I wrote the following for no more reason than to describe something that means a lot to me. I'm sure you can do better. If you do, I'll give you your own post along with a dissection on what made your example so good.
When I listen to music I want to breathe it. I want to be surrounded. Cocooned. Feel the bass press into my skin and tangle with my bones. Sense the beat demanding response. Shift my limbs in time, perfect and precise.
I want to lift my voice with the melody. Follow its rise and fall. Soar into harmony. Be fused with the singer’s song. Then fall and be lost in symmetry again.
When I listen to music, let me not merely listen, but experience its depth. Swallow the notes and chords and percussion until I'm carried into the composer's heart. I want to hear him bleed. I want to know his tears. His joy. His grief.
When I listen to music I want to be stirred to motion. To emotion.
Let me not merely listen.
* * * * *
Now it's your turn: You get 150 words to express anything you please. Let me feel something through your senses. Paste it into the comments. I'll repeat: The best one gets its own post on the blog along with a reader discussion on what makes it so good.
DEADLINE EXTENDED: You have until midnight December 2nd (USA). Go!
When I listen to music I want to breathe it. I want to be surrounded. Cocooned. Feel the bass press into my skin and tangle with my bones. Sense the beat demanding response. Shift my limbs in time, perfect and precise.
I want to lift my voice with the melody. Follow its rise and fall. Soar into harmony. Be fused with the singer’s song. Then fall and be lost in symmetry again.
When I listen to music, let me not merely listen, but experience its depth. Swallow the notes and chords and percussion until I'm carried into the composer's heart. I want to hear him bleed. I want to know his tears. His joy. His grief.
When I listen to music I want to be stirred to motion. To emotion.
Let me not merely listen.
* * * * *
Now it's your turn: You get 150 words to express anything you please. Let me feel something through your senses. Paste it into the comments. I'll repeat: The best one gets its own post on the blog along with a reader discussion on what makes it so good.
DEADLINE EXTENDED: You have until midnight December 2nd (USA). Go!
My child's laughter resonates within the essence of my soul. When his eyes light up with the brightness of the morning and his toothless grin opens wide, I am lost. I am lost in the moment. There are no wars, there is no pain, there is nothing but pure innocent joy.
ReplyDeleteIt is addiction. I can't stop at one giggle or one smile. I must tickle and swing and dance until he is no longer physically able to give me so much as a smirk. I am addicted to the music of his soul.
His laughter makes me a better person. I want to be kind, good, and someone he can look up to. I want to be the kind of person that gives him reason to laugh, not reason to cry. His tears would tear me apart the same way his laughter keeps me together.
Laughter: Irreplaceable. Irreversible. Priceless. Pure. Mine.
The indigo sky deepened to black tendrils that snaked to the ground, winding across the flagstones and encircling her ankles. Within seconds, they thickened to tethers and raced up her legs and midsection, lashing her to the nearest tree. Their loose rubbery ends nipped her like waves plashing a ship in a gale.
ReplyDeleteTwo white megaliths materialized in the gloom. First, they grew legs, then arms that shoved her as they passed, storming toward a lone black figure staggering in the wind. One of them lifted the man and hurled him to the stone path as the other one faced her.
“Watch,” it screamed from the maw in its torso. Blood poured from the man’s head. “Look!” it commanded, as they pummeled and kicked him.
The lifeless man’s blood lapped her ankles then rose with the speed of a rain-engorged river until its metallic tang engulfed her mouth and nose.
Come one come all to the party in the hall
ReplyDeleteWe’re the drinks are flowing and every one is having a ball.
Dancing so merry,
Faces scratched out un known to so many
Over in the corner I just want to scream
I just want to be noticed
I just want to be free
When I opened my eyes
And realized I had changed.
She was gone moments far to late.
Now I wait I need to trust fate.
When she left I was ok
Feeling better, I looked to the crowd
I couldn’t see their faces
A masquerade
Suddenly he stepped out in clear view
When I stood up,
He felt it too.
Now she was gone,
He was to lead me
To something new.
Tears mock my desire to remain strong and my smile wavers. My eyes take in every line and wrinkle of his stoic face. His eyes tell me a story of love and hope. Straightening my shoulders, I take a deep breath, knowing I have no choice except to be strong. Later, in the depths of the night, I can release my pain and anguish, away from prying eyes and young ears.
ReplyDeleteI bury my face against his chest one last time. Tears begin to betray me as I feel his strong arms envelop me, holding me tight. Backing away slowly, I run my hands down his arms. Standing tall, I blow him a kiss and wave as my beloved soldier walks away to war.
When I sing, I try to call down heaven. I push my voice as high as it will go, push it until it soars. Have you ever seen the great birds of prey who glide unhindered through the air? Hold-your-breath seconds pass by, and they never move a muscle. That's me, when I sing. I try to sustain one note, just one that soars through the turquoise sky.
ReplyDeleteI've tried to sing like I've heard that angels sing, with long tones that sharpen until they penetrate your very core with their clarity. Like a silver bullet that will keep flying forever, straight and true and dangerous. I like to imagine my voice sinking into someone's soul so deeply that they can't help but gasp.
Then, sometimes, I breathe life into a rose garden melody. That untraceable, unforgettable beauty that wisps into your breath when you enter the lover's glade. It's like light, like the fog that dissipates into a glorious dawn. A watercolor painting that someone left undone, full of coral, gold, and blue.
The brisk wind blowing feels like someone is clawing your back as you step outside. The grey clouds in the sky signal that something is looming on the horizon. You step inside and are greeted by someone as he takes you to your table. As you start to talk with your companion, the smell of fresh dough and wonderful sauce fills the air. When you order your drink, you feel the brisk wind blowing through a crack in the window. You place your order and wait as the smells of bacon and burnt cheese over power you. As your order is in front of you, you take in the smell of potato and bacon, thinking this warmth is only going to last for so long. You step outside as you realize that winter is here. White covers your grey hat, and you nearly fall on a thin sheet of glass.
