Musings

Musings

Train not just the mind, but the heart as well. The mind knows, but the heart governs. Wisdom here from our dystopian buddha.

Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

Much of the notion of the comfort/discomfort of an activity comes from the connotation we put on it—”I like/hate this.” “I’m good/horrible at this” “this is boring/fun.”  

Training should be more than just a mindless acquisition of skill; it should be a conscious deprogramming of that which keeps us inept.

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Yet Another Story! – Fish (Рыба)

Another spammy post of stories, this one about a trans-Siberian roadtrip.

And some stumping for my favorite band, Ленинград, with Sergei “Shnur” Shnurov as their frontman with Alisa Vox providing most of the new vocals. The song linked has some 343 listens in my iTunes.

With no further delay, Fish!

Continue reading “Yet Another Story! – Fish (Рыба)”

It’s a Poem What Don’t Have a Name

I’m only black and white.
Not strong in stride,
I’ve never known pride,
Only love undebriding.

I was there for the castles,
I was there for the night’s hassle,
Of you trying to sleep, but secretly dreaming,
While all the world carried on snoring.

You used to talk to me, that sweet “pillow talk,”
Of course we never called it that then, mom’dve balked,
(And it would have been weird, like stalking)
But now you don’t. It’s like your mouth’s plugged with caulk.

You once told me of dragons and knights,
The brave and the meek, fighting through the night.
Or the maid and her lion, leading the other unto dawn’s crest.
I sleep now under a silent thrum, held against your chest,
A subject of your tight, nervous arm, the grind of broken teeth,
and the whine of a more broken heart, alone on the heath.

Now the night stories I hear are dark and cruel,
It’s not dragons and knights, but tyrants and traitors,
And the maid is held in chains, dragged on by twin masters.
Regret and pain, loneliness, covered in white plaster,
Undone in sleep, unraveled in dreams.

I loved you once and I love you still, warm against you,
Though now you never name me,
Only murmur incessant, shuddering in the cold.
I know my time has passed, for you seek others to love,
Others taller, others fairer, sweet like a dove.
You’ll find for yourself who to trust, and who needs a shove.
For it’s not just me that’s waiting patiently in bed,
But all childhood’s songs and hopes not dead,
Only dreaming inside your head.

-Rylie

Inspired by this prompt from the Poet’s Billow

Day 19 Poetry Challenge

I must have been five or six when I read the Velveteen Rabbit. A gorgeously deep children’s book— words to live by even as an adult. If you follow me and don’t already follow the Billow, try it. You can learn some surprising things about yourself writing poetry.

the poet's billow

“‘It doesn’t happen all at once…You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

I couldn’t help but share this excerpt that was shared with me today in my Yin Yoga class. For our class purposes, this was used as a meditation on acceptance. Here, on the Billow, for our purposes, I want to think about the Veleveteen Rabbit and his friend the horse who said this.

For today’s poem, write a…

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Another Story: Kyrieleis

Sorry about sporadic posts. Exams, projects, papers, and my own lack of self-discipline (or perhaps simply normal discipline that fails to compare to the Roman standards I hold myself to) have all gotten in the way of keeping this regularly updated, as well as writing and generally enjoying life’s other pleasures besides stuffing my face with low quality confectionery.

I was bored, or more accurately, in a frenzied trance induced by Wardruna and my daily ADHD medications (and around 400 grams of sugar), and wrote this piece from start to finish, a short story from the perspective of one of the Syntar, depicted in that other post about them.

With less flapping gums and more content, here it is:

Oh, and if you’re so inclined, I appreciate feedback. It’s by no means required (not that I’d have any way to enforce it; I’m not the CCP), but giving me your thoughts 1) helps me write better stories, 2) inflates my ego that people actually care, and 3) lets me evaluate where this blog is going in terms of audience and content. And 4) makes me very, very happy. And don’t feel afraid to drop links or ask me to visit your blog, being directly impelled to read others’ content is excellent motivation to get out there and see what all everyone else has to offer.

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No Context #2: And Now For Something Completely Different

Have you ever gone out on a rescue mission for the most uncomfortably designed sex-robot who was kidnapped by psychotic drugged-out desert bandits, only to be lured into an ambush of animatronic suicide teddy bears engaged in a dangerous game of landmine frisbee, then upon acquiring and taming the sex-robot, whose circuit boards have all been replaced with cheese pizza, been roped into performing in a concert for the king of the raiders by a giant mutant lizard thing with claws the size of your forearm, playing a giant electric guitar made out of a 40mm anti-aircraft gun, while also protecting him from assassins in the middle of the mosh-pit concert while he rocks out the hardest anyone has in ages, killing several dozen audience members with his guitar cannon, and instead of being rