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A Contest in Time A Milestone of the New AgeA Contest in Time A Milestone of the New Age
When deviantART and Five Four decided to let the community take the lead...
It is only with the passage of time and chance moment of retrospective that the memories of an event from a decade past reveal that event to have been a harbinger of things to come – a prescient preview but of how people would very soon be changing the way they live their lives, and even defining their lives; a fundamental turn in what is to be valued in life and how to live it. The event of note occurred at the dawn of a new century and involved a group of young men were starting up a new apparel company not so much as a way to get rich (the old century paradigm) but as a way to express themselves and their lifestyle (the new century paradigm).
A Quote by Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski by nakkah
“We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing”
The Dead Places: The Visual Delicacy of Decay
Pontiac by PionierUK
The Dead Places
The Visual Delicacy of Decay
It’s easy to think of art in terms of what is instantly pleasing to the eye, artworks which
evoke a feeling of joy and hopefulness and blissful peacefulness or ecstatic exultation.
This is the consideration of art as something that helps propel us forward through life – to out future great
deeds, our career victories, or dreams of coming big events. But there is a peak to every life. At some point all
people, and all places, and even all ideas have to begin the inevitable decline that is the other balancing half of a lifetime.
The Tree as Beautiful Machine
While searching deviantART for images for the Earth Day article, I became intrigued with how trees have become not only such a central focus of our current environmental concerns, but also how they play such a central role in our art, whether as background or actual subject matter. There are so many Enchanted Forests on deviantART that it made me wonder if trees, so mundane and taken for granted yet at the same time so vital to life on earth and so steeped in myth, have always been the revered subjects of the world’s artists.
Odyssey Into 2012: Engage Wonderment Update!Attention all Odyssey "Tokyo Zephyr" Participants! Your opportunity to be a published artist as a part of "Tokyo Zephyr" is here. "Tokyo Zephyr" (yes, that will be the "Odyssey" book's name!) is coming closer and closer to publication! (The chosen charity for all proceeds to rain upon will be UNICEF.)
Wed Apr 18, 2012, 7:30 PM
Engage Wonderment: Update!
Attention all Odyssey “Tokyo Zephyr” Participants!
Your opportunity to be a published artist as a part of “Tokyo Zephyr” is here. “Tokyo Zephyr” (yes, that will be the “Odyssey” book’s name!) is coming closer and closer to publication! (The chosen charity for all proceeds to rain upon will be UNICEF.)
We are now encouraging submissions for:
Illustrations for Chapter 7 & Chapter 8 covers;
Three (3) poem
Humans Becoming Robots, Robots Becoming Human
:icontechgnotic: by techgnotic
On March 1, 2012 the Nevada DMV issued the first license for a Google Driverless Car. The idea behind this innovation is that one day soon new technology will drive cars safer and more skillfully than humans, thus saving lives and billions of dollars in car crashes. How well this idea catches on is a bit questionable, given the powerful “romance” of driving one’s car, but it’s certainly an indicator of things to come in the daily intersection of human and artificial intelligence and mobility. There have always been those who have dreamed of stepping into a mechanical exo-skeletal-type “suit” and letting the engineering do the work, insta
Brian Taylor: Outlaw of Independent CinemaBrian Taylor
Outlaw at the Bleeding Edge
of Independent Cinema
Movies featuring the latest in high tech digital effects, eye-popping CGI environments and ear-splitting surround sound, are often described as “pushing the envelope.” But they’re mega-million-dollar productions that are delivered back to the studios by the filmmakers precisely as pre-ordered. Rarely is there danger of disaster, so what envelope has been pushed?
“Envelope-shredder” might be a better designation for Brian Taylor...
Who, usually in collaboration with partner-in-mayhem Mark Neveldine, has given the world such films as Crank, Crank: High Voltage, Gamer, Pathology, and recently Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance.
Brian Taylor has chosen his favori
For My Own SafetyAnnouncing The Fan Fiction Article. Fan art and fan fiction, like the offering above, are a blast because artists get to wear their favorite stories; in my case the iconic "Blade Runner." Fan fiction and art are the new fashion.
