Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Artist Senior Member Schuyler Towne33/Male/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 13 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
Statistics 206 Deviations 7,529 Comments 67,567 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Literature
Untitled
If I'm found dead in the morning, I hope they find evidence of you on my body.
They'll scrape your skin from under my nails.
Study the hair I ripped out at the root.
Your dental records matched to the mark on my shoulder.
A CBS, hour-long ensamble drama, trying to solve the mystery of how well I was loved.
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 2 3
Literature
Everything you've missed
"You're doing - "
"I'm writing letters to Diane Sawyer."
"…why?"
"I just think she might have an interest in what I have to say."
"Can I read them?"
"No."
- - - - -
When Alan turned 16 he took to driving like a 16 year old kid with a license. Problem was, Alan never bothered with the licensing. Turned out not to matter, though, because by the time he turned 33 he'd never been in an accident or had a run-in with the highway patrol. It wasn't such an amazing feat, he supposed, but maybe commendable. On his 34th birthday he took to a pretty brunette his brother Tom introduced him to. She made him promise to get his license by 35. So, on the day before his 35th he drove himself to the DMV.
"Linda" Alan spoke her name as if they had met before, and hadn't gotten on very well.
"Alan?" Which was exactly the case. "What are you doing here?" Linda never much minded Alan's company, but he always made her tense up.
"What do you care?" Alan hated Linda because he was convinced she hated him.
"Well
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 3 41
It is a hat? :iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 44
Mature content
Antaeus: Falling :iconastrophel:Astrophel 1 25
Literature
Force
Tom hated tug boats. They were a common enough sight in the early mornings on the Winooski river. Tom was an amateur fisherman and had himself convinced that the tugs ran the fish off. So when, on a cold morning in late October, he saw a tug bringing an old barge up the river he cursed and hollered out to the other boats in the water.
"Heads up, boys!"
The other fishermen started to bring their lines in and those few in the middle of the river headed toward the banks. They sat silently in their boats watching the ships approach and listening to the traffic crossing the bridge above their heads.
Tom had been introduced to that fishing spot nearly a year and a half earlier. Shopping for a fishing pole seemed the thing to do when he was fired. His house was paid off and his wife, Anne, did quite well for herself so money wasn't a concern. After thirty-two years as a machinist he had been replaced. He took it well, though, and decided to try retirement. The first step, obviously, was picki
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 33
Literature
Lobster sticks to magnet
Sleep
1 Tonight you are earth against me
   the black forest
   my jungle
   seen smiling in bright flowers
2 or is that saw
   you look sad on me
   your body cold lava
   like soft white mud
3 sing out of it baby
   you have oceans in you
   the still peace of rain
   a blue garden pond of lost talk
4 I'm the big river boat
   your light green tree
   a nearby cloud
   & haven't we walked on wing before
--clever interlude--
I'm smart
and I want sex
       any questions
f"ather
5 Have you been an airport?
   I have
   I've seen a man taking off
       out of this world
       flying to the sky
          
