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About Literature / Student Conrad AlbertynMale/South Africa Recent Activity
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Literature
Dogged
Our constantly beating hearts,
Coursing a lifeblood that yearns for freedom, choice, decisions.
Our want of the arts,
Yet we pass it by for fear of our next "recession"
Running against this "social damnation"
This seeming hatred of freedom for all.
Yet, we push through, our minds, ever molded for creation.
To find our kindling, ever relighting our passions.
We came here to interact, to enjoy, to embrace,
Against the odds of our terrors, so self-made
By those who are thought to be superior.
To begin, to endeavor, to chase.
Those who so selfishly hold to their career,
Like limpets with no other choice but to grip ever tighter.
We shall fight them in our minds,
Remaining cleverly subservient until our time has come.
For although the rich inherit the earth,
We experience it's true wonder.
Dogged, we are, our every step watched, yet they cannot feel what we feel,
Cannot comprehend struggle and it's own learnt lessons.
In this respect, they to are dogged.
And maybe the schadenfreude speaks t
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 0
Literature
Still Unspoken
A thought rift, in this, our minds-eye.
An irrevocable wedge between our destinies.
A sign of times so long gone by
As we quietly stare at the missed opportunities.
These scars, we’d healed together,
Bring only bitter memories,
And surrender
To the day we’d withheld our remedies.
This...resentment, born of decisions made,
This...disquiet in forbearance,
Makes us wish that we could trade
A quiet abhorrence,
For that which we’ve never said.
The mountains we’d painted
That we’d never have thought to traverse
Leading only to a divergence, tainted,
By this, our unspoken curse.
This...resentment, born of decisions made,
This...our distressed white flag flying,
Desperate, to stop this slow fade
A truce, most occupying,
But still unspoken.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 2
Literature
In-Considerable Doubt
I have felt in consolable need,
Distance offers only problematic conundrum.
To consider the stars would be to forget the moon.
To consider the moon would be to forget the journey ahead.
To ensure the now, would mean to remember the past
but in turn to mis-align the future.
One can (not) apologize in advance.
One can (not, only) be caught in the maelstrom of future mistakes.
Life spent amongst people, in closer proximity,
makes one, at times, forget people further adrift.
An in-considerable doubt and offence.
Lays one’s own intrusiveness to bare
it’s naked body in itself.
One sequesters oneself away,
in part to hide from the noise of those around him.
Your part in all this...?
Infinite.
One’s life has begun to revolve around your interaction.
It frightens, excites and mystifies.
Fear of losing you runs rampant in one’s thoughts
for one’s distance and one’s carelessness
seems to bring that dread to head.
Closer to the sun, our Icarus flies,
heeding no
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 2 0
Literature
Free
Looking out the window, with the clouds so heavy with rain,
Wishing we were out there, just to feel the air.
A petrifying shadow, falls across my desk,
As my eyes spy the papers placed there,
and the dread of my reality sets in.
My dreams speak to me in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
With thoughts of beaches and out of touch preachers,
On our way to get drunk.
Working the day job, afraid of the slave mob,
Judging my every move.
While I sit and wonder, why they tore asunder,
The morning, my noon and my night.
My dreams speak to me in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
With thoughts of those preachers, coming to meet us,
And finally join the howl of our pack.
Looking out the window with clouds now relenting their tears,
To rise from my desk, at the risk of my cheque,
So we may once again, be one with the sky.
And lovingly howl out and cry.
For my dreams speak in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
When wolf, man and our myriad creatures,
Could stand by the preachers
And be al
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 3
Literature
Icarus
One respectfully requests, by order of our humanity
To become an unfeeling automaton
So that we may grow to serve your reality
In which our subjugation becomes a conclusion, forgone.
A hive-minded, corporate puppetry, gives assurance,
In which we understand, that exploitation,
Is necessity, in our search for a mutual insurance
Of our mental ruination.
Our unquestioning action,
Requires our bodies to sacrifice,
To oil the cogs with our putrefaction
And to give more children to your market price.
