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:iconmaudlin-mandolin:

~Maudlin-Mandolin

better known as Misanthrope
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About Me Member Romantic Writer Amanda20./Female/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 1 Year
Needs Premium Membership Statistics 225 Deviations
716 Comments
8,732 Pageviews

To Heal your Fear.

+ Some are born to sweet delight,
+ Some are born to endless night.
--William Blake Auguries of Innocence

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+Name - Amanda
--Named after the Mandolin
+Characteristics - A fracid individual with a sensitivity to light and copious amounts of malice - with an affinity to the arts, romance, different cultures, literature, and vanilla cake. Also, one may consider her to be misanthropic or tempermental given her avoidant nature towards social situations of a youthful atmosphere. Rest assured, she is a but a mere hermit.

+ Though I am a writer, I will not post anything of substance on deviantArt. To me, my writing is my sanity - the purest form of my soul - and to have it taken for distribution purposes unlawfully is a certain form of torture I do not wish to experience. Settle for my musings, my incoherent thoughts, and not much else...

+ I read often, write constantly, sing opera, compose music, do arabesques through the house, laugh heartily, blush frequently, and cry always. I am human, in some capacity, though my pictures may suggest otherwise.

+ Yes, that IS my natural eye color.

+ I do request that you ask permission AND receive consent before re-editing any of my pictures. I enjoy knowing someone is inspired by what I've created -smiles-

Also - I am an incredibly busy and flighty person (by nature). Know now that I appreciate every fave, comment, and watch received - and please do not feel neglected if I don't respond right away or at all. I am beyond grateful and humbled by the response received here, but I can't keep up with everything constantly.

+ Thank you for visiting!

FAQ:

Is that your natural eye color?
Yes, actually it is. The vibrancy differs from picture to picture based upon the amount of light that was naturally taken with the picture. Normally, I do UP the vibrancy if it's a particularly dull picture, but unless stated otherwise or blatantly obvious - that IS my natural eye COLOR.

May I use one of your pictures for this event?
My pictures are protected under COPYRIGHT. You can NOT edit, redistribute, or otherwise 'borrow' them for any such event or purpose. You may not receive payment for them. AND I request that you ASK AND receive CONSENT before even attempting the aforementioned.

Neither here 'nor there.

Thu Oct 29, 2009, 5:28 AM
  • Mood: Emotional
  • Listening to: The Last Man - Clint Mansell (Fountain Soundtrack)
  • Reading: my own writing / Shakespeare's Sonnets
  • Watching: The Fountain.
  • Playing: Yoville.
  • Eating: coffee.
  • Drinking: the noxious fumes belonging to a menthol cigarette
Thoughts

How infinitely flawed my mind has become. How raw, and ravenous.
With the decay of the foliage, I lament the coming of Winter anew. A keen sense of personal neglect settles upon me, yet I feel no inclination to reverse the despair befalling my person.
Why such sadness? Why such harmonious affliction, destitute of folly and pregnant with pain?

Every year, I plummet further.
The bottom is a pit, hollow and abysmal, capable of swallowing strife and pleasure.
Yet I find no end. I never scrape my limbs against a surface that would allow leniency to climb. Just a rapid fall. Falling....and falling....

............................................................

Observations

Orange paints my otherwise gray palette. Beneath an overcast sky hangs eager hands curling towards Heaven and recoiling from their Earthly restraints. Foul have ceased their song. Decay falls in listless semi-circles to an otherwise frostbitten ground. Crisp breeze replaces warmth, chilled water encased flat surfaces underfoot, yet I find my bones rattle from within and my feet never remain a tepid temperature or dry. Here and there, green, but never for long and always attached to cynicism.

My hair smells of stagnant smoke and carries a lingering fragrance of bitter orchids. The product of the evening is evident under my eyes, in deepened lines and unappealing purple traces of discoloured flesh. Upon my knuckles rests the first indication of the cold and no matter the generous amounts of lotion applied - they will remain unhappily cracked and perpetually bleeding. I find it to be the outer display of inner, but I never voice my fantastical musings towards the existential aloud. I smile, though hackneyed and clearly forced, but it is received nevertheless.

And everyday, the eyes of my failure rest upon my own to haunt my psyche. Everyday, I relive that failure once more - through the inadvertent actions that hint at words left unsaid. The constant ups and downs have me feeling queasy, but to stomach my own pain may pay off in the future. May.

I press the cigarette butt between my lips, inhale the flavor I love to hate, and expel the noxious fumes into the air. "Here and there, stars," I whisper to myself, but night has already turned to day. My stars have disappeared. A dull hum to my right indicates my phone is ringing, yet again. Whatever world there is to share today, I do not wish to enter. Not right now.

The paintings hung with much care upon the walls appear daunting- with languid brushstrokes and somber hues, I find their untoward gaze oppressive suddenly. Their reality seems tangiable, as though I could reach forth to find an alabaster shoulder tightening beneath the unexpected tremor of an elongated fingernail. Her hair is delicate enough to slip all five digits through the coiled tresses. Her neck is long enough to hover one tender palm about the nape to demonstrate a mournful admiration. How beautiful they would be if they were real.

The phone continues to ring.

The Most Beautiful Song

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Devious Info

  • Current Residence: creating a hermit hole for herself in the US.
  • Interests: writing|composing music|drawing/painting|intellectual conversations|smoking.
  • Favourite movie: too many to name...
  • Favourite band or musician: those who are enraptured by love, despair, and morbidity.
  • Favourite genre of music: classical/opera|classic rock|symphonic rock|ambient|love metal|folk music
  • Favourite artist: botticelli
  • Favourite poet or writer: too many to name...
  • Favourite style of art: any type of painting|photo manipulations
  • MP3 player of choice: iPod touch.
  • Personal Quote: Your promises are as broken as the heart you crushed to make them.
  • Tools of the Trade: Music runs in my blood, words in my heart... I was born in the wrong era.

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