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 5 80
Literature
Nov. 3rd 4th 5th
Water had run up the side of the boat and he was shin deep. There was a pause as the crew of the tug stopped rushing about yelling and stared at the sky where the bridge should have been.
A low thunder shuddered into the silence. The men turned to the sound. Tom wanted to scream or cry. It was a car, driving fast, shifting to fifth. Everyone waited. Tom saw his breath materialize. He noticed he was breathing heavily, forgetting how cold it was. The water in his shoes sloshed as he shifted weight and stared down at the pool by his feet. Finding this was easier to look at than unrealized tragedy he remained, head bowed, in wet boots, surrounded by water, in the middle of a river, quietly drowning.
It was obvious to the tug's crew that the car was going too fast. They began to scream and blow their horn. Tom's world grew too loud. He cocked his head and glared into the longest moment of his life. The car, small, black, pop-up headlights and an asymmetrical hood, drove on air for fifteen f
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 27
Literature
Nov. 2nd
It was dawn and there were several other boats out on the river.
"Watch the tug!" An older man pointed back behind Tom. When he looked, the barge wasn't three hundred yards away. He rowed for his life and ended up beside the same man who had yelled. Tom looked at the man, breathless, "I must have dozed off." The man smiled, "You're Tommy, yeah? Martin's son?"
The crisp morning air and aching muscles came together into pain Tom knew would leave him stronger. That recognition, realizing that his boat had been there before, that his father had been there, all brought a kind of peace. In his adult life he had lost faith in escapism. It was temporary and would not follow him home, but from that first morning Tom found a real, honest-to-God refuge.
So when Tom saw a tug steer a small barge into the concrete supports of the bridge it struck him as though he were a child about to be found in his tree house. He stared at the bridge as the road stretched impossibly and split, asphalt and metal h
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 15
Literature
Nov. 1st
Tom hated tug boats. They were a common enough sight in the early mornings on the Winooski river. Tom was an amateur fisherman and had himself convinced that the tugs ran the fish off. So when, on a cold morning in late October, he saw a tug bringing an old barge up the river he cursed and hollered out to the other boats in the water.
"Heads up, boys!"
The other fishermen started to bring their lines in and those few in the middle of the river headed toward the banks. They sat silently in their boats watching the ships approach and listening to the traffic crossing the bridge above their heads.
Tom had been introduced to that fishing spot nearly a year and a half earlier. Shopping for a fishing pole seemed the thing to do when he was fired. His house was paid off and his wife, Anne, did quite well for herself so money wasn't a concern. After thirty-two years as a machinist he had been replaced. He took it well, though, and decided to try retirement. The first step, obviously, was picki
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 8
Literature
Departure
Everybody is in the world today. Active participants, whether loving or mourning, there are only extremes in these few hours of awareness. Pride is fallow and unremarkable as golden bells, clean suits and other idols of false lives. Purity is waxing every soul, bringing strength and conscious understanding. Our life has not begun this morning. There is no great movement or new dawn. No building, no shaping or cohesion. We are pinned down to the previous minutes, moments, weeks and years. In this world today there has never been a promise made by nature, never an assurance from God. All is arbitrary and short-lived.
There are flies now, and they crawl on the glass of a hazed over window, staring at their brother on the other side who would be free, but for the screen. Hours pass and his movement slows. For their fascination, the others, trapped more wholly inside the house, exhaust themselves tipping dizzy circles to and from the glass to stare at the light, and the world and the monoto
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 2 80
Literature
Most Men's Lives .
Most Men's Lives
"We're two years into this now -" Eric paced the kitchen holding the phone to his ear with his daughter, Alex, on the other arm, "No. You need to stop..." Alex fidgeted. She had woken 20 minutes earlier to the phone ringing. "Please, you woke Alex...yes. Don't - " Eric took the phone away from his ear and set it gently on the kitchen table. He held Alex in front of him and tried to make eye contact. No luck, she was focused on his father's hands. Alex wrapped her forefinger half-way around the base of Eric's thumb and stared at it. They were quiet for a long time, Eric clutched Alex tight and suddenly his breath quickened, face flushed and eyes watered. He kissed his daughter's forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry babe, oh, I am sorry. You'll be okay. I promise."
                               - - - - -
"The problem as
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 3 37
Literature
My Unwritten Book
I set out to meet her. Sort of. It was late summer, early fall, and all of my friends were about to go, or had already gone, to college. I, however wasn't leaving for another month. I was out one night with a friend. We were driving and I asked him if he would introduce me to some of his friends at the University. It was a weak plan, basically I just wanted to have some people to hang out with when he left. I met, probably a half dozen people. She was . . . I don't know. . . . She was everything. Anything I say here will be clichéd so I'll just get on with it. I've always said that I'm great with strangers, but awful to my friends. So . . . we met.
Chapter 1
We arrived at 10:00. He had been having a long day, precipitated by a long week. It would be his first year away from home. It was something we were all thinking about, but he wasn't excited and he wasn't scared, he was just angry. All the time. I used to have a habit of analyzing my friends, but I'd always get sucked into the anal
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 3 76
Literature
Arrogance - In progress
"I am Shakespeare."
John smiled, amused at his own arrogance. The girl laughed, as she had been for the last ten minutes, it was yet another escalation. He wondered if she could peak. Everything he had said from the moment they met, minutes before. That her name was already forgotten amused him even more, because he was sure that she knew his. John, John was captivating, absurd and huge. Not huge, giant, he was a thin man, but he took up a room easily. Held it against the will of other large men, and the rare large woman. He often noticed that large women would try to take the room through their sexuality, and so John, despite his disinterest, and occasional spite would take it from her. He often joked about 'whipping it out' in the middle of conversation or argument. He mentioned it to the girl.
"Bring them to their knees?" she said wittily.
"Bring them to their senses." And she laughed. Peaked in fact, for John had just disgusted himself and felt the need to leave.
He got up, excusin
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 3 105
Literature
Once...
Once
There was a world where all of the parents lied to their children. These were not hurtful lies though, but rather ones meant to comfort the children. Simply, when the child would lose something, a toy, a gift, a favorite animal, anything really, the parents would tell them "Somewhere, someone is caring and loving and cherishing it"
But slowly as the children grew older, some becoming parents themselves, they came to understand that it was not so.
Some were angry.
Some were sad.
Most were indifferent and assumed that they should do the same, that it was just what you told children.
One child, however, grew up still believing.
Though he understood that what he had been told wasn't true, he wanted to make sure that it would be true for everyone else.
And one day,
He began to collect little things here and there; books, necklaces, toy trains and little dolls. Everything he came across he kept and loved. Soon it took over his room and house and even his attic. So the man, getting a lit
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 39 177
Literature
Play Workshop
Girl : Young woman 14-17 - Blind
Doctor: 45-60 Atheistic
Mother: 35-40
Devil: ?
God: ?
Lights on girl in bed facing stage, there is, perhaps, a desk or dresser nearby/upstage. All else is out of light.
Girl: (With lightness)
I do not know what it is like to be blind. I'm new at it. I'm not sure how to describe it or what I could to equate it to. It is not darkness. But perhaps void? It's not that someone has turned out the lights, but that they've ceased to exist. It is pure and it is terrifying because I constantly forget, and my dreams are as vivid as I've ever known. The awful part? That I saw it coming, if you'll follow the pun. It's been worsening for years with almost no resistance. And then, last wednesday it took an hour to get out of bed. I thought I was still asleep, trying to will my eyes open, trapped in a cyclical nightmare. Then my mother walked in.
(Lights up to reveal Mother standing in room looking at daughter)
Mom: Actually I had been standing there a while-
Girl: And
:iconAstrophel:Astrophel
:iconastrophel:Astrophel 1 62
Yeh I'm a writer, wanna fight? :iconastrophel:Astrophel 0 25

