Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Professional Senior Member GrandpaMale/United States Groups :iconsuturehq: SutureHQ
Stitching 'em up since 2003
Recent Activity
Deviant for 16 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
Statistics 102 Deviations 6,779 Comments 102,510 Pageviews

Random from DD's I Featured

Chrysalis by madhs Chrysalis :iconmadhs:madhs 225 102
Literature
november 2nd
squatting.
when all the formalities have
finally been packed away
in a box marked p.c.,
when they've been stored
in the attic until some later
season when couth is again
in fashion, we'll use the proper word:
squatting. or perhaps, renting.
sure, there are those who still like
to costume their actions in words
like "dating" or even "talking,"
but it is now much too cold
for such flimsy decorative terms.
bring on the wool sweaters,
the stocking caps, the sweatpants:
the truth.
the truth is an extra-large sweater
that you think you'll never grow into.
it takes courage to try it on, because
you do look foolish at first, with its arms
extending far beyond yours, and its neck
orbiting yours at a very cautious distance.
but if you keep wearing it, you'll find yourself
saying things like "i miss you," and you'll
feel yourself growing, feel your shoulders
expanding.
wearing the sweater on this early morning
in november, i found myself writing this:
squatting.
i never thought i was doing such a
:icondreamsnhazel:dreamsnhazel
:icondreamsnhazel:dreamsnhazel 111 76
Mature content
for Kahori, who i named myself :iconxtape:xtape 74 78
Literature
Coffee Mugs
It's a man's world,
you can tell
from the dirty coffee mugs,
huddled together on the table.
The lone water bottle stands above them,
imposing, clear and tall, as its owner,
Her pregnant belly precedes her like a shield:
a neon sign flashing "here I am".
In the elevator, two people dare a smile
while they talk of things they know
no-one else cares about.
They wear glasses and awkward clothes.
In this place time hangs like tepid air,
which no fresh wind can ever disperse.
:iconSarcastig:Sarcastig
:iconsarcastig:Sarcastig 22 40
Literature
He Thinks By Fire
Castles
Set the scene in Vienna, Rome
Tripoli - countries in cities.
Restaurants in the shade.
Men in chairs
With white straw hats, the sun curve
Of the day, and buzzing of motors on
Rocky cobblestone.
Family visits an old man.
A hearty dinner, the sun a shine on the glass.
She says tell
us something
Like you used to.
The boys poke the ground,
Fiddle with the earth,
Before he sighs.
Sighs, speaks:
Contracts
I sign in blood.
A column splits, spoken
Ramparts, assailed corridors.
Degraded anarchs in the veins.
I hear Fire.
Random chaos in
The voi- voi- Void.
And my entry read:
'Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate!'
Abandon all hope, ye who enter!

He breathes.
The stun is complete. Boys caught moving
Sag down and shake.
She asks why? How?
And he repeats, numbly:
Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
:iconaltruisticlies:altruisticlies
:iconaltruisticlies:altruisticlies 14 21
Literature
They'll Be Back In Summer
The boats pull in
Pull out
Like clockwork
By months
Every year breaks open
On the edge of the seasonal bowl
Its fiery orange yolk
Dawning
Giving the extras their cue
The camera reels
Behind my eyelids
Record this summer at-home vacation
The aural thump
Of their midnight parties
Permeating the walls
Of concrete
And bone alike
Until the role of ambient silence
Is recast
Till fall
:iconMadFunk:MadFunk
:iconmadfunk:MadFunk 13 29
Literature
Issues With Eight A.M.
A white van skids past,
spins slush inward, then rattles down Ninth.
Leaves shiver in little pendulum arcs,
bled dry and brittle.
Afraid to leap, they opt
to stare down spans of barren ground
as I walk to work.
The briefcase man turns green
and I grimace, plod the last block.
Wednesday might as well be Monday
as the door clicks closed.
:iconterov:terov
:iconterov:terov 9 40
A collection of some of the DD's I featured during my 2 1/2 years as Tier Admin/Gallery Director. It's depressing to see how many DD's have been deleted, either because the author quit the site or was banned during the Great Purge of 2005. I've counted 38 such poems that are lost to us. What a shame.

