Tag Archives: creativity

Feral Muse

 

My muse is feral.
She will not be trained.
She refuses to do tricks.
Everything is on her terms.
I try to encourage her to stay
I’ve installed a muse door
Leave food out every day
And hope.
On lucky days, she shows up
Sits beside me, soft and comforting
Humming pleasant new melodies.
Sometimes she takes the pen
Right out of my hand
And scribbles fantastic things in the margins.
She lets me hold her, but not too tight
Never too tight.
She’ll bullet out of there
If you love her too much
If you lose patience with her
If you don’t scratch under her chin
Exactly
The way she likes.
She loves you
But conditionally.
You are a means to her
And she will not hesitate
To abandon you
And visit a different artist instead
One with better food
One who always leaves the door open
Who spoils her with everything she wants.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

Life is an atrocity
We are angry we are shocked
Life is graceful
Spiderweb lines

We weave
Symbolic sounds
We weather
Whatever together
We sing so silly
We write so weird
Whenever we pleasure

To make a beautiful thing
Out of something sinister
We cling to it with desperate hands
But with no meat on our bones
It slips through
Our skeleton fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Dip into creativity

 

Dip into creativity
A deep black well
Creatures run deep
Under the glassy still water.
Just a cup is all you need
Look close and see
Tadpoles, minnows, miraculous life
Crayfish, seaweed, plankton, krill.
Swirling alive
Unfathomable life.
Sometimes you can catch a big fish
But content yourself with minnows.
Even these
Some cannot catch.
Even these are a boon.
Lucky, lucky, lucky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Contemplating Computating

 

A human mind is a computer.

Or is a computer a human mind?

Computers are our children

We create in our own image

They are not alien from us at all.

Human begets computer.

Computer thinks like human.

Filing systems

Cross referenced

Can trigger information, a memory.

Mathematics

Videos

Songs

Patterns

All stored in its head

It can even run imaginary simulations of a life.

What if I were a violent thug?

What if I lived in a fantasy world?

What if I could build anything?

It’s just what we might think

Lying in bed at night.

We can only conceive

Of things we already know.

Computers

Like all of our creations

Are self portraits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Husk. Also my brother is amazing

Allow me a moment to brag on my big brother. He’s got a blog too, actually, on financial freedom.

https://goldengooseguide.com

He’s been blogging for a year and only had about twelve posts total but he’s already gone viral. WTF Josh. Of course he’s engineered it well with the social media, the eye-catching titles, and original well-thought-out content. He’s the oldest so he does everything well. It’s fascinating to me that no matter how similar we might be in genetics and values and upbringing, our blogs turned out to be nearly complete opposites.

I would feel competitive with him, but he’s so far beyond my limits that I just give up say, good for him. I love him tremendously, so I must be happy for him. And it helps to know, in my heart of hearts, that I can always move into his basement.

Welp, time to air my insecurities again.


 

 

There was a while there

When I wrote gold

I spun golden threads from flax

I wove silk from cotton

I was an unstoppable force

What happened?

I ran out

I spent myself

Now I’m just a husk

Remembering her glory days

A husk

So dry

So dry.

What is a husk?

Was I once a bright and sweet ear of corn?

What else has a husk?

Mummies are husks

Many plants have them

And so am I

 

My seed is gone, germinated

And all that is left

Is this husk

A reminder

That once here was life

That once

I too was human

And vibrant

And full

Pregnant with life

With ideas

With words

Words like you’d never heard before

I had rhymes

I had every kind of poem

All that I touched was given power

With language alone

I animated the minds of others.

Now this.

This husk.

This weak and tired

Crispy

Dry

Thing.

It’s fall

I’ve been harvested.

Nothing left in me

Until next spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

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