One respectfully requests, by order of our humanity,
To make us not weep at their youthful ignorance,
As we show them the ways of your reality.
And tie their wings, with thoughts of Icarus.
So they may not misstep and destroy our perfect rhyme,
To make us not feel, when we deceivingly tell them,
That their will to be like us, is a dream, sublime
And their freedom is one you condemn.
Our unquestioning action,
Requires our young ones as sacrifice,
To oil the cogs with our putrefaction
And to give
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 1 4
Literature
Confessions
Out damned spot.
The words of a long lost sinner.
Out damned spot.
That allow for their internal quandary to overcome them at moments of their weakness.
Out damned spot.
Standing on the knife edge of our lives,
reasons unknown beyond the reality of our choices,
and slowly fading away.
Poor Dorian,
a man misled,
Poor Gray,
by his own beauty.
Poor Dorian Gray,
forever,
like Narcissus broken
by his own curse.
Tragedy, follows Triumph,
Doggedly,
Biting at our heels
A fear unknown.
We walk ever quicker.
A broken lullaby crashes through the (dis)quiet of our reverie.
A Harambe for some, a “We all stand together”
A twisted serenade,
as needle scratches worn,
warped record.
We’ve heard it, not all of it,
But enough to know,
That this is our goal.
Faded, yet still there,
Let’s hope, Hope
Restores our faith.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 3
Literature
Not Unequally Torn
This little notepad, empty,
until called for by my hatred,
the pages...uncomfortably white,
the words black, attempting to free
A colour, a life in me,
and why does it matter?
Why did it matter?
and how does it matter to we,
the world of equality?
To wish I could struggle
And wriggle my rhyme
but I stand here
helpless, like an amputee.
To be or not to be,
to free or not too free?
the question asked, inconsistent
to the next parolee.
Comprehension comes at a price to me
a bloodied fist and a bloodied nose
as my thoughts finally come to blows
and blinded by rage, I cannot see;
the English in my cup of tea,
the Europe in my bended knee
the chipped glass in my repartee
the lies in my guarantee
To this falsified me.
To this detainee
To this deportee
"Go back to Africa"
They'd say
"Cause you're not me"
they'd say
"It's just a difference"
they'd say
"Between us and we
and you're not invited
to our little party"
"And that's just that"
they'd say,
a commonplace mystery
and the reason we cannot
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 3 1
Literature
For You
Expected to just get up and be strong...
Expected to not be fazed
with what is being thrown at you.
We know that...
We've known that all our lives...
And no one cares...
We're expected to be there for everyone
but no one is there for us when we need it...
And when they are, we disregard talking about it
...because all we want is a break...
Exactly that…
A time to talk about all the fun things
and just be carefree
...because no one wants a downer...
And we get everyone's problems
day in and day out but we can't be sad,
we are the strong ones that must keep them all afloat
And when we are down,
they tell us all the things we told them
as though we don't know it...
And we are told to follow our own advice...
Not like we don't know how...
We have different needs...
We have different ways of needing to communicate,
but we have no one who can listen to us as we listen to people.
We need another us to listen and to help...
That's why we shy away from people,
because we know that most of
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 3
Literature
A Chance Meeting
We met on Thursday evening, fell directly into step as if nothing ever changed, it felt like walking in Cape Town, no awkward hello, nothing. Just as though there wasn't a gap between the last time we said goodbye and now.
I felt oddly at peace, like being around my best friend since grade 9 (I know other people have had friends for longer but that was a luxury a constantly moving folf did not have back in Primary school) brought me a sense of completeness.
However, saying goodbye yesterday and watching the grizzled wolf walk off to the train station made it feel like I was waking up from some dream and that the brief time we'd spent together was merely the smallest respite from the emptiness I really have inside.
Honestly, I miss Cape Town, I miss the familiar paths, the long travelling walks between Bellville Station and someone's place in Stellenberg, trips to the station in Stellenbosch that would inevitably lead me to the rollicking roads of Cape Town, for which I would find my ow
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 2 0
Literature
Voices
'The "Good" die Young'