Random Favourites

Literature
asea, tonight
I'm at your door; can hear the brass and bass,
the snare drum, through the glass. It's jazz, tonight.
You let me in and suddenly I'm in
a room of profound poets, who sing their verse
through shining horns, sweet saxophone riffs.
The solos drift so richly, dance among smoke rings—
tonight, when everyone's somebody's cool cat.
There's a girl whose trumpet weeps when she woos its keys,
those wailing notes like Miles would have played.
And the long-haired bassist pains his face as he plucks
away at the tired shape the body makes,
he sways. And when the guitar's clean strings do sing,
it's melody carries a twang so sweet—it's jazz,
tonight. Tonight!— We can be alive, tonight.
And I'm in the corner, no horn in hand, not even
a cigarette for now. I'm just a shadow this evening,
no harmony for me. Just silent taps
of thumbs on thighs; of a breath before sirens sing.
Tonight, blue tunes knew the way through a smoky
sea—found me… Last I heard they were still awaiting
return
:icondesaparecidita:desaparecidita
:icondesaparecidita:desaparecidita 125 77
Mature content
Blood Red Blood Blue Bluegrass :iconchesterfield:chesterfield 32 28
Mature content
memoirs of a whore :iconphoenixtx:phoenixtx 870 363
Literature
Big
And it all came together with a crash
an expanding singularity creating
pure noise
         Monumental foam rising in a desert sea
    of waking
    something.
The monsters and the carnivores of the soon
and the twisting never
The cancers and the throbbing monads
The green megaliths and groping
summers
The plush sentients
       All at once.
Ascending mightily a broad expanse of unbounded
         Nothing?
Surely not.
But all the same expelling passionately
the voidless form of before
to sum up into waves of sonic being all that
   would pass for passing
all that would crash and scream and pass.
Somnolence
        and indolent proportions
of waving wind spun across new fields
making bread, eating it
           
:iconsuckmysobriquet:suckmysobriquet
:iconsuckmysobriquet:suckmysobriquet 57 41
Literature
SEEKING SPRING 2
SEEKING SPRING
I am the tree-in-winter man
bough bent with wintry woes
seeking spring.
Inside, below the gnarled and ravelled rind,
inscribed by glacial ink in cruel seasons,
exigencies and crises lie curled
concentrically in seized circles
from heartwood to the bark.
Inside, again, sap congealed and gelid
trapped static in harsh-hardened tracheids,
sits still pooled and sorrow chilled
in serried cellular ranks
from yesterday's roots to tomorrow's twig.
Yes, I am the tree-in-winter man
waiting for spring's demulcent peach-pink
breath to melt and liquefy
from frigid core to icebound bole
and tempt the sap to surge and rise.
And then these soft green buds
I harboured in the long dark days
will plump and swell;
and blossoms white as snow
will ecstatically burst the knotted bark
to be strewn and scattered on the ground
finding spring.
:iconmeic2:meic2
:iconmeic2:meic2 27 28
Literature
Coffee Mugs
It's a man's world,
you can tell
from the dirty coffee mugs,
huddled together on the table.
The lone water bottle stands above them,
imposing, clear and tall, as its owner,
Her pregnant belly precedes her like a shield:
a neon sign flashing "here I am".
In the elevator, two people dare a smile
while they talk of things they know
no-one else cares about.
They wear glasses and awkward clothes.
In this place time hangs like tepid air,
which no fresh wind can ever disperse.
:iconSarcastig:Sarcastig
:iconsarcastig:Sarcastig 22 40
Literature
He Thinks By Fire
Castles
Set the scene in Vienna, Rome
Tripoli - countries in cities.
Restaurants in the shade.
Men in chairs
With white straw hats, the sun curve
Of the day, and buzzing of motors on
Rocky cobblestone.
Family visits an old man.
A hearty dinner, the sun a shine on the glass.
She says tell
us something
Like you used to.
The boys poke the ground,
Fiddle with the earth,
Before he sighs.
Sighs, speaks:
Contracts
I sign in blood.
A column splits, spoken
Ramparts, assailed corridors.
Degraded anarchs in the veins.
I hear Fire.
Random chaos in
The voi- voi- Void.
And my entry read:
'Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate!'
Abandon all hope, ye who enter!

