TO BE ALIVE

THIS PROJECT IS FOR THOSE WHO PURCHASED ONE OF THE TWENTY AVAILABLE PAVONINE/AKW PACKAGES.
THANK YOU FOR BEING A PART OF THIS. LET’S WATCH IT ALL COME TOGETHER.
SUBMIT YOUR PHOTOGRAPH OF YOUR PIECE WITH A LINE FROM “TO BE ALIVE” HERE:
 

Your Name (required)

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Piece Number

Michael no. 1

Michael | No. 1

Nathan Doverspike No. 2

Nathan Doverspike | No. 2

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Eddie Enciu | No. 3

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No. 5 Laura Griffith

Laura Griffith | No. 5

Mo No. 6

Mo | No. 6

Will no. 7

Will | No. 7

Marie-Eve No. 8

Marie-Eve | No. 8

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ryanpiece 10-2

Ryan Slattery | No. 10

Joseph No. 11-Sq

Joseph | No. 11

Brian no.12

Brian Mullins | No. 12

Ryan no. 13

Ryan | No. 13

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Lawrence No. 15

Lawrence Pont | No. 15

Natalie No. 16

Natalie | No. 16

gaby no 17

Gaby | No. 17

Eric no. 18

Eric Gomez | No. 18

James Roy No. 19

James Roy | No. 19

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WHILST LISTENING

MANY OF YOU HAVE WRITTEN TO US telling of art you’ve made inspired by AKW.
AS A BAND, WE LIVE for this.
HERE IS A CHANCE TO COLLECTIVELY PRESENT THAT WORK.
SUBMIT VIA .JPG, .MP3, URL OR UPLOAD.

Your Name

Your Email

Your submission URL

Alas, my pockets are empty, and my only payment is in the form of kind words.
by anonymous
I am only a tiny sapling, yet to me you are already a garden of Eden –
well-thought of, organized,
clean, simple, calm, nothing in disarray
a stark contrast to my tornado of confusion, of doubt, and anxiety
nothing has grown on my branches, no rose in sight
what am i missing, how do i seek it
I can only soak up a glimmer of your breathtaking light and aspire to develop such beauty one day.
But perhaps time is the answer, the fertilizer to all growth
There must be a magic age when all comes to fruition
And so I privately ask, and if you wish to answer,
How old are you?
avatars-000239425190-7z3l23-t500x500

by Sean Patrick McGowan

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by There’s Talk

watercolormood

by Elizabeth Ireland

lolaaa

by Ashley Ballard

anthrolettersquare

by anonymous

catcherbyMEVE
mepainting

by Marie-Eve Simard

DbyMEve
AlexbyMEvee
alexbyMEve

by Marie-Eve

Time Lines
by Fraser Scott
inspired by AKW

The butterfly floated by,
My nose from my closed eyes,
I don’t know when he arrived,
The sound of wings never dies.

As the clock tick tocks its lies,
I pretend his hands are mine,
When I wave them, my time flies,
It’s like watching friends pass by.

Each day these shades of I,
Like the rainbow in the light,
Approaching shore with the tide,
As the treasure hunter finds.

So I try to catch my lives,
To the tree forever ties,
As they struggle and they fight,
Let them fly into the night.

An Injured Angel
by Jedidiah Woods
inspired by AKW

Her walk is light and crisp,
yet each step is a trial, each step a decision;
to persist or to fail.
Hail, the queen of secret pain while possessing outward fame.

Disguised in wealth and family,
lays bad health and epic tragedy,
which once rooted, takes ahold of the anatomy.

And although her blood is royalty,
she never ceases to show her loyalty.
For her family was once called empty,
yet she proved her worth by loving them through eternity.

The ones that know, the ones that care,
those are the ones she holds dear.
She values people more than the weekly attendance at the steeple,
but she wants to believe in something great but pain has done its work,
it has left its awful taint.

She holds onto the things that do not quiver amidst a quake,
and for those things she does not for granted take.
She holds onto to curios that return her to those memories of moments she shared with her friends.
Those dearly bought friendships that she daringly fought to keep for 20 years,
her persistence prevailed and so they availed.

Through blinded days with flowing tears
to the sleepless nights with growing fears,
her friends stay close by,

 

 

 

for she chose the friends that would never turn awry 
(and in photography, be pretty fly! ha.)
Without them she would be lost in myth,
so she earnestly pursues them using all the might she was graced with.

Like rays of light shattering down from the sky,
her hair sprinkles down her soft cheeks,
as gracefully as the sun’s rays sift through the clouds.
And just as the sunrise destroys the shadow of night,
so does her smile to the strongest walls of resentment’s blight.

To hear her in motion is to hear a morning breeze, rustle the feathers of a waking owl,
for then is seen the spirit of revealing opposed to the feeling of concealing.

And when she writes,
the ink turns to gold as soon as it is rolled onto the paper,
for what she writes is bold and she just cannot save it for later.

With all her glimmering facets,
she must trod careful upon this earth for at any moment after birth,
at any time,
even quicker than a pause in rhyme,
before a soul could know, her wings will sprout once again and grow;
and she will ascend back to the sky from which she fell from so long ago.

Thus is the life of an injured angel,
who walks the earth as a bright shadow,
being a hopeful beacon for all to follow.