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About Traditional Art / Student Member luke16/Male/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Once upon a time, in a distant uncharted land, an old man sat in a rocking chair on the porch of his 3-storey ranch house, a stone in his left hand, a walking stick in the other.

He judged the long, thin trees splintering his view of the ocean, from under his bushy eyebrows. He inhaled, and cast his eyes back, and his mouth crept open to reveal yellowed teeth. Sweeping his thumb across the smooth stone in long, undulating circles, and the trees were pulled from under the earth to a reasonable distance.
He blinked himself back to reality, and without taking his view from the ocean, pocketed his stone and went inside.

The old man spent the next days staring endlessly at the ocean from his living room window. The trees dared not to move back. The stone became heavy in his pocket, and he resigned himself to a stroll, thinking of the ocean all the while.

He came to a highroad, presumably older even than himself. He stood in a gap in the bushes, watching carts and horses pass. He obsered them from beneath his eyebrows. At dusk, posessed by what he had seen, he retired home.

Waking each morning for the following weeks to watch the passers-by on the road the old man became irritable and frustrated.

And then it all started to go wrong.

'DEMONS!' He would yell, stood at the curb of the old road, an old angry man,  and beg the passers-by to leave. They barely noticed him, before they were promptly consumed, slipping into the earth in a flurry of dirt and torn flesh.

Days later, and the old man became increasingly angry, screaming and collpsing frequently in his home, sobbing endlessly for hours and exclaiming scornful things at nonsensical things. The trees soon moved back to obscure his ocean view, and his stone felt light. the passers-by continued to walk the old road, but none ever came the same way again, the old angry man banishing them to the earth.

One such day, and the old man was seated in his lounge, staring at the floor in front of his feet amusedly, listening to a radio. Upstairs his bathrtoom mirror splintered, seperating into a thousand pieces, crashing to the floor, and a thousand more. Outside the trees snickered, vertical orange streams flickering between them, gasping and laughing wildy at the scandal. A rat walked into the sea,  and didn't come out. The old angry man cringed, and stood to inquire as to the sound's origin. There was no answer.

That night, whilst preparing for sleep, the old man noticed in his kitchen window, a face. More of an expression, or presence- but it was there, and it was horrible. in an instant he hadsnapped shut the door, refusing to go back inside his kitchen, wracked to the temporary image in his peripherals. Time gave him courage, and he took another stride into the room, refusing to glance rightward toward the window as he went about his nightime routine. The old angry man busied himself with making a sandwich, though by this point not even he knew quite why, perhaps for the sake of granting something for his hands familiar. At some point he went into a trance, not by any definition magical, merely one of exhuastion and a rudimental task, such as you might get form working on a field for the long hours of the day.

But then he turned, and was arrested by the sight of the figure, as it were before. Yes, the figure- for it had shoulders beneath it's very circular head, it's mouth a curled non descript grin- the old man's sight of the thing completely locked by it's own insistent gaze. It must have been 8 feet tall to stand halfway up the window given the house's foot high foundations, but no thoughts or images occured to the man of the creature's body, merely it's perfectly circular head, and terrifying eyes that seemed to peek inside you and strangle your scream in your throat. The man's lips parted again to reveal those yellow teeth, but no sound came out. The figure vanished in an instant.

The following night saw the man truly lose his mind. No thoughts of the ocean or the road came to him, instead haunted by that other presence.

The old man was rocking with his legs in his arms in the corner of his bedroom, beside his low bed. Opposite, there was a window, that didn't face the ocean. He knew it would appear. But there as nothing more terrifying than it, and he was immobilised by the empty window, anxious for it's iminent return, incapable of standing up or closing the blind- for fear of seeing it again.

Then it came to him again. Eyes arresting his own, pulling out the scream from his throat before he could even exhale-
The old man died that night. No one walked across the highroad again. The trees have grown taller since. No one knows if the old man is still in there.


