Muse 8: Seas

With her hair wild and the storming sea behind her, she didn't know what to do. The white noise was a static barrier that she couldn't touch, and what she couldn't touch, she couldn't move. Let me take your picture, he had said, only the wind blew so violently that not a single part of her stayed still. And he tried to yell over the cacophonous breaths of the resentful earth, but she was still unresponsive to his requests. So as he settled for the misty colors of the distant oceans and imaginary shores, he let his camera snap. That moment of miscommunication, desertion and failure to reconnect like storybook lovers became the story for the rest of their lives.

Muse 7: Paper Heart

flickr medical museum

She wanted to cut out his heart, and he was going to let her do it. She wanted to have a piece of him for herself, and he didn't mind that she was going to take it. And she started, she started cutting along the dotted lines that she envisioned on his flawless body, until she realized that the shape she was cutting was all wrong. So she stopped halfway, letting the blood run out in perfect streams of tears as he begged her, wondering what was wrong, to continue, to take his love. With a blank look, she blinked cruelly and said, "I thought I wanted it, but not anymore."

Muse 6: Eros

sam webber

You remind me of a sculpture, the cool marble skin is smooth and flawless, making my eyes travel for miles and miles because once I begin, I cannot end. When I swallow, I feel as if I am inhaling you in; your presence slipping down my throat like liquid platinum, so pure, so raw. I am sure, so sure - Your heart is made of gold, but why, oh-why, won't you let anyone love you?

Muse 5: Lovedry

via no but and or yes

I was sitting behind the bed, where the light from the window couldn't find me. The phone, whose wire tangled in between my toes and fingers, rested coldly against my cheek as I listened to him speak. Come over, he would say repeatedly like a vinyl that only had one loop, and I want to see you, he said again and again like the light on the other side of my bed. It was an 'I want to see you, but I won't try to cross to the other side' kind of tone, perhaps the laziest kind of all. And so I told him no, "I can't come over. I have a lot of things to do." Yeah? "Yeah," I told myself as I twirled a strange of unwashed hair, unwashed because there were memories and scents that I was too afraid to lose, "yeah. I have lots of things to care for. I have to feed my cat...and my Facebook fish or he'll die today. Then I need to call my mom and see if she's doing alright without me so far. Later I think I have to hit Cosco for food that will last me another number of months, and there's laundry because the dryer stopped working again and my pants are just wetting my bed..." And then the list becomes a bucket list because the last thing I want to care about is falling in love with you.

Muse 4: Coffin Ash

"Did you know," he said as they drove past the miles and miles of land scattered with tall trees - although there were more acres of emptiness than tree, "that once upon a time they did not bury people in coffins and gravestones? Yeah, even us, the ones who probably honor this grave tradition more than anyone else. But even in King Arthur's time they did not bury people in their own graves - no, they buried them under trees, and the trees became a symbol of memory, of life. Then I guess somewhere along the way, generations decided that they were too self-important to be put back into the ground, too important to decompose like all things should, and started to clear up the trees for burial ground, started to fill dead bodies with chemicals and unnatural things so they would be physically immortal in death. Then thousands of year later, we sit and wonder why the earth is dying, but we never give thought that maybe she is a giver, not a provider. So where is the provider now, when she has no more to give?"

Muse 3: Ribcage Song

credit: http://ghostpatrol.net/

We sat beneath the wych elm tree, and you were singing, "Oh skeletal bones, oh skeletal bones where will you be when I've gone home." I looked at you curiously, wondering where that song had played on the radio. Were you trying to sing a song about us? And you looked at me with that child-like song vibrating in the air as you kept on singing, "Can I hold your hand, can I call you home - you're, you're that cage that protects when I'm alone." Your voice might have been ratty and gritty like old bones in dry sand, but you still sounded so lovely to me.

Muse 2: We wish Books were real

He sat on the floor, two feet away from the long bare legs that reached a point where flesh twisted into the curves and shapes of a callow female. "Look, look," he cried as something winked between the ink and the crinkles of the old fantasy story. He reached out and placed his warm little hand on her knee - pushing back and forth the way a mother would rock a baby to sleep, but the sitter was no baby, and she was more consumed with reality embedded in binary stages between the mental and metal. "Look, look - looook," he said once more as the story came to life and hopped, hopped, bounced across the page as if the individual letters were not words but of the greener pastures. As he kept shaking the sitter's leg, he reached out with his other hand to touch the fumbling rabbit. "Look, look, look...." his voice faded in the distance, and when the girl looked up, the warm hand was gone, and the boy of three was mentioned in the fairy tales. In a paragraph of its own, the words "Look, look, look!" became immortally known.

Muse 1: Broken Keys

(via loveyourchaos)

They droningly plunked with a tune like broken teeth, like broken teeth. I don’t think I ever noticed that they were out of tune, out of tune; I just noticed they were brown and crooked - kind of like yours after you started smoking, cussing. Truthfully, touching this piano may be the closest I will ever get to your drugged, dead lips.

365 Musings

Starting from yesterday, I’m going to find a picture that inspired me to write a short blurb - no more than one paragraph long. This is going to be a writing practice for me so that I won’t lose my creativity and become irrelevant/redundant. I’ll post them here, but maybe I’ll post them in a blog so that they’re all archived in one spot. I’ll tag them as 365Muses is anyone ever want to look at only them.