He breathes.
The stun is complete. Boys caught moving
Sag down and shake.
She asks why? How?
And he repeats, numbly:
Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
:iconaltruisticlies:altruisticlies
:iconaltruisticlies:altruisticlies 14 21
Literature
Issues With Eight A.M.
A white van skids past,
spins slush inward, then rattles down Ninth.
Leaves shiver in little pendulum arcs,
bled dry and brittle.
Afraid to leap, they opt
to stare down spans of barren ground
as I walk to work.
The briefcase man turns green
and I grimace, plod the last block.
Wednesday might as well be Monday
as the door clicks closed.
:iconterov:terov
:iconterov:terov 9 40
Listen to the sea by Bobrova Listen to the sea :iconbobrova:Bobrova 49 15 M X Y by AshenCreative M X Y :iconashencreative:AshenCreative 75 19
Journal
Deviants in Print: E. Kristin Anderson
Welcome once again to Deviants in Print, where we chat with members of the deviantART Literature community who have been published by traditional or nontraditional means, and pick their brains about how they did it, lessons learned, and life in general.
Today, poet, blogger and Young Adult novelist E. Kristin Anderson, known to many of us as PinkyMcCoversong, takes a few minutes from the writer's life to talk to us about getting published the hard traditional way, a writer's (gasp) social life, Bigfoot conventions, and cake.

First of all, how is the new place working out?
Oooooh I love it! I have so much counter space which is important, as any of my friends will tell you, I have a silly amount of kitchen appliances and bake constantly. Plus, lots of room for bookshelves so my home library will look less like piles of books in the corner and more like, well, a library. I do wish I didn't have to play human
:iconMemnalar:Memnalar
:iconmemnalar:Memnalar 46 60
Bomber by tat2pooch Bomber :icontat2pooch:tat2pooch 80 8
Journal
Devious Minds: KneelingGlory
Discovering what makes us devious.
KneelingGlory :eager: :iconkneelingglory:
How did you first discover deviantART?
:eager: sweet-lyrical (who now goes by this-epiphany) mentioned on her LiveJournal that she was moving over here. I moved, too, so I could continue following her delicious writings. :) Haven't looked back since!
What was it about dA that made you want to stay?
:eager: The people. In my first year, I met so many incredibly talented and friendly writers and artists - it was a total mind trip. In real life, hardly anyone I know is the same kind of creative as me. I have mechanic friends, culinary friends, computer nerd friends - but no writer friends, no artist friends. So coming here, and discovering this huge network of people who just...get it...was incredible. If dA ever closes (heaven forbid :fingerscrossed:) they'll be kicking me out very last, with my fingers leaving claw marks on the door. :P
What is the story b
:iconPurpelBlur:PurpelBlur
:iconpurpelblur:PurpelBlur 72 55
Journal
I Am Outraged About Something!
... while all the drama is going on (rightly or wrongly) I thought I'd throw this out there:
Visual Artists Read And Write, Too.
Well duh, Sal, you may say (and some smartarse will, now I've said it) - but the fact is, they do.
So why is there this imaginary line drawn between the art and literature galleries? Argue away that there isn't one - but there darned well is, and I find it annoying. You might even say - outrageous!
There's tens of thousands of multi-talented people on this site. And I'd really like to see more folks who are usually identified as visual artists:
:bulletred:  have a go at writing, and post a link here.
or
:bulletred: put their hands up as multi-talented artists here by linking a piece of their literature if they already do write.
This issue came to my attention during Flash-Fic-Month, when a bunch of folks who signed up and participated said things like, "I am a visual artist, I've never posted my written work here before Flash Fiction Mo
:iconsalshep:salshep
:iconsalshep:salshep 124 383
Journal
An Audience with Margaret Atwood
    Margaret

