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About Literature / Hobbyist Alexander PermannMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 8 Years
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Literature
The Long Walk
***
It was dark, and he knew on some primal level that he was alone.
Clif sat up with a grunt. He ached all over, but the feeling was distant, as though the sensation was someone else's simply shared with him. A great nothing surrounded him, revealing nothing. He sat there for a while, only now aware of just how good it felt to not feel exhausted and completely wired. Closing his eyes was euphoric. The white noise he'd known his entire life was mercifully gone for perhaps the first time ever.
And then slowly, it came back. The sound of a distant car passing drew his gaze in a certain direction. A tall streetlamp broke the void with its flickering light. Pushing himself up to his feet, he quietly wondered just where he was. He called out.
When nothing answered, he began to walk. As the light grew closer, noise began to filter in; more cars passing in the distance, muffled music, a helicopter flying over… the soundtrack of his life. Shapes began to appear from the darkness. By the t
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Literature
Exit Takahashi
  Clif frowned at the deck in his hands. It was top of the line; sleek, chromed, simple, with the Yasashii Electro logo on the side in tiny block letters. The Aurora III, guaranteed the fastest on the market, with stacks of internal memory and a three hour battery life. He hated new tech, but it was on the boss's orders. If Clif had learned one thing, it was that you didn't cross the boss.
            He ran a hand across his buzzed scalp, frowning at the tiny glowing screen. It was the only light in the dirty apartment, its cold glow lighting up the decker's gaunt, unshaven face. Clif didn't sleep much, and ate even less, leaving him a skeleton in cheap jeans sitting crisscross in the corner. With a sigh, he jacked in.
***
            Synthesized noise flooded Goro's ears, stuttering and blasting along to a rhythm that filled the dancer's bones. He shoved t
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Literature
Things I Want
I want a big house, full of dust and books and a view of the sea
I want a place where I can walk around with my shirt off
I want a cat with an English name, or maybe a French Bulldog
I want my friends to live forever, and the music to never stop
I want a girl with a kind tongue and long, long legs
I want to waste my days singing and writing and laughing
And to spend my nights warm and dreaming
I want a lot of things, but God ain't that kind
Have to earn that life, I know
And Lord, do I try.
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Literature
nightmares
The skin-smith skittered towards me, metal clacking off of the stone tiles underneath his bloody smock, his face, a stitched smile of leather and teeth, with far too many black button eyes. His shadow engulfed me, standing double my height. I shuddered as his hand held my chin, more a surgical tool or a butcher's implement than any fine manipulator. His laugh was sick and wet.
Horror, my child, is an art. Come. Let me teach you.
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Literature
For Spacebro
People always say, "don't let shit get you down." It's not a complicated phrase; they say down, and mean your emotions. They're saying don't get depressed or angry or tired, negative feels, the opposite of the things that make us feel high on life. Funny, how altitude ties into human thought like that. But it makes sense, in a way. If you've ever had a really rough couple of weeks, you know how bent it makes you feel. You slump, you don't sleep, your back hurts. It physically pushes you down. There's a reason break-ups "crush" people.
The secret is to realize that none of the things that bother us matter. We stay up, worried about keeping a roof over our heads or food in our bellies or a dame in the bed or just trying not to offend with our very existence. It's miserable, and ultimately meaningless. Words don't really mean anything; it's all just so much noise. Everything is noise, from the bills in the mail to the cars in the street. You let that go and everything is so much easier. N
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Literature
The Birdcage
I'm a wreck. My hair is a mess, and not in the sexy way. My eyes are sore and sit within dark rings. The clock silently broadcasts the time – 3:27 AM – and I feel so very tired. The moon, fat and full in the sky, shines out over the twinkling lights of downtown. Karaoke joints, convenience stores, fancy restaurants, the tiny glow of lit cigarettes, midnight riders in little cars; they're all candles in the dark. A helicopter flies over the apartment building, towards the hospital. 'Someone's having a worse day then us,' Dad would always say.
Dad hated this time of night. The nightmares came at two, and lasted through three. It was better to stay awake and live tired than watch Martini burn again. He blamed himself for just how shitty life could get sometimes. His guilt haunted the nights, kept him up and made him cry out in his sleep. My excuse lay across my lap, much more benign but nearly as crushing.
She's beautiful in the dark. It sounds like an insult, but it isn't. In t
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Literature
What makes an author a poet?
Oh, my days know a warm new sun
My nights are filled with desire
Oh, I can feel it, she's the one
My heart burns with a raging new fire
Oh, the little things that make me sing!
A twinkling eye, a misplaced hair, a cracked smile
Oh, the little things that make me shout!
All the things that make life worthwhile
I've gone mad, I'm not myself, I'm in love!
What makes an author a poet?
I've been charmed, bewitched, played by powers Above!
A long time coming, but I think I've found it
My cold Winter, now a joyous Spring
My face is always lit
Love has found me, it's in me, the real thing
And so of Love is this poem writ.
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Literature
The Jury of the Solstice, 2
The setting sun cast it's rays through a great thunderhead, illuminating the paved stone streets and those who walked them. It looked as if everything was preserved in a chunk of clear amber, and something in the air gave the impression of an old memory, a snapshot of a bygone time, like a dusty photograph or a faded illustration. Dusk was the death of a bright day and the birth of a dark night, and in the twilight the few Lost who roamed the old part of town could almost pretend everything was normal. Their old lives seem close enough to touch, and the odd light often cast the shadow of a smile on their tired faces.
But all was night right. The warm embrace of nostalgia could not return things to what they were, and in a way it almost felt mocking, the playful kiss of a world that seemed so very, very cold. The Motley was restless, with a murder on their hands and a fruitless day behind them. The Lion kept running his hand through his hair as they walked, tugging on his fiery locks wi
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The Calaveras in Shit Summer by PlushyKat The Calaveras in Shit Summer :iconplushykat:PlushyKat 0 0
Literature
The Jury of the Solstice, 1
A girl knelt on the ground in the center of a stone courtyard, sobbing into the chest of the body in front of her. Warm sunlight illuminated her and the corpse, while the gathered stood n the shade. Girl, body, and crowd were all a motley lot, torn from a thousand morbid fairytales to stand in this old Spanish plaza. While the courtyard was round, there were a clear four sides; those in red to the north, those in grey to the south, those in green to the west and the black in the east. Every emotion was represented; some seemed furious, shaking with rage, while others stood morose and even wept in sympathy, but the majority simply seemed uncomfortable.
One separated from the crowd to the north, a broad-shouldered man with eyes that blazed like the sun. He looked down at the girl, who seemed to be a human flower, delicate and verdant, and at the body, a young man who seemed almost ethereal. His gaze held judgment and scorn. She looked up at him with tears rolling down green cheeks, and t
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Activity


