I'm brennenxr and I'm one of the Literature Community Volunteers here on DA. I've been on DA since 2005 and a senior member since 2006. As a full time student, I spend a lot of my time studying and doing course work. When I'm not doing that, I'm usually here kicking it with you guys!
💖 Amazing Projects 💖
seniormentors As the Applications Admin, I make sure your application gets filed properly! Yay fun!
projecteducate I'm a member of the Editing Team at Project Educate. tiganusi still hasn't told me what that means.
CRLiterature This is the hub for Literature artwork on DA. Check it out!
I'm a general admin at Traditionalists, the-haiku-club, dALibrary, and theWrittenRevolution.
The Meet Your CV articles are a series of interviews about the Community Volunteers here on DA! You can read the published ones below.
LiliWrites (Literature) | RockstarVanity (Photography)
TsaoShin (Fan Art) | Tiganusi (Photography)
Talty (Artisan Crafts) | Cassy-Blue (Stock & Resources)
Morbidman187 (Chats & Forums)
December CVil War: Stress ReliefThe CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winner's of last month's contest! Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pit the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature! While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes. Read on to find out what December's prompt entails!
December CVilWar: Holiday MishapsThe CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winners from November's CVilWar! Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pits the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature! While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes. Read on to find out what October's prompt entails!
The Literature CVil War has begun! Choose your side and defeat the enemy by joining into the challenge given to you by your leader.
Each month, the Literature CVs will give challenges to the community meant to enhance your writing skills. There's lots of fun and lots of prizes, and the fate of the community rests in your hands!
➡ TREASURED LIT ⬅
Vol. I, II, III, IV
I take suggestions from the
Literature Gallery only.
A deviant cannot receive a DD more than once every 6 months. This is a hard-coded restriction that no one can bypass!
If a piece is an entry into a contest, I can only feature the piece once the contest is over and the winners have been announced.
The deviant who posted your suggestion should have been active within the last 30 days. No worries if you're not sure, however! I will always make sure of this myself before featuring.
If I featured a deviant's last DD, I won't feature their next. I will try my best to send it to one of the other Lit CVs if I think they'll enjoy it, though.
I will feature any form of literature! I don't care about word count or how many lines a poem has. I don't care how popular a piece is already or if the artist has thousands of watchers. I just want really good lit in my inbox. Generally a piece has to pull me into the story within the first few lines/first paragraph. Otherwise, I'll move on. If it helps, the genres of books I enjoy most are classics, contemporary, non-fiction, and narrative poetry.
Send me a note with a link or thumb to the deviation you think deserves a feature. Please send only one artist per note, but feel free to send as many suggestions as you'd like. If you have a specific reason you think something should be featured, please DO say so in your note! Only send your suggestions to ONE CV! If I don't choose to feature your suggestion, I'll forward it onto doughboycafe if I believe she will.
If you're not sure who is the best Literature CV to suggest to, check out their guidelines:
doughboycafe's DD Suggestion Guidelines
morning.if my words fall
saturday morning coffee.Seattle held many secrets in its dreary rainfall: college kids having sex in the 7-11 bathroom, a drug dealer staking out Rainier Valley for new clientele, and, worst of all, a secret agent working at the Starbucks on 5th Avenue. I had watched him for months now and every day something suspicious seemed to happen. Today, the strange behavior revolved around the chocolate syrup pump sitting surreptitiously behind neatly placed metallic coffee mugs for sale. The perfect hiding spot for seedy behavior! A woman I earmarked as pleasant-enough looking leaned over the counter cautiously, eye over her shoulder to detect any prying eyes. She whispered something to the duplicitous cashier who squinted his eyes and squished his face, as if he smelled something rancid. Perhaps it were his devious plans that smelled so foul! But alas, all that would transpire would be a few extra squirts of syrup into the woman's drink. This wasn't enough to convince me of his la
