such a charming concerto; now all I’m left with is a wasteful waltz. What happened to those fantastic fantasias we were always dreaming of?
We used to have such grace and su
rise and shinedaybreak is a vial
of liquid amber
spilt out against the sky
when I wake up.
there is enough warmth
between us, I think,
to coax the very sun
into existence—
the press of you
against my back, the
swell of you
within my chest.
and perhaps the sun awakens
each day
to see the breath and motion
of people like us,
drowsy in our crowds
of blankets.
you stir behind me,
and it blinks
its bleary eyes.
crooked blue linesi took a photo of my face and saved it in a document
i changed the file from .JPG to .txt
i wrote I DON'T NEED YOU TO LIKE ME into the body of the text of my face
until my face disappeared
i am thinking about the summer
when i bought large bags of chips
and hid them around the house
i didn't let myself eat them
but i wanted to own them
so no one else could eat them either
i had a feeling of not wanting to sleep again
and experienced migraines in two different countries
i threw up in a club and then passed out on the floor
the floor was very sticky
the lights seemed to make the room more dark
than if it had been a room without lights
i hadn't been drinking
so security let me come back in
a half hour later
that night a man in a mcdonald's told me
i was pretty enough to do anything with my life
and could even be a waitress
i consider this a good summer
i was very productive
i like these feelings: exercise, studying, being hungry, making lists
i like the thought that if i repeat this proce

Coding by SimplySilent

Link me to some literary and visual Kafkaesque pieces! 

5 deviants said What does Kafkaesque mean?
3 deviants said What are you planning?
2 deviants said Sure!


Add a Comment:
martaraff Featured By Owner 6 hours ago
Thank you *:heart:*
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 4 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
ThirteenthMonth Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Student Traditional Artist
Thank you for the card! :heart:

The Envelope before it was opened.
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome :D
ThirteenthMonth Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Student Traditional Artist
MagicalJoey Featured By Owner 5 days ago   Writer
Thanks for the card sweets, got it today :D
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Awesome! :la:
MagicalJoey Featured By Owner 5 days ago   Writer
It's so cute and square and it has a butterfly!
LadyMurosaki Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2014  New member Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the llama :)
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner Jul 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
No problem!
Add a Comment: