Muse 116: Bathtime

found via playgroundlover

Sitting in the shower, staring at the white tiles as water embedded me slowly, I leaned back, enjoying the contrast of the cold porcelain tub on my heated skin. The comfort of baths must be universal. I couldn't think of one person that wouldn't enjoy a long hot soak. No, not as I closed my eyes and gave my thoughts away to nothing. For the first time in a long while, not a single thought inspired me to wake up and write, not a single murmur or hum interrupted the calm. In the bath tub, nothing inspired, nothing sparked and the swishing of water was just the sound of my body shifting around. To most people it sounds dead and wish less, but when you've suffered and heard nothing but the rushing cars, beeping phones, click and clattering keys, non-stop talking, shouts and calls inside your mind for desperate inspiration... Nothing is the best medicine around.

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.

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.