|October Is For Members Self-Portrait. If You Have Not Submitted A Self-Portrait, This Is A Good Time To Do So. For Our Benefit, The Self-Portrait Does Not Have To Look Exactly Like You. It Can Be An Image To Represents You. It Can Be A New One Just For Us, Ore Something You Already Have.|
You Can Read The Self-Portrait Literature From Our Writers In The Members Self-Protraits Folder, HERE:humanconditions.deviantart.com…
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|Welcome to Human Conditions! I see it as a combination of the two groups which inspired it, #So-Often-Bled and #Emotions-in-art. The edginess and imagination of #So-Often-Bled with the basic premise of #Emotions-in-art, capturing the range of emotions we experience as human beings.|
We are not for everyone. We are for serious artists of any media whose work deals with emotions and the condition of being human.
We would rather be a small, interactive group than a large group where everyone dumps their latest deviations. We want quality, not quantity.
~Original Founder Bark
Find The Rules And Group Standards On The About Page.
CalibanCaliban by Scarlettletters
They say this place
is the brothel
of my thoughts -
dirty gods and vacant wombs,
left at the top of these stairs,
but forgotten when the world skips a beat
and light crawls its way
to the bottom.
I watch what moves
from the window -
that brave new world -
and know I am piecemeal,
unmade and too rough to the touch,
my kiss an unborn thing.
I sucked from my mother's teat
sour as summer nettles
to be my wormwood,
bereft of fine manners
or a back to hang them on.
But all is not as it seems.
I only play the monster
when the crowd demands blood,
for my back breaks
like any other man,
my visage worthy of grace;
and I can feel my thoughts soar
the deft sparks of spring
longing to be uncaged
when beauty comes unbidden
and my sullen hide
shall turn like the worms in June
into something glorious.
blackberries, bramblesthere is a resentment buddingblackberries, brambles by toxic-nebulae
in my gut
as something from a swallowed seed.
dormant and deadly,
a steady outdripping of poison,
thick as a sap to be tapped,
to be harvested.
I fear it will overrun my
will corrupt the soil it grows in
with its violent outshootings—
it will turn every bit of me
into its grisly garden.
it will make you feel
The Dream I Am HavingPerhaps our Easter gatheringThe Dream I Am Having by thetaoofchaos
is a fool’s beautiful errand.
Maybe it is māyā, all of this,
China ice tea on English saucers,
silver settings for apparitions,
pimento cheese and hummus,
an offering to idols on cream linen relief.
The girls in their lace, and their cousin
rushing from footpath to bamboo garden,
a cache of oracles quick on their shoulders,
they are the brim of all worldly possessions,
though, they themselves are possessors.
I am full and satisfied to sleep in my sleeves
and believe in the dream of my wonderful life.