It weirds me out whenever I come on here and see that old journal entry. It's like a strange time capsule from a time that is alien and far-removed.

Lots of things have changed. I don't write anymore, and I don't want to write. I don't draw anymore, either. I'm going to SDSU as a History major, with an interest in teaching. The girl I was head over heels for broke up with me around Christmas. I had really horrific panic attacks last August/September and my chronic insomnia got much, much worse. I started therapy for a deep depression I've had for years but never admitted to myself or anyone else; that's gone well. The anxiety and depression are much reduced, though the insomnia persists.

Life has changed, and so have I.

If anyone follows me on here, then I'm sorry for not posting much. It probably will stay scarce. My creativity is pretty much gone, but I'm a happier human being now.

You can find me at on Tumblr; my blog is atamajakki. I'm very active there.

Journal History

Comments


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:iconlight-tricks:
Light-Tricks Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2013   Interface Designer
Thanks very much for the fave :)
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:iconeimer:
Eimer Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2013  Professional Digital Artist
thanks alot for the watch!
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:iconlight-tricks:
Light-Tricks Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2013   Interface Designer
Thanks for the watch and all the faves of my 40k stuff!
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:iconitcamefrom4chan:
Itcamefrom4chan Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thank you for fav!
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:iconrawringcrafts:
RawringCrafts Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2012
Thx for the watch ^___^
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:iconplushykat:
PlushyKat Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the thread today!
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:icondestroid666:
Destroid666 Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2012
thank you for fav!
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:iconkiowapilot:
kiowapilot Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2012
Thanks for the :+fav:s!
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:iconcanadianxeno:
canadianxeno Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2012
Thanks!
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:iconblackby:
BlackBy Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2012   Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch :) !
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