                       Atwood

The Transcript of the event can be found here

One of Canada's best-known writers, Margaret Atwood is an internationally famous novelist, poet, and critic.

Throughout her writing career, Margaret Atwood has received numerous awards and honourary degrees. She is the author of more than thirty-five volumes of poetry, children's literature, fiction, and non-fiction and is perhaps best known for her novels, which include  The Edible Woman (1970),  The Handmaid's Tale (1983),  The Robber Bride (1994),  Alias Grace (1996), and The Blind Assassin, which won the prestigious Booker Prize in 2000.
Atwood'
:iconTachy-on:Tachy-on
:icontachy-on:Tachy-on 539 1,045
Journal
Daily Literature Deviations - July 2, 2010
Daily Lit Deviations for July 2nd, 2010
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
Please show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article
Don't hesitate to comment or :+fav: the artists for their hard work!
:star: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one of your pieces featured by DLD please note us. We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article. :star:
Poetry
Featured by RoxasWannabe

The West Coast by Drunken-Splice
This piece strikes the reader
with its impression of longing
and heartbreak. Truly a soft,
dysphoric piece.
Featured by the-photographicpoet

See I, never Know I by IJustShrugged
An ambiguous poem with excellent
use of narrative and tones
:iconDailyLitDeviations:DailyLitDeviations
:icondailylitdeviations:DailyLitDeviations 52 1

Webcam

Galleries

Wheaton Prospectus The Irregular Sound Slotted Pig

Comaverse

Watchers

Activity


I was watching a basketball game on television and during a commercial break, there he was! Starkist Charlie. I said, "Oh jeez, not this knob again." My son, home from college on break, said, "Whaaaat.....??"

Charlie was before my son's time, and that led me to wax rhapsodic about how some of the most successful ad campaigns of the 1970's played upon the worst aspects of human nature. Worse, most were aimed at children. When I had finished foaming at the mouth about it all, my son advised me to write it down. Rgr that.



Low Self-Esteem:


Starkist Charlie, the bespectacled, beret-wearing tuna whose greatest desire, and seemingly only goal in life, was to be murdered, hacked up, canned, consumed, and shat out by humans. Why? Merely to prove he was as good as the other tuna who got murdered, hacked, canned, eaten, and shat. But he didn't measure up to Starkist standards. I'm sure they suspected mercury poisoning, albino brain chiggers, or some other nefarious reason for his mental illness. There is probably a multitude of liability issues that would stem from selling psychotic tuna for consumption. And imagine if this dipshit was your son. "Son, what do you want to be when you grow up?" "I want to be murdered, canned and shat, papa!" That's when you point to your wife and say, "He gets that from YOUR side of the family!"



Sadism/Schadenfreude:


Sonny the Cuckoo Bird was a mentally unstable avian whose psychotic episodes were triggered by the proximity of Cocoa Puffs cereal. Despite trying a variety of activities and strategies to prevent himself from going apeshit, such as bowling, dancing, watching television, and even padlocking himself into a booth, a couple of shitty kids would show up with a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and trigger him into completely flipping his lid. Just to watch him do it. These are the kinds of kids you can imagine pulling the wings off flies and setting cats on fire. But hey, young serial killers in training have to eat too, right? Might as well sell them some crap for breakfast.