The folly of the things we forgot
a glory so misbegot
that we glorify their ranks of the martyr's lot
and the taste still sour on Our collective tongue.
Misproposed, unprovoked, inadequate
we strive to their presence,
to come to the present
of the misrepresented, the inconsequential.
to find that we're wanting and inconsistent
on the views we find abhorrent,
intrusive yet non-existent
a fraying line
a praying line
entwined by the very line
that would teach us "hope"
to believe in the better "man"
believe in the woman's "equal" line.
Yet this line we toe
little more than the line of a bow
which we fire at those
in the firing line.
"We are the Hollow Men"
a bang at the start
racing to the sounds of the guns
as they fire
at the people protecting their young
ones that would never again
see the light of day, promised by them.
Yet we whisper our dissent
in an accent unheard
a voice among the voices of hate
a plea
a small cry
found wanting in the public eye
did she die
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 1
Literature
Blossom
Can you find relief?
In the darkest time of year?
A blossom of hope.
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:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 1 0
Literature
Two Step
Two steps forward
and we’re walking in place.
Too slow to keep up
And the world’s picking up the pace.
Our Pavlovian alarm-clocks
Remind us of our duty
To our sons and daughters
Our society and our culture
To pick ourselves up
And to “pull up our socks”
Two steps forward
And we’re walking in place
Too tired to run
As we slowly begin to efface,
as our visage
ground to a smoothness
against the stone
That forces us to goosestep
Shows us to comply
as our car engines drone.
Too weak to stand
As we feel ourselves erase
Two steps forward
And we’re walking in place.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 1 0
Literature
Under the Hammer
Left for dead in a hustle of the rat race,
covering your inner pains,
ignored by the city
at its fastest pace.
The smiles they seem so gritty.
Solve for your soul,
your inner substance,
yet find your liver and heart
worth more than the whole
with which you take part.
Insanity has gripped
the walls of our passions
crushing our will to embrace
and with it our urges ripped
without a trace.
Under the hammer,
stricken hard,
your pained cries
turned to horrified stammer
as your soul is sold for lies.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 1 2
Literature
Control
Control, keep the guise and hold your poise (n)
Clench your fists and show your worth
Be someone who has earthly joys in,
the daily nonsensical mirth.
Always smile, enjoy the night
Salt the wounds to remove the sting
Be someone who will always fight,
for the cause
(slipping)
to which you cling.
(slipping)
Contr-…ol the day, fight the urge
(falling)
Worthy…warrior…
war…
       Control!
Control!
               Control!
No…
Smile. Poise. Worth. Joy. Mirth.
For whom? For no one.
Guise. Poison. Salt the wound. Sting. Cling. Warrior.
For what? For nothing.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 0
Literature
The Beast
The orchestra of chaos begins its benign crescendo
and slowly the beast awakens on the central stage.
The rumble of the timpani in adagio
as the sky is rumbling in its rage.
The violins (no, violence) play in shrieking arrhythmia
The beast awakens, a fantasia,
and the kettle-drums begin to broil,
the wind, con forza, to cause the air to roil
The brass, they blast out a furious warlike drone,
The beast in a turbulent temper thrashes amidst the stage
The choir screams
as the creature enacts its rage.
The crescendo and chaos hit the peak,
The beast and its barbaric bashing,
The crowd already standing.
An encore…full of rancour
to will the beast to come.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 0 0
Literature
The Dying Light
The best lack all conviction,
we’ve lost our will
to the evil beast
of More.
No devils lie here,
no choices between the
light and the dark.
Too torn we are between the lines
of dying in a distant murmur
or a fear of those who care.
Cut off we are from the bell towers,
that should warn us in the night,
of things to come and where to run
as the world plunges to its plight.
Then the worst!
Filled with their intense passions
have lost their will to care
and breathe the fiery breath of suffering.
Born to the flames,
No choices made, yet here they stand
Plaguing our missed desires
Caught up in their curséd craving,
to catch the meek
or bring about an apocalypse now.
With trinkets and houses
to catch us with their eye,
and so too seclude us, hinder and delude us,
So slowly our light
will die.
:iconIvic-Wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe
:iconivic-wulfe:Ivic-Wulfe 2 2