ReplyDeleteAs I slowly open the door the cold wind hits me as though its icy spirit is piercing my soul; it takes my breath away. As my warmth melts it away. Cold soft flakes of snow appear infront of me, falling gracefully from the sky as though they are waltzing pieces of cotton wool. As I venture further I can feel myself sink into the snow below, the crunching whispering into my ears.
ReplyDeleteA small robin has perched itself on a wall and is watching me whilst slowly moving it's head from side to side. I am unsure as to what he is waiting for, perhapse he's hungry. He just sits and waits, the red of his breast and the brown of his feathers are the only colour to be seen in the white canvas that surrounds him. As I step closer towards him he gracefully flaps his wings and begins to hover, a little at first until he shoots into the air and out of sight. It is at this point I feel a drop of something gently hit my head.
Thank you Robin, some say it's good luck. I shall have to wait and see though.
Autumn is my favorite time of the year. A gust of wind blows through the many colored fall leaves, causing them to crackle and shatter like dried paper in the wind. There’s a wonderful smell in the air. It’s not quite decay, not quite the promise of the cold coming winter and the rebirth of spring, but something deeper and more intense.
ReplyDeleteOutside my window, squirrels are fattening themselves for winter, stuffing their cheeks with acorns from hidden stashes across my yard strewn with the red maple leaves and the yellow oak. The only birds remaining are the hardy little sparrows that hibernate through the harsh Cleveland winters and the crows, cackling high on the wire overhead. Spring arrives with light and warmth as time turns. I yearn for the mystifying amber and gold light of the autumn, the cool breeze that lifts my hair to tickle across my face.
I walked until I could see the stormy, grey waves stretching out before me. There I found a place where a large outcropping of rocks framed the sea with one large rock nestled in amongst them where I could sit, unnoticed, and watch the angry sea swell before me. The waves crashed and turned endlessly as time slowly melted.
ReplyDeleteIf only I could stay and become the stone upon which I sat. Time would roll over me, weather wash me clean, and still here I would sit. Pain would mean nothing to me, emptiness would be no more. What could this world give to me or take from me that would mean anything? I was instead as the waves before me. Put into motion by this giant hand, never to cease or be still or find true rest. Always coming, always going. Forever, without end. Oh to be the stone.
Navigating the narrows forged between the white, powdered, beaches of barrier islands, the Gulf of Mexico absorb our vessel in the windless seas of an azure, glazed, porcelain galaxy. The aft wake extends like the plume of a solid, white, peacock, with the hissing of waters pierced by the bow, and the humming of the vessel’s engines breaching the natural silence of the new day.
ReplyDeleteThe dawn’s, burgundy, sunlight is captured in the canopy of stratus cloud formations, and then reflected in its pattern with a pastel interpretation. Its splendor provides the only clear separation between sky and sea; its cloak the only remnant of natural boundaries.
My skin will be salted by the tepid air, and then bronzed by the strengthening sun as the hours of day progress. The winds will eventually agitate the placid waters, and mount a swelling sea before we reached the outer reef. Until then I commandeer across the mirrored like aqua- field: an infinitesimal specimen, ordained by no timetable or mortal demands, gliding across the aquatic realms of Neptune in the majestic command of his desire.
Navigating the narrows forged between the white, powdered, beaches of barrier islands, the Gulf of Mexico absorb our vessel in the windless seas of an azure, glazed, porcelain galaxy. The aft wake extends like the plume of a solid, white, peacock, with the hissing of waters pierced by the bow, and the humming of the vessel’s engines breaching the natural silence of the new day.
ReplyDeleteThe dawn’s, burgundy, sunlight is captured in the canopy of stratus cloud formations, and then reflected in its pattern with a pastel interpretation. Its splendor provides the only clear separation between sky and sea; its cloak the only remnant of natural boundaries.
My skin will be salted by the tepid air, and then bronzed by the strengthening sun as the hours of day progress. The winds will eventually agitate the placid waters, and mount a swelling sea before we reached the outer reef. Until then I commandeer across the mirrored like aqua- field: an infinitesimal specimen, ordained by no timetable or mortal demands, gliding across the aquatic realms of Neptune in the majestic command of his desire.
My palms split as the roughhewn stones cut through them and straight into my heart. How could he do this me? I made him. He was nothing without me. I dropped, panting, waiting, playing it for all it was worth.
ReplyDeleteHis breath puffed in syncopation with the thumping salsa beat, his chest heaving erotically; always the showman my Diego, and little known to him, my soon to be RIP Diego. His inky sweat slickened curls danced faster than he stamped the Paso Doble or the dowager could write that check.
But how could he have known how swiftly his ancient clabbered blood would fill our theretofore used grate? How could he not have known, how I hated him, how I loved him?
My poorly used heart shrivels still at the pounding rhythm of that dance, but it never quells me from my relentless pursuit to replace the one I killed.
hi aimee, what a cool blog you have, here's my two cents: lynn
ReplyDeletedrfood55@gmail.com
What's there to be thankful for on your first Thanksgiving as a cancer patient?
Back when I was married, we used to have a Thanksgiving ritual. Before we ate, we'd go
around the table and each person would say what he or she was grateful for.
So here goes:
I'm grateful to J who has met a lot of challenges these last two months.
I'm grateful to all the friends who help me get to the treatments.
I'm grateful to all the friends who keep in touch-their kindness makes me want to cry sometimes.
I'm grateful that my kid is relatively unscarred by all this.
I'm grateful for my dog.
I'm grateful that I avoided the feeding tube.
I'm grateful that you don't have cancer.