Lit Fortnightly - 15 February 2012

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What you'll find in this article: Return of the Fortnightly! | Current Lit Going-Ons | General info on the Lit Community | The past week's lit DDs

What is this business?!
This is a small update on what's going on around the literature community, that's what this business is. The idea is to try and make the community more readily accessible for everyone, whether you're new or have been here for a while.

Please note: these updates will not be all-encompassing in terms of community happenings, as the community is quite frankly rather large. Instead, this article will focus specifically on things that are currently ongoing, or happened within the past fortnight. If you're looking for something more general and comprehensive, why not give HugQueen's Love dA Lit a read?

If there is something that is not included in an update that you would like to be included, please note CRLiterature about it!

Things going on in Lit:
New to the community?
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:pointr: communityrelations is the hub for the Community Relations team, which means it's a great place to watch for updates of all sorts.

dA Literature


The past week's Lit DDs
You Slept Through The Alarm Again - Little AubadeIf, perhaps, you had turned at that moment
and your hair had caught in your fingers,
the straw being fed into the spindle, struck
by the high, thin light of first waking, the whorl
of a single line descendent from the sun, born
watery from the gap below one velveteen curtain,
all of it staining over gold and dusty and slow,
the edge of your mouth might have met the edge
of my mouth, narrow gaps both without attention
opening—if, perhaps you had turned again,
your hand could have met the curve of my neck,
your canvas rough fingers tying knots of my hair
and I would have sighed, thick spreading in your ear
like the light itself learning to speak in tongues
you might understand—if perhaps you had
opened your eyes, squinting, eyelashes caged
together, it all would have been edgeless and bright.
Fish and Frog.A Frogologue.
Frog is sitting on a log that is lying across a small pond.  
Fish is swimming around in that pond.
Frog:  We are all objects moving through space and time.
Fish: You are not moving;  you are sitting.  Neither am I moving through space;  I am moving through water.
Frog:  Mere quibbles, Quibbler.  The water and the log are both moving through space as the world turns, and because you are in the water and I am on the log, we are moving too.
Fish:  I object.
Frog:  Why?
Fish:  You said I was an object so I am objecting.
Frog:  Ha, ha, very funny, Tiddler.
Fish:  My name is Fish.
Frog:  To me you are a tiddler.  I am old and wise beyond your imagining.
Fish:  You have no idea of what I can imagine.  Besides, there's a lot I don't even need to imagine, such as pompous frogs on logs.
Frog:  I rise above you, in
Death and taxes by apocathary
LosingThe thing is, I lose everything.
I've     misplaced     all the
things I own at least twice.
No thing is safe
from disappearing,
it all slips between the threads
rough stitched fabric
of my universe.
A few weeks ago,
a pair of rose colored
rabbit-shaped earrings
went missing.
They must have scampered away
from my bedside table
as I slept.
and yesterday too my class ring,
with dragon insignia
carved into its metal side,
lost so many times
I've just stopped looking.
It always turns up again
like a hungry cat.
Long ago I bid farewell
to a book of poetry
by Billy Collins,
each page dressed
in a suit of marginalia,
kissed my favorite teacup goodbye,
the pond-green one,
topography of cracks down the side,
and one sock from almost every pair
has      fluttered free      like a pet parakeet
through the open window.
So I hope you understand, love,
why I hold you so close,
afraid that if
dives and lazarusthe last time i saw you
i made sure to
keep my dress
on, kept
my distance as
we spoke from
across the room, land
locked and
the air discerning
and smelling
of vomit
" you don't have to be
so caustic
about this "
i am raw, in the
least
and it became winter
in the summer streaked room
we bathed in,
your mattress bare
and sullen
stains of hurt
and nights with other
women,
aging
in wild abandon, i left.
in fear of bearing your surname, i stayed.
Pilgrim of the Year to BeThe night was crisp, and Doctor Jazz was making his rounds again.
His first visit was to Mrs Madrigal at the far end of the valley. Her triplets were feverish, so he calmed and soothed them with the medicines in his little black bag until they fell into a rhythmic sleep. He left their worried mother with a chill pill and instructions to bring them to the surgery in the morning.
Back on the path, feet pumping, heart thumping, cane tapping, he scaled the ascent to Beggar's Farm, where Mr Williams was feeling crotchety. The problem was minor so his work was minimal and the visit brief.
He paused at the farm gates to enjoy the cooler breeze of the hilltop and watch the stars in their slow spiral dance. He patted the pockets of his long frock coat to locate his pipe, and smoked a bowl as he traced the dark line of the hills across the way and the yellow lights of the houses in the village below. A sheep bleated in a nearby field and he was content. Life in the valley was harmonious, a pasto
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are up—when she is feeling good, and
Evangelos and that film from 1986Evangelos and that film from 1986
I am not a fish.
My mother is a fish.
You should know, my great-uncle Peter
From Hungary has a daughter
With whom I fell in love when once
I was there
That time I braided her ashen grey hair
In braids
Two
My mother's best friend only spoke Italian
He did taekwondo, jiujitsu
And played Santa every year
He was Portuguese
I want to enchant you with my secret code
Once again it has to be said:
There is no story
The hedgehog is sleeping in the garden, his father and
The squirrel:
Today they are wearing
Winter scarfs
Instead of ties
They will hold session until deep in the night
About money of course
Maybe you should listen better
To the people
Their eyes
Because everybody has lied
to themselves some time in their lives
(original Dutch version: )
Evangelos en die film uit 1986
Ik ben geen vis.
Mijn moeder is een vis.
Je moet weten, mijn oudoom Peter
Uit Hongarije heeft een dochter
Op wie ik verliefd ben sinds die ene keer
Dat ik daar was
Toen heb ik haar asg
NamelessI walk out of the tattoo parlor, clutching my wrist, thinking the money was well-spent. My friends walk quickly down the steps, eager to eat, be full. At the next story down there is a man huddled in the corner, ripped, dirty coat wrapped tight around his crumpled frame, worn out sneakers, stained sweatpants, fraying gloves.
My friends don't really notice him, or pretend not to, but my heart squeezes a bit as I turn the corner, clutching my wrist, believing my money was well-spent. But at the third step I shudder with selfishness, heartlessness, pray to God that I don't turn into judgment and lack of humility.
I swivel around, nearly fall, hold a hand to my chest because I don't mean to offend him (though he's sleeping in a cold stairwell for Christ's sake, it's winter and he looks so damn exhausted).
"Excuse me," my voice quivers, my hands shake. I wait for a visible response but he does nothing to open his eyes, to look in my direction. I take another step forward. "Are you sleeping

That's it for this fortnight, if you've got questions or concerns, let us know! :]


© 2012 - 2024 ikazon
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:iconeeeeeplz:

Yay, yay, yay!

Thank youuuuu. ♥