I prefaced a recent article Eye See Therefore Eye Am,
with a quote from Roy Batty, the doomed replicant (android) who was given human emotions to be able to appreciate
all the wonders of life, including the visual, but afforded only four years of
lifespan to enjoy them.
time to die, roy batty by anjinanhut
"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost
in time... like tears in rain... Time to die."
—Roy Batty, Bladerunner
I thought the quo
The Age of Discernment
:icontechgnotic: by techgnotic
With great access comes the great responsibility of discernment.
→ This article was inspired by the conversation in the comments generated from last week’s Suggestivism article.
As we traverse the final phases of maximum raw information accumulation, potentially equipping us for jacking in to the promise of the Singularity, the contents of many lifetimes’ worth of knowledge, art, education, and history are now at our fingertips. More and more Universities, libraries and arts institutions have swung open their digital doors and granted access to their lectures, courses and curricula free of charge to anyone in the world with a connection to the web. Access to education is fundamentally shifting our society towards an unmappable
DaffodilsUrban foxes are bolder than the urban junkie.
The urban fox will run across the growing headlights of a night-bus
and feast upon discarded chips in the street without shame of the scrutiny.
The urban junkie will skirt along the shadows of alley-mouths and squat doorways
and eat from your bins fearfully, with limbs that quiver from withdrawal and guilt.
That said, I’ve seen both pissing at the plinth of the Queen Victoria’s statue
and heard of both biting careless policemen.
There is a bouquet of stolen daffodils in my trousers pocket
Leaking from their stems and freezing my leg,
I can remember the where but
I can’t remember the why.
I have nobody to give them to
and each step I take
sheds a petal and splits the stems more and more.
On the night-bus, I stand to avoid breaking the daffodils.
Somebody in the rear of the double-decker is sick
and it trickles down, in a soupy stream,
every time the bus goes downhill.
I get off on Lewes Road and upend my wallet
on the count
never bring a birthday candle to a campfireWe sit in circles
kissing whichever flame
the roulette lands on.
Prophetic arrows teeter
at incendiary elections.
Candidate #1: Numberboy
I count calendars & signposts
until the moment you kiss
my freckled constellations
and connect these asterisks
You are my halcyon star,
but I've got to earn my stripes.
Candidate #2: Mr. Snores-on-Skype
You serenade me lullabies
as we concoct symphonies
through telephone wires.
Let's make Lust
to Lana Del Rey
remixes & fall
asleep or in love
into each other's
It's not that I don't trust the sparks.
The sparks just never trust me.
Maps Not Meant For FollowingI bet you missed me when I went away. "You’ll come back," you thought. When I didn’t you bit your lip, but you were sure I would make it with time. After the second day, and the day after that, the doubts started to creep in. You caught yourself sucking in a painful breath whenever you saw something of mine lying around. Bits of my life left with you would slither into your sight when you least expected it the same way the memories would swamp you if given the slightest chance.
When days turned into a week, you entered into a hush drunk state: eyes bleary and sore from holding back any semblance of emotion. You were quiet, but not calm. Your hands became tumultuous storms when you'd glance over at our picture, fingers becoming tidal waves as you would toss it onto the bed. You were tired, but not nearly tired enough to forget.
On its own, you would find your body shaking at the brush of your own fingers across your skin, a reminder of where I touched you last. And the
All the Things You Never KnewIt was your favorite thing to say. “We know everything about each other. Not just the good things, but even the bad ones. We have no secrets.” And the way your eyes lit up when you said it, how your arm would curl around my shoulders and squeeze me against you… I couldn’t say anything. I promised myself that I would when we were alone, but the moment always seemed wrong and eventually the fact that I still had secrets became a secret itself.
It turns out I wasn’t the only one.
I never told you about the crying or the cutting or the nights I spent awake staring at the bottle of pills. I was terrified it would be too much for you to handle, so I didn’t mention the time I ran away, or the first time I ended up in the hospital. I locked the memories up in a box inside my head with “For Tom, to open later” written on the outside.