Activity


Our constantly beating hearts,
Coursing a lifeblood that yearns for freedom, choice, decisions.
Our want of the arts,
Yet we pass it by for fear of our next "recession"

Running against this "social damnation"
This seeming hatred of freedom for all.
Yet, we push through, our minds, ever molded for creation.
To find our kindling, ever relighting our passions.

We came here to interact, to enjoy, to embrace,
Against the odds of our terrors, so self-made
By those who are thought to be superior.
To begin, to endeavor, to chase.
Those who so selfishly hold to their career,
Like limpets with no other choice but to grip ever tighter.

We shall fight them in our minds,
Remaining cleverly subservient until our time has come.
For although the rich inherit the earth,
We experience it's true wonder.

Dogged, we are, our every step watched, yet they cannot feel what we feel,
Cannot comprehend struggle and it's own learnt lessons.

In this respect, they to are dogged.
And maybe the schadenfreude speaks too deeply in our hearts,

When we see their Ozymandias in the sand.
A thought rift, in this, our minds-eye.
An irrevocable wedge between our destinies.
A sign of times so long gone by
As we quietly stare at the missed opportunities.

These scars, we’d healed together,
Bring only bitter memories,
And surrender
To the day we’d withheld our remedies.

This...resentment, born of decisions made,
This...disquiet in forbearance,
Makes us wish that we could trade
A quiet abhorrence,

For that which we’ve never said.

The mountains we’d painted
That we’d never have thought to traverse
Leading only to a divergence, tainted,
By this, our unspoken curse.

This...resentment, born of decisions made,
This...our distressed white flag flying,
Desperate, to stop this slow fade
A truce, most occupying,

But still unspoken.
I have felt in consolable need,

Distance offers only problematic conundrum.

To consider the stars would be to forget the moon.

To consider the moon would be to forget the journey ahead.



To ensure the now, would mean to remember the past

but in turn to mis-align the future.

One can (not) apologize in advance.

One can (not, only) be caught in the maelstrom of future mistakes.



Life spent amongst people, in closer proximity,

makes one, at times, forget people further adrift.

An in-considerable doubt and offence.

Lays one’s own intrusiveness to bare



it’s naked body in itself.

One sequesters oneself away,

in part to hide from the noise of those around him.

Your part in all this...?



Infinite.

One’s life has begun to revolve around your interaction.

It frightens, excites and mystifies.

Fear of losing you runs rampant in one’s thoughts

for one’s distance and one’s carelessness



seems to bring that dread to head.

Closer to the sun, our Icarus flies,

heeding no cautionary tales of yore.

But to reach the destination of our closest star



is to burn in heavenly bliss.

To wait, leads to death, to hesitate,

to, hold, hold, hold, only brings more uncertainty.

To hope, disappointment.



One has faith, that the right path is being chosen,

to feel the warmth of your light is a goal.

But fear looms ever closer as one’s insecurities lay

me to my knees and ask only to ever question why.



Love, love, love, hold me,

but cast me aside if one cannot break from distraction.

As I am, as I have said, I am not perfect, I am not an angel.

One is only Icarus, sworn to burn before he has ever reached his destination.

So one waits, eventually curls away, distraction leading me further adrift.



Consternation, ever present, one feels that one is doing enough to satisfy,

only to realize, I have done nothing correct and have never taken notice.



Begging now, wanting to prove that his whole heart is with you,

he stammers, he waits, he attempts to provide reason.

For naught but your approval. Adrift, at sea,

on melted wings, his shortcomings, the sun, still unobtainable.



His sandstone reasoning, his thoughts, quickly melt away

all left, only the nakedness of the truth within him.

Wanting to say, I love you. Again. Again. Again.

Yearning, yet careful as both past, present and future,



cast only more doubt in his ability. My ability.

To show proper, DUE, affection.

To be everything you’ve pedestalled me to be.

To only show, more the cracks and peels



As your sun bakes my skin.

I cry, but I cannot answer.

I open my mouth, to speak.

“My Love!”



And even at this.

Even here.

I cannot live without you.

To say, “I understand.”



Would incur insult.

To say, “I’ll do better.”

Offers no promise.

To say, “I’ll be here.”



Offers no solace.

I wish I could be more.

To be that which you want me to be...

to be that which I’ve promised I’d be.



I can only offer what I’ve in principle,

Always offered.

Me.

And that is, my painful uncertainty,



my indescribable feelings for you,

but my describable short-comings.

Warned you, I had of these.

But I can only offer this.



I offer me. I want to be.

Yours. Yours alone.

But know...I am here.

Flawed, in considerable doubt.



To face the trials,

The tribulation.

The slings and arrows.

And much like Hamlet.



A decisiveness will come.

And I am here beside you.

I am here to be with you.

To love and respect you.
One respectfully requests, by order of our humanity
To become an unfeeling automaton
So that we may grow to serve your reality
In which our subjugation becomes a conclusion, forgone.

A hive-minded, corporate puppetry, gives assurance,
In which we understand, that exploitation,
Is necessity, in our search for a mutual insurance
Of our mental ruination.

Our unquestioning action,
Requires our bodies to sacrifice,
To oil the cogs with our putrefaction
And to give more children to your market price.

One respectfully requests, by order of our humanity,
To make us not weep at their youthful ignorance,
As we show them the ways of your reality.
And tie their wings, with thoughts of Icarus.

So they may not misstep and destroy our perfect rhyme,
To make us not feel, when we deceivingly tell them,
That their will to be like us, is a dream, sublime
And their freedom is one you condemn.

Our unquestioning action,
Requires our young ones as sacrifice,
To oil the cogs with our putrefaction
And to give more to your market price.