Selfishness:


The Trix Rabbit. All this guy wants is one lousy bowl of some wretched cereal and the kids won't give him any. Actually, even though the kids are being blatantly selfish, it's hard to blame them on this one. The rabbit is such an obnoxious putz. Imagine every time you sat down to eat a bowl of cereal, some idiot showed up and tried to scam you out of your food. Seriously, the rabbit has nothing better to do? Evidently he's got enough money to buy costumes and props, so why the hell doesn't he trundle his fluffy white ass down to the market and buy his own damned box of Trix? He's a grifter. A swindler. And he gets his jollies from bilking people. He ought to be in prison for his repeated attempts at theft and extortion. Let him eat prison food for 3 to 5. Maybe that'll put some sense into his head.



Willful Destruction of Property:

The kids are in the back yard or the park playing and getting all sweaty. One decides he/she is thirsty and needs another sugar bump. The other says, "Great idea!" They shout, "Hey Kool-Aid!" and this giant, pitcher-shaped clown busts through a wall or fence, singing an obnoxious song in a voice like Wolfman Jack. Who pays for the damage? The homeowner? Taxpayers? Certainly not the Kool-Aid creature, who loads the kids up with a neuron-popping sugar dose and shambles off on his red, stove-pipe legs. Seriously, this idiot looks like he should be leading cheers in a bush-league ball park. And even then, in my mind's eye, I can see all 1500 fans howling in rage and pelting him with beer bottles as he bursts through the bullpen wall. I wouldn't drink anything proffered by this twat. He's probably got a crawlspace somewhere stuffed to capacity with children's corpses. Remember what Jim Jones was swizzling with cyanide? That's right. You know where he got it? That's right.



Assault and Battery:


Hawaiian Punch used a couple of dickweeds to sell their beverage. One, a malevolent misanthrope named Punchy and the other, a borderline Downs Syndrome-type named Opie. Punchy would ask Opie if he wanted a nice Hawaiian punch. When Opie would inevitably say yes, Punchy would curl up a fist and blast him right in the fucking face. On second thought, maybe Opie doesn't have Downs, but brain damage from the accumulation of bolo-punches to the teeth. Gosh. Watching someone Pearl Harbor his buddy with a vicious haymaker sure makes me thirsty!


Edit: Gee, I just noticed that after Punchy whacks Opie in the chops, he freakin' tramples him. Lookit!
  • Listening to: Andrew Bird

deviantID

ndifference's Profile Picture
ndifference
Grandpa
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Memphis
Favourite cartoon character: David Lee Roth
Personal Quote: Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it.
Interests

Visitors

:iconlilithlairpoetry: :iconarmorfelix2012: :iconunfini: :iconjack-cade: :iconpaytonsnewheart:

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconnonculture:
nonculture Featured By Owner Mar 30, 2018
goddammit your Sunkist obsession is obscuring your page visibility.  How did that happen?

You need to realize that there is a serious battle waged while you pimp Sunkist.  The Fanta Orange populace is getting a bit antsy and upset with this naked support for Sunkist. 

They sent me to remediate this situation, as the Y*k*uz*  prefer Fanta. 

Look, Fanta is way less sugary.  And that's about it.  Do you need another reason to support it?

No, no you do not.
Reply
:iconndifference:
ndifference Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2018  Professional Writer
For the last time, I am a SHASTA MAN, and don't you fucking forget it!

SHASTA!  S, H, A...something something.  Okay, so I can't spell it, but I'm all about the SHASTA! :stab:
Reply
:iconnonculture:
nonculture Featured By Owner May 2, 2018
people of walmart, featuring NDifference.  Iced Tea is where it's at.  UNSWEET, for the heathens.  Drink your tannen and like it!
Reply
:iconbeingnaked:
beingnaked Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2017
I honestly think weve been lost on the annals of time
Reply
:iconndifference:
ndifference Featured By Owner May 4, 2017  Professional Writer
Where we belong
Reply
Add a Comment: