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About Deviant Artist jakimfettUnited States Recent Activity
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Feeding my inner demons
just to save my soul
I don't know how I got here
I don't know if I'm whole.

There's a deeper darkness sleeping, underneath my skin
a breath away
a whisper away
waiting for me to let it in.
The gritty crunch of sand under my boots echoed loudly in my ears. Every step lands with a thud and scrape no matter how hard I try to stay quiet. I'm waiting for the dull thud of a grenade behind me. I vault a low pile of rubble, and then my ears pop, the rocks on the floor jump slightly, and I feel more than hear the explosive go off.

The orange status icon at the edge of my periphery goes briefly red, then neutral grey. Under normal conditions, that could mean any number of things. Power pack died. Broken antenna coil. Software error in the status module. Gauntlet removal for some reason. My mind turns over each of them as I continue through the dark hallway. Broken windows and rotting doors to my left paint strips of light into my path. I keep moving at a steady pace, letting the routine of evading a search pattern occupy my attention.

The hallway ends in a yawning chasm, multiple floors pierced by a shaft ringed in balconies. A practiced flick of my hand sends the line up four or five levels, and my climbers click as they lift me skyward. A droning roar comes from above, but it's not close. I'm safe for the moment. Several bits of rubble fall silently into the abyss as I haul myself over the railing, trying to ignore the stinging in my shoulder. The roof is only a few more levels up, and I want to make it up before the painkiller wears off.

With a grunt of effort, I pull myself up one last time. The droning is closer, but not too close. The top level is breached in multiple places, making moving in a straight line difficult, but with this much air coverage, I can't risk a sprint across the exposed rooftop. The hallway ends a dozen meters from the edge of the building, crushed under the fuselage of a cargo flier. A quick jump and slash, the thin metal caves, dumping me into the blackness of the cargo hold. My display flickers red, then melts into a pattern of dark blue squares. I drop a marker just in case I survive this, and cut my way out of the other side.

The track is directly in front of me again. Thin strands of hybrid plastic are fused to every nearby structure, looking tiny despite their size. My display springs to life as I ping my remaining cameras. Only three or four left, leaving me feeling blind and exposed. According to my status module, the transport is still in range. I pull up my last cam feed, then with a quickly tapped command, I set it into motion.

The building shakes one more time as a cylinder the size of a loaf of bread accelerates past the sound barrier in the space of a quarter second. The distant roar of hoverjets abruptly ends, and the web before me lurches, then begins to dissolve. Within a moment, the material foams, solidifies, and then shifts as the entire structure recoils to repair the damage. I don't wait for the process to finish, throwing my line out and up, then swinging once more into the abyss. With the repair taking place, an additional disruption in the web won't be as noticeable, or at least that was the idea.

After slicing several strands and pulling myself up, I pull the shell strapped to my back loose and fold it open. Long enough for me to lay on, ribbed in one direction, it spans the holes in the webbing with ease. Holding the narrow sled in front of me, I launch myself forward, biting down to keep from crying out as my shoulder hits hard. Within a few seconds, I'm flying across the surface, skittering along the iron hard plastic just inches from my faceplate. My intercept slope is off slightly, and I tilt carefully to adjust my course.

Despite the delay, the transport is still there, hanging from the plasteel cables like a tumorous spider, all dark and angular and alien. The array of coils stretch out from it, hovering a meter from the webbing on each side, massive jaws clamped on to the cable, anchoring it in place. I can see my target, an oval of opaque dullness halfway along the side. I watch my display, then clench myself tight as the rangefinder falls below the fifty meter mark. At three meters away, faster than I can react, a shimmer of energy flickers into existence, protecting me for the split second of full deceleration as the sled, acting as the surrogate for all of my kinetic energy, folds in half as it slices a triangle the hull plating of the transport.

With a grunt of effort, I launch myself boot first into the hole.
I no longer feel the words
of ancient unknown power
the words would echo
the lines would flow
the way would be clear

an echo of firelight
then the darkness comes

I cannot hear the music
I cannot taste the rain
I know not if I'll ever
find my way again
Lost Words
Accepting what has happened and moving forward.

In 2014, I was prescribed a nasal spray that was supposed to help my congestion.
I'm one of the lucky few to have the side effect of losing my sense of taste and smell.

The world is a really flat, grey place without smells and tastes.
I'm equally satisfied by a $200 steak and a $0.99 hamburger...it tastes the exact same, by which I mean it has no taste.
Just grainy mush in my mouth.
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Don't miss "(reasons why we're) Drunk for the Holidays",
by the Anarchist Carolers (about all sorts of things you'd rather not think about):

0 - Native American Thanksgiving
1 - Homeless People Starve Sometimes
2 - Pretending to Get Along With Family
3 - Happiness Commercialization
4 - Poor People Work on Thanksgiving
5 - Black Friday Accidental Murders
6 - Twelve Days of Competing Sales
7 - Yule Was a Pagan Holiday
8 - Losing Hope for Humanity
9 - Assisted Suicide is Still Illegal (alt title: Why Grandpa Lives in Pain)
10 - That Gift Was Made With Sweatshop Labor
11 - Santa is a Pervert
12 - New Year's Day Accidental Pregnancies
13 - January is the Saddest Month
14 - Have You Broken Your Resolutions Yet?

deviantID

jakimfett
jakimfett
Artist
United States
I strive towards the legacy of the old ones, who spoke with the wind, who breathed the scent of the earth, who called the rain, who tasted fire, who walked the paths of the ancients. I am a warrior-poet, a student of the ways of wisdom. I form things with my hands, a worker of metal and wood and stone, finding the shapes of art already in the medium. I am an artist, one who questions the ways of things, and an emissary of a foreign land.

Look at me, look into me, and I will not look away.
Do you know what I am? Can you guess?

Journal History

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:iconkolizeon:
Kolizeon Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2010
O hai there u r!
Reply
:iconjakimfett:
jakimfett Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2010
I exist! Glad you found me!
Reply
:iconkolizeon:
Kolizeon Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2010
It took much searching! Oh wait, that's a lie...
Reply
:iconninja-jamal:
Ninja-Jamal Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2010
Thanks for adding me to your watch!!
Reply
:iconjakimfett:
jakimfett Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2010
No problem, keep up the good work!
Reply
:iconpersianperish:
PersianPerish Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the fave
Reply
:iconjakimfett:
jakimfett Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2010
You are welcome!
Reply
:iconnyumexico:
nyumexico Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2010  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
thanks for the favs :+fav:
Reply
:iconjakimfett:
jakimfett Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2010
You are welcome!
Reply
:iconcoldfirecustoms:
coldfirecustoms Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2010
Thank you so much for the :+fav:!

-CFC
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