Favourites

Inebriate
:iconominousseed: OminousSeed

Wishlist

pet fish :iconloish:loish 10,095 827

Activity


deviantID

Astrophel
Schuyler Towne
Artist
United States
Current Residence: Boston
Hey, anyone still out there who used to know me?

It's very odd, reading back the latest in my "last journal entries ever" from nearly 2 years ago. In it I pretty much said that writing was something I had to give up as I finally committed to an adult life filled with new careers and other obsessions. Now, those other obsessions (lockpicking) have brought me full circle back to writing.

I've just signed a contract for my first book, to be published with O'Reilly in 2012, and so long as everything goes smoothly with the first one, they'd like me to start work on a second right away.

I feel like I should be a lot more eloquent. So much has happened in the last 2 years, but really, all I can think is that I've got a book deal and suddenly find myself immersed in the life I was always striving for back when I was active on dA. It's surreal, and I thought I should tell someone.

Boom!

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconlorikitty:
lorikitty Featured By Owner Dec 16, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy birthday! :) 
Reply
:iconinfrunitas:
Infrunitas Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Always a pleasure, good sir
Reply
:iconoptical-illusion:
optical-illusion Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Look at you with your book writing and stuff. Tis a long way from locks you've come.
Reply
:iconsodalicious:
sodalicious Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2013
Shoesssssssssssssssssss!!!! I miss you!!!!!!!! :heart:
Reply
:iconstrixastrophel:
StrixAstrophel Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconawesomecatplz:You have the same name as my Alter Ego/OC (Strix Starr Astrophel)!!!
Reply
:iconpyrogoth:
pyrogoth Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2012
holy crap just went through my old journals and saw your name and

wow, even now I remember that you were awesome LOL
Reply
:iconlemontea:
lemontea Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2012
:llama:
Reply
:iconraspil:
raspil Featured By Owner Dec 16, 2011   Writer
yes -- happy birthday.
Reply
:iconpinguino:
pinguino Featured By Owner Dec 15, 2010  Professional Digital Artist
happy birthday!
Reply
:iconmmfane:
MMFane Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2010  Professional Digital Artist
Ha, now that I saw your twitter message, I noticed your name is prominent in the corner. My bad. Thanks again. Really. I will pour my entire soul into Cracked if that can even begin to repay you for your kindness.
Reply
Add a Comment: