these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.

these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.
three hundred sixty five stories that begin and never end.

Blog Archive

Monday, June 28, 2010

Muse 109: Dying in Water

found via amanda white

At this certain point she wasn't sure how things worked anymore. Everyone told her what to do and how to go about it. The methods, the timing and instructions that brought her down to the very last detail until she didn't understand where to start and if it would ever end. The big bang or a simple simmer --- she didn't understand why people had so much say; there wasn't much to rediscover when dying was just a result. The question was, she asked loudly, telling the room to quiet down, did it make a difference if you knew there was a rebirth?

Silence dawned, and no one dared to take the risk.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Muse 108: Whole Trick

found via dearskye

I never understood what he meant until I stood in front of the pier, staring out to the empty platforms. Once, my mom said as we looked at the murky water, there were many sea lions. Too many to count. Now there were so few, perhaps two out of the fourteen platforms were filled and the rest remained empty. Were they dying out? I wanted to know. Were they afraid of returning? I was simply curious. The sight was pathetic, and it made me wonder why emptiness could be such an attraction. I held the camera to my face, gazed through the viewfinder and took the picture. 

They filled the corners, leaving no space. It worked the same way. Crowds and audiences have been abused by the lens, pretending there have been more when in reality, you look deeper and there's nothing more. Beyond the borders is emptiness, and I'm afraid that sometimes people are just like these photographs. 

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Muse 107: Wash, Dry, Repeat

found via iguessthatscool

(on the radio pt. 2)

He was rushing to do laundry. The bed sheets, the towels and everything that she used to wash for him. Dragging the cream canvas bag across the tiled floor, he claimed the remaining washers in the store and emptied his clothes. No sorting, no searching. As he grabbed his jeans, he felt something like paper in the pockets. He fished out a small envelope covered with her handwriting.

a). miss you already, hope you're doing laundry
b). you've been looking at this for a while, hope you like it
c). love you

Five quarters later, the cycle began. His black and white clothes, all mixed up exactly the way it shouldn't be, swirled until foam built up. He sat and watched his clothes go in a circle, and knew he would miss finding surprises in his pocket. The clothes were lucky. They had stains that could be erased. They could go on the same way on wash, dry and repeat when dirty.

Muse 106: On the Radio

"I have a surprise for you," she whispered right into his ear.


He smiled and she liked how she could feel the air change for the sake of that smile. Before she could sit up, he wrapped his arm around her and held his hand out. Where is it? His eyes eagerly searched like an astonished child but all she did was laugh. She kissed him on the forehead, like a mother, and told him he would find it soon. Then she said she would miss him for the next few days while she was at her work conference. He promised her that he would miss her too; he would miss her the same way people looked for a song on the radio. No other song would do.

And those were the perfect goodbye words before her friend came over. In those moments, it didn't matter what songs played on the radio. She wasn't here to listen. Songs are metaphorically the best lies, the most beautiful lie a boy could tell.

Muse 105: the tales never win

found via colour lover

I'm real, like I'm alive, like something no one else is able to do for me. You look at me strange, like I'm abnormal, like I need help or desperate measures of medication, and in comparisons of metaphors and similes, it could be ounces of truth. When you don't follow the rules, play ball in the house, vases break. Hearts shatter when fairy tales don't play in order. In real life, the step mother wins, the prince is ugly to the bone and nothing is real except for the pains and scars the hurt me. Don't keep it inside, and don't let the fairy tales win. You look at me strange because you're afraid of me; you're afraid of my scarred arms because I let them show while your insides have been all cut up.

Friday, June 4, 2010

on hold

I'm going to put 365 on hold until June 22nd. I will still write in a paper diary, and transfer to here later, but there's been too much going on right now. Marriages, etc. And I will be going to a family vacation (no internet) on the 10th - 21st. I will endeavour to write everyday in the paper diary and give you two updates a day when I get back. Have a good summer, guys!

I deeply apologize. I haven't abandoned this.
I just haven't had time to be online.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Muse 104: Photographs

found via unknown

Everyone is secretly a stalker, a mirror watcher that keeps their gaze in the corner of their eye. Everyone is afraid of what comes around unexpectedly. Mirrors and photographs are our eyes - we watch the world in our own perspective, with our own lens, but we forget the eyes that look back at us. Those are the ones that see us for who we are, the ones that notice our flaws as closely as a magnifying glass, making us scrutinize ourselves more than we should. So the flaws get larger and larger when they've started out as nothing at all, because we forget that mirrors and photographs are our perspectives and not all eyes have 20/20.