One respectfully requests, by order of our humanity,
To be able to plead for a medication
That would bring bliss in our reality
And a doctor to approve our mental abdication.

A hive-minded, corporate puppetry, gives assurance,
In which we understand, that exploitation,
Is necessity, in our search for a mutual insurance
Of our mental ruination.

We thank you, in advance,
And hope to hear from you soon,
We feel there is a chance,
That you would grant us this boon.
Icarus
This song had some composition added to it recently, you should go check it and all his other stuff out!

soundcloud.com/user-331157852/…
Loading...
Looking out the window, with the clouds so heavy with rain,
Wishing we were out there, just to feel the air.
A petrifying shadow, falls across my desk,
As my eyes spy the papers placed there,
and the dread of my reality sets in.

My dreams speak to me in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
With thoughts of beaches and out of touch preachers,
On our way to get drunk.

Working the day job, afraid of the slave mob,
Judging my every move.
While I sit and wonder, why they tore asunder,
The morning, my noon and my night.

My dreams speak to me in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
With thoughts of those preachers, coming to meet us,
And finally join the howl of our pack.

Looking out the window with clouds now relenting their tears,
To rise from my desk, at the risk of my cheque,
So we may once again, be one with the sky.
And lovingly howl out and cry.

For my dreams speak in pictures,
Of days oh so long gone by,
When wolf, man and our myriad creatures,
Could stand by the preachers
And be all we want to be.
Free
I'm beginning to write more...holy crap! Also! This guy: soundcloud.com/user-331157852 is beginning to take some of my work and working some composition to it. Maybe I'd like to see how far we can go with this. :D
Loading...
  • Listening to: Finger Eleven
  • Reading: News articles
  • Watching: The Sunset
  • Playing: With ideas
  • Eating: tuna and apple
  • Drinking: Whiskey and water
So it's been a while since I've said anything on this page, I've posted the odd poem and attempted just to keep this as alive as possible. I've moved up to Gauteng in the meantime, have a job up here hopefully beginning to do what I was meant to do this year.

I've come to a conclusion where in the past year I could no longer consider myself to be able to love women in the same way as one is supposed to. I couldn't see beyond a lot of things in the last year. I was engaged (again) don't want to make that a habit, broke up and finally decided it was time for me to accept the fact that I am gay. 

Aside from that I'm attempting to find ways to become more vocal in my leftist and liberal views. I want to, by the time I'm 40 become a political force within South African government and hopefully by then we'll have sorted out the teething problems in this country. 

Anywho for those of you who missed me, I'm alive. For those of you who didn't I may as well be dead. :P 

Tata til next time

deviantID

Ivic-Wulfe's Profile Picture
Ivic-Wulfe
Conrad Albertyn
Artist | Student | Literature
South Africa
Current Residence: Stellenbosch-Helderberg residence
Favourite genre of music: Power Metal, Progressive Metal, classical
Favourite style of art: My sister's
Operating System: Windows XP
Wallpaper of choice: Most Anime wallpapers
Favourite cartoon character: dunno really...
Personal Quote: Nothing is more deceitful than toast...you cannot trust it...or it will burn
Interests

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:icongalahadridire:
GalahadRidire Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hello there, Ivic! This is Galahad (as the more observant may have deduced from my username... XD). I hope you don't mind if I add you to my watchlist!
Reply
:iconthelunarwriter:
Thelunarwriter Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the Added to my devWatch! 
Reply
:icontripplepoint:
TripplePoint Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Haya Ivic, THX for the watch. This is a good way to start getting all the ZAFurries :)
Reply
:iconrainbowflower333:
Rainbowflower333 Featured By Owner May 25, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thinks for the fav.
Reply
:iconleewardshore:
LeewardShore Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank for watching :)
Reply
:iconzeefluffy:
ZeeFluffy Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2013
Thanks for the watch :)
Reply
:iconcrazeejedi:
CrazeeJedi Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
thank you for watching :3
Reply
:iconpropagandattack:
propagandattack Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2009
Hey man, thanks for the fav. I enjoy your poetic style. Your writing has meaning to it.
Reply
:iconivic-wulfe:
Ivic-Wulfe Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2009  Student Writer
Thanks. Yours is pretty awesome. Us poets have to stick together here lest we get washed away by the tide of pictures that crash against the shore here every day. :P
Reply
:iconubercutefluffytiger:
UberCuteFluffyTiger Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2009
Hey its Tigris Astartes :3
Reply
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