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About Literature / Student Senior Member Nic SwanerMale/United States Groups :iconcrliterature: CRLiterature
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Nichrysalis
Nic Swaner
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Artist's Statement 10/25/2011

Nic Swaner is a studying graphic designer, and a budding young writer whose concepts and syntax require a rush of blood and breath to the lungs. For inspiration he need not look far from the cyclopean sun, feel the displacement before the epilepsy, synthesize some synesthesia, or recall the origami folds his hands have memorized throughout the years.

Nic is almost entirely self-taught in the ways of writing and in doing so has created a style all his own. His medium is mainly through poetry, short stories and articles for websites; he excels in portraying his thoughts and ideas in a world of complex and harmonious verbiage. He is always whittling away at several works of writing that will be submitted to free publishers or magazines. Nic will always be happy to edit and critique your writing, whether it's poetry or prose. Contact him at Packeranatic@gmail.com.

Nic is currently studying graphic design and the fundamentals of art. He has always emphasized the power of concept over complexity, and have maximized color and composition to their utmost potential. He prefers to work with photomanipulations and typography to portray his concepts. He is always open to critique from his peers. Other artistic endeavors from Nic include folding origami, film photography, darkroom artwork such as photograms, and music production.

Trivia

Nic lives in Chicago, Illinois, but his hometown is Robinson, Illinois. He likes Progressive Rock and Underground Rap music. Marcus J. Ranum is his most adored photographer. Samurai Jack is his favorite cartoon character along with Ed, Edd, and Eddy. His favorite ice cream flavor is French Vanilla. He has a mild form of sound to color synesthesia for melodies and believes the song Echoes by Pink Floyd is green.

"The world is only as old as the person to whom you speak." - Nic Swaner

Interests
My great-grandfather may not be long for this Earth, and I'm not sure I'm taking the news well. He has been and is my hero. He is the same person I wrote about here:

Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.
I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.
Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could spot the caterpillar creeping to the underside of the leaf.
That's when I looked at Grandpa,
And saw through his eyes nature receding
At his prescience of a storm.
"Grandpa, how do you always know?"
He chuckled and simply said: "The world tells me."
It was left at that, but years later I have found
That the world is only as old as the person to whom you speak.


So I've been listening to my music as much as I can; I can't visit him due to my business here and the distance between us (5 hours), so I can only wait and hope that he gets bumped on the list for his operation, which honestly, I haven't been told enough details about. :(



On September the first 2007, I learned what it's like to feel the world collapse beneath me
To free fall for so long that you forget what the ground ever felt like in the first place
And the only thought you do have, is that when you finally land you hope as hard as enough that no piece of you will be discovered again
You see..
I watched my hero die that day my friends
And so far I have survived every day since
I have no choice but to forward while being gnawed on by the birds of prey
Praying that I never have to take another step in the same direction
I am the deliverer of ashes
A cultivator of roses in my fathers name
And while I missed the pieces of myself that has been killed by my own hands
I celebrate the ones that I have created since
I have reinvented myself more times than I care to count and each one is a little less beautiful than the last which leads me to here, the now
The culmination of every moment of my life and I want nothing more than to tear every piece of my flesh off one by one to show you what's been hiding underneath
Because these are the flowers for my father

Such a beautiful song... and similar to how I feel now.

Journal History

Comments


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:iconbloodshotink:
Thanks for the fave!
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:iconnichrysalis:
Nichrysalis 3 hours ago  Student Writer
Welcome! :hug:
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:iconfritob:
Thanks for the fave!
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:iconnichrysalis:
Nichrysalis 2 days ago  Student Writer
Welcome! :)
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callerofcrows 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
I AM SO SORRY I MISSED WISHING YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY ON THE ACTUAL DAY. Happy belated birthday, my friend!
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:iconnichrysalis:
Nichrysalis 4 days ago  Student Writer
No worries! I love each of my comments unconditionally. ;) :love:
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:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
I hope you had a beautiful birthday, sweetpea. :heart:
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:iconnichrysalis:
Nichrysalis 4 days ago  Student Writer
I did! Thanks m'lady. :)
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:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome, honey. :hug:
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:icontreehousecharms:
Happy Birthday my friend :)
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