Artist | Student | Traditional Art
United Kingdom
:earth: One proud Hetalian :earth:

/Ha ha ha, bless your soul
You really think you're in control/
/My heroes are at the heart
To the life I wanna live/
/But maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy

//oO0Oo\ --Deus Ex Machina = From the God-Machine-- //oO0Oo\

For her grace;
The Ladies will stand, wreathed in blazing light
Stepping forth, to challenge death on sight
Their debonair cuts down all; their destination
To purge without mercy, on most crooked ascension
Vindictive glares that slash and burn
But upon their arrival heaven doth turn
And with the crowning we will see
what a powerful person they are bound to be.

There are some who are in darkness
And the others are in light
And you see the ones in brightness
Those in darkness drop from sight
but the closer you get to the light,
the greater your shadow becomes

//oO0Oo\ --Deus Ex Machina = From the God-Machine-- //oO0Oo\

i just pretend i know what im talking about 150% of the time
if you can’t blow them away with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit

‘If you’re going to be an artist, you have to make your work your best friend. You can go to it, whatever you’re feeling. So if you’re tired, feeling happy, feeling miserable, feeling depressed, feeling randy, whatever you’re feeling, go to your work, as if it were your best friend.'

I'm on tonight, you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel it's right …all the attraction, the tension …don't you see baby, this is perfection!
Who the fuck was playing …Shakira?"
So …you Irish, Roxas?"
"No." A gust of strong wind blew by us and I buried the lower half of my face in my coat, groaning inwardly.
"Anything close to Irish?" Demyx asked, taking a long sip of God knows what from the green glass he held in his hand.
"Welsh. Or British. Whichever way you want to interpret it." I adjusted my hands in my pockets.
"Holy shit, Roxas …you're Austin Powers?" Demyx laughed loudly. He put on a terrible British accent and raised an eyebrow, leaning in close to me. "Are you feeling randy, baby?"
He was definitely wasted.

Sometimes, I get scared of my genius :P
Perhaps it has something to with my extra large sellion

Knowing your flaws, while not fixing them, at least helps, I guess

am I blue? with yellow hues and a stone an arrow for the queen, we curtsied they danced on either side she stood and smirked gestured burned but how far can I push my eye when I want to see though decisions and revisions and a minute might have passed hmm the socket is pooling with water begone for you smell faintly of sick

Current Residence: fudge
deviantWEAR sizing preference: the concept of clothing does not compute
Print preference: Never bought any prints
Favourite genre of music: Synthpop, electronic, dance, jpop, metal, (rammstein yayy) AND THE SCISSOR SISTERS and gaga~ and alos popular music
and house, hed kandi etc
sometimes garage and drum and bass
Favourite photographer: Man Ray.
Favourite style of art: Dada. And surrealism. And Impressionism. And post-impressionism. And Expressionism. And realism. And modernism. And renaissance. And high renaissance. And abstract-expressionism. And Pop art. And post post-modernism. And cubism. And photography. And lithography. And EVERYTHING
Operating System: My mind runs on a highly efficient charge of sexual tension that occasionally bursts out in the form of fangasms and "skkffuckme, he's hot"
MP3 player of choice: No tengo, used my phone until I cleverly dropped it in the bath
Shell of choice: my wonderwall duh
Wallpaper of choice: at the moment it's marlene. LOL I JK LIKE IT'S ONLY AT THE MOMENT
Skin of choice: skin tones are so variable :O I don't think I can pick a favorite, they're all cool~
Favourite cartoon character: Timmy Turner, because He's the only other person I know who has talked to gold fish and he's voiced by Tara Strong <3
Personal Quote: Only have sex with people in public, not animals. You'll get looks.

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Journal History


Add a Comment:
Hi! thanks for the +fav Heart
feel free to visit my page everytime again - I'm looking forward to it Hug 
kittyneko903 Jan 7, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I meaned to say dis earlier, but tanx for the fave~ ^^
CrackerBlues Jan 16, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
omg it's you woahahahah :D how've you been? :DD  and you're welcome >:D
kittyneko903 Jul 30, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
*poke poke*
CrackerBlues Jul 31, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
Don't chu go pokin' me and dat I go poke you back and dat!
kittyneko903 Jul 31, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
i like being poked, it makes me feel all tickly and such ^^
CrackerBlues Aug 1, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
hahaha :3 
(1 Reply)
ajax1946 Jul 3, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
Thanks for the fave! :)
CrackerBlues Jul 5, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
thanks for the fav, youre much too kind
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