|Most successful deviation.|
‘Fractal Friday’s Wall of WOWS!’ – 10/05/07 Hello Fractalists and all Deviants‘Fractal Friday’s Wall of WOWS!’ – 10/05/07 by Sophquest
~Welcome to another edition of Fractal Friday! ~ So, far the new format has been getting rave reviews so, on with the show!
Here are more FRACTAL TWOFERS for your viewing pleasure this week.
I hope you find them as inspirational as I do~ ENJOY!
If you like what you see, please visit the galleries of these amazing artists.
With Love and Respect for all Artists, Sophquest
Fractal Fridays Wall of WOWS 10/05/07
and by darkarchon:icondarkarchon:
and by penny5775:iconpenny5775:
and by EarthGoddess:iconearthgoddess:
and by johnnybg:iconjohnnybg:
and by blusilva:iconblusilva:
Because by Omron and Last of the Summer Flowers by Omron by Omron:iconomron:
Blue Balloons by FractalEuphoria and :thumb
Inkwork in restless tones.Inkwork in restless tones. by Mnesimache
I once had the profound fortune to spend an evening with a girl who kept tattoos for those that she had lost. She stood at the window, staring out over the city streets in all their neon-brightness. She seemed to drink it in.
Her hair was cropped close; a pad of wire bristling from her skull. Nestled against the hollow of her throat, five stars transcribed an imperfect arc. Tracing the small of her back, flowers shed their petals in fluttering streams. One arm was lost to fire, the other consumed by flood.
She didn't say much, but even so her exotic figure was emblazoned with a lifetime of experience, a tale as curious as it was melancholy. Balled fists clasped at bedsheets and the designs seemed to writhe beneath her skin with barely-contained life, speaking in colours and tones. The patterns resplendent across the peaks and curves of her body's landscape spoke of sorrow and regret, of aching, hard-fought victory and painful defeat. A desperate, almost self-mutilatory attempt to feel
I’ve never liked kids.
They make me weary.
They make me wonder where we keep our beasts.
I wonder what it is they dream.
I wonder what they think it’s like to die.
All my characters are a little queer.
Everyone knows how to be queer.
Everyone puts on a show, especially the kids.
It’ll be that way until we die.
Hell, you know oddity doesn’t end for the weary.
I want to draw the way we dream.
There are spaces in our minds that only know of beasts.
(You know they really love the queers.)
We tend to lurch into the nightmares they make of our dreams.
No one ever stops being a kid.
Imagine a boy who never stopped being weary.
He’ll take the aches to his death.
He’s spent his whole life preparing to die.
“This way,” he says, “all I do is dance with beasts.”
Wild rumpus keeps the body weary.
I never told my parents I was queer.
I’d known since I was a kid.
Boys kept finding their way into my dreams.
Never had such sweet dreams.
I often think about what we’ll miss the most when we die.
I’ve raised a lot of kids.
We’re all in love with the same beasts.
Family knows little blood for the queers.
We only share in each other’s bony weariness.
I am the boy who is always weary.
In the end, what stops us from writing down our dreams?
What do we pass on to the young queers?
What should we leave behind when we die?
And how about those terrible beasts?
Will they look like our kids?
Tonight, the kids will sleep when they are weary.
They will wrestle ravenous beasts out of their dreams.
They will know that everything dies a little bit queer.
|A sestina inspired by a chat with Alexis Pauline, author of blackfeminismlives.tumblr.com|