And you, in turn, never told me about the cancer, fearing it would be too much for me to handle. Well, you were ri
the first poem about recoverymy depression is
a thousand days spent quietly breaking.
is hours drowning under bedsheets like boulders
in the poisonous sterility of hospital air
is skipped meals and skipped classes
the hollowness in my stomach and the blankness in my eyes but
i am more
than the sum total of my chemicals.
more than the razor-blade signatures
creeping across my shoulders,
the latticework of fine white scars traced over my forearms.
more than endless nights counting car crash promises
on the twisting back roads of this matchstick town.
the heavy green pills that stick in my throat like strangled poetry
fading scars and healing bruises.
blood and clay and splattered ink
shaking, scared, but never empty.
fragile, frantic, but never broken-
my smiles are s
Introductions V: Lasas"Ladies and gentleman, please find your seats! You are here to witness the telling of one tragic tale! I hope that you have brought something to wipe those tears away!"
The sound of slicing flesh rang throughout the room, followed by the sound of a collapse. An outline of a black shadow stood upon the curtains of the stage. It appeared to be the shadow of a man. A moment later, it seemed to be smiling.
"Thank you, that's enough. Please, I said enough clapping!" he chuckled as the room stood silent.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Lasas."
The man then stepped out from behind the curtains. Yellow eyes glimmered from his face and the spotlight glared off his shiny head. A crimson cloak hung off of his tall figure, his left arm curled around a wooden staff. He beamed at the sight of the audience.
"Did you come here and expect to see one of the greatest of the tragic performances?" the man yelled. "Well, fortunately, I am here to tell you that there has been a slight chang
in case you forgot: don't read this. just trust mein case you forgot:
i have the heart of a poet
trapped in the ribcage of
a tumultuous whore. i'm
a textbook charlatan with
too much nonsense & not
in case you forgot:
i have a fetish for third-person
pronouns & third-party interference.
you are the first, second, and third person
to invade all three of my parties with your
clothes still intact with your skin; with your
tongue still intact with your mouth-
an ampersand curled between your teeth
in case you forgot:
this stanza is a haiku.
god, i hate haikus.
in case you forgot:
i will drill your brain
with mindless repetition
until it is sore enough
to develop amnesia.
in case you forgot:
i'm shit at endings
Orange and LemonHanging Around
Orange: Hey Lemon?
Lemon: What, Orange?
Orange: Do you think I'm getting...fat?
Orange: I know you can hear me, Lemon.
Lemon: I'm not getting into this with you today.
Orange: Its a simple question Lemon. Do you think...I'm getting...fat!
Orange: What was that?
Lemon: I said no!
Orange: I knew it! I'm not getting any juicier!
Lemon: Sigh, Here we go.
Orange: Ever since I was a blossom, budding on my mother's branches I've dreamed of ripening.
Lemon: Why me?
Orange: And here I am, 3 months later and still I haven't been picked.
Lemon: So...neither have I.
Orange: Well of course you haven't, Lemon! I mean look at you. You're...yellow!
Lemon: Thanks, Orange.
Orange: Unlike me, I'm as sweet as sweet&low manure and yet...
Lemon: Here we go again.
romanticism is such bullshiti don't understand a bit
what's so romantic
about missing-you and distance,
love stressed and strained like string
across miles of roping rivers;
it's ugly and sad
and there is no cure
because i will not wait by the letterbox
praying daily on my knees to a god i know i believe in but i'm not sure you do
to hear word from you-
that you're well;
that you're happy;
that you're eating and sleeping and feeling alive;
that's what i want, you know-
i want your vitality to blaze like the great chicago fire,
i want to see your scrawl emboldened with each word
i want to see you concretely on your feet
and certain of where you are going
without a sergeant telling you how to walk.
i want you to walk across half of the states
and back into my arms.
i want you to look me in the eye
and i want to see no hesitation back
when you tell me you love me.
i never want to cry because you're leaving
because you will never leave again-
i want you to love me like flames love oxygen:
To Converse With The Greats by Vera PavlovaTo Converse With the Greats - Poetry by Vera Pavlova
to converse with the greats
by trying their blindfolds on;
to correspond with books
by rewriting them;
to edit holy edicts,
and at the midnight hour
to talk with the clock by tapping a wall
in the solitary confinement of the universe.
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More