sugar.the air scented like strawberries
.peach blossom rain drops
The BoardwalkAn old tradition
Strolling around the gift shops
Watching the arcades
T-shirts, key chains, shot glasses
For past, present, and future
the scarecrow's daughternailed on a south-facing fence
out where horizon meets sky
her shadow follows the sun
frayed faded lips softly sigh
day by day slow years passing
the clouds and birds sailing by
bold ravens tell her wild tales
of a life living so high
her heart of straw is longing
not even saying goodbye
soon she will let it all go
on a wild wind she will fly
scintillaincensed candles flicker
with hot dripping wax melting
coalesced between my cavities and
having taken the shape of my teeth
i chant the song of the fallen ones
within my ribs and broken fists
„chivalry is the art of war” yet
i found it to be rather ominous
when they pulled out my
filament bones out of my grave
and set me ablaze
in the vesper’s kindled ash to
bring solace for the fires quenched by
a creation storyi. it is a time
of big peace
the strangest children
are at play in the neo-prairie
where the second peoples
seeded a native grass
named after the first peoples
no acidic thunderhead
or noxious gale will dull
their small sick body’s scampering
through stretches of wild indigo
& culver’s root
all these fresh souls
have not been on Earth
long enough to know
the hell it has been through
& are most frantically in love
with orb weavers
& parsnip butterflies
these divine children
do not care to distinguish
pollen from pesticides
as if they were
the last honeybees
ii. it is a time
of great remembering
all these matriarchs
go binding together society
through communal chatter
& culinary delights prepared
in the fatback of feral swine or
the oil supremely pressed
of black walnuts
they drop spindle fur
plucked from great rodents
which sleep in the hollows
of lichen-crusted culvert pipes
& rear their young in the shelter
of collapsed automobiles
great greasy roden
coolingat the tender grey stop street, i found a ballerina
with the phases of the moon stapled to her thighs.
above and around, the sun in the sky was soft and wet.
the floor tilted and jerked me back and forth but,
you know, the way you can't look away from a
speck of dust,
she was milk dripping on ash,
one foot pinned to the tar,
the other calf swinging thickly, gently back and forth
a raindrop dangling off a leaf.
eyes folding over, her head rocked quietly on her neck
she was a small wind, a corner of my vision.
the quiet white fog sitting beneath my skin.
Bullets, Flowers, LeavesI have drawers for bullets
The rain sometimes comes
more sometimes than other
The sun sneaks out and splatters
waves on the wall; trees in the wind.
Bullets, flowers, leaves.
The world here is made of rocks
ground down some
and some leave me to wonder
about the works
of simple men
that do so little,
not even as much as the rocks.
Bullets, flowers, leaves.
Spring in Winter
Winter in Summer
and Fall never,
with the sea angry at your elbow
and the people the people the people
who drive the roads back and forth
howling the pavement to
the next whatever
that cannot ever arrive.
Nix BeatsAll you angel headed hipsters. Look how far you've fallen.
You flew too close to the moon, didn't you? For so long you were lifted up by soothing walking baselines and crooning saxophones intermingled with the rusty whirring thoughts of the rejects who loved you. You were underdogs who scavenged the streets for their next hit and abandoned the unis where students scrawled formulaic villanelles and had to be scared into realizing that sex was actually a thing people had.
Your starry dynamo sputtered and crashed and burned under the pressure, yet you survived.
You survived long enough to get the masses to agree with you. They saw your ecstasy-induced visions of technicolor and decided to reflect them in their rainbow hair and tacky jewelry, to mark themselves from the rest of the sheeple with fleecy flannels and problem glasses, and to write poetry. Just like you.
Well, I say poetry, but it isn't really. Not anymore. It's a political manifesto wrapped up in histrionics baked in narcissis
so be itsome of us are content
sketching out proofs in chalk,
elbow-deep in the guts of mechanics
where sparks fly
in a flood of associations/
torment of carnations bursting
with the precision of an abstract language
works when some things clearly do:
a crystal clear sound,
a 7am fog
i don't understand; & i try harder
with different starting points,
looping off in mad hare tracks,
but it seem like it always converges
to a cardinal landing
on a puffy pine branch.
in a few years, wordworts
will sprout no new cones,
all i hope for are new arrangements