Well there wasn’t a slide show or anything.

Bicycles for Charity

Me: I think she is an excellent actress.
She: I thought you said she was a soulless hulk of a freak.
Me: That doesn’t mean she isn’t an excellent actress.
She: What about her drinking the script slurry?
Me: Oh god, I can’t believe I ever said that shit out loud.
She: You not only said it out loud, there were hand gestures and emphatic thrusts on different syllables.
Me: Well there wasn’t a slide show or anything.
She: Thank god.
Me: What? I just think it is a good theory that some really good actors and actresses take the scripts and swirl them all up into a slurry of character motivation and that sustains them through their part.
She: And likely helps keeps them trim and fit.
Me: Likely.

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Red

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Just a Thought

‘I wish it was my birthday every day,’ she said, tearing the wrapping paper off a present from Netta – a collection of Grimm tales and a book about Greek mythology.
‘But you’d get old so soon,’ protested Aurora.
‘Birthdays are very good for you,’ replied Any firmly. ‘There is considerable statistical evidence that those who have the most birthdays live the longest.’
—Lyn Gardner/Out of the Woods

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Spill that out of your head

I could eat your liver while you sleep, keep that in mind.
What makes a Muse?

The other night in writing group the concept of a Muse came up in group and we sat and discussed the classic muses and the fact that so many of them were dedicated to poetry – oh so much fucking poetry – and I started thinking about not just the flowing gown Muse, but the little things that inspire ideas Muse.

What makes a Muse? What makes us write, what makes us draw or paint or photograph? Are we all just dizzy drunk on glimmery sunlight, or swirly colors, lost inside of the melody, the trip of words on our tongues? What makes a Muse?

I don’t know, I suppose just having something catch the eye, the ear, the heart and knowing you have to spill that out of your head would be some kind of definition…

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I think my favorite idea of the Muse comes from that thought of the Cult of the Muse being in the center of town, and how eventually they sort of morphed into Museums, and now we all linger about and see how the classic Muses have inspired others and maybe we become inspired and somehow that all circles into more and more and more and more inspiring. I think I would like to go to a Museum called Cult of the Muse, with lot of Fountains and people in very little clothing singing or reciting poetry.

I think I would like that, but a Museum with painting of that is good enough for now I suppose.

At least until I find the next Muse for myself.

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The Town

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Just a Thought

And the existence of the same truths in all religions is a great argument both for and against the paramount truthfulness of one.
—A.S. Byatt/Possession

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Something Exactly Like That

She Likes to Cuddle When I'm at the Computer

Me: I heard the song I lost my virginity to on the radio this morning while I was getting ready. Made me all weepy.
He: Aw poor little girl.
Me: I mean I couldn’t figure out if it was the nostalgia or that the relationship was all kinds of fucked the hell up that was making me cry.
He: There’s no saying it couldn’t be both.
Me: Kind of an ‘oh that was dreadful, and I really miss it’.
He: Yeah, something exactly like that.

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Love and Other Drugs

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Just a Thought

Her heart swelled with love and gratitude, and would quite possibly have burst if she hadn’t had to make a swift leap to the left to avoid Belladonna’s knife.
—Lyn Gardner/Out of the Woods

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Your Voice Mail Box is Full

Three-Mile Stare

A couple of years ago my very best friend moved away to New York. As a result I saw less of him, what with him being in another state and all. Since this is a modern age we still communicate regularly via text message, phone calls, and because I’m a letter junkie I write him letters and he does his best to write me back. Over the years our communication has been fairly constant, and we have a conversation going on almost all the time, even when we aren’t together in the same state.

The other day I got a warning on my phone that my voice mail box was full and I needed to erase some of my messages. I wasn’t really ready to do that, so instead I found a way to save some of them to my hard drive. I’ve had this idea for a while that I would somehow magically find the artistic ability to animate some of these voice mails and then maybe it would be okay that I’ve kept them for so long. Ah but I still have no magical artistic arty drawing animating ability, but I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing.

When I was in New York in October last year at the Met there was this odd, and yet really fascinating exhibit of postcards that were stamped with times when the sender got up and went back to bed. They were sent from all over the place, and they were sent daily, I found them riveting and spent maybe 20 minutes staring at the wall of them.  Although they told a little bit of a story while I was looking at them, I think between the sender and receiver they must surely have told an entirely different story. While I was sorting and putting these voice mails on to my computer I kept thinking about those postcards, and about what we share with the world when we decide to become friends with one other person and how that is always viewed differently by the world around us.

I think in the end I want to share these voice mails because they tell a story, and a good funny story should always be shared when possible. This is the first voice mail he left me that I saved, so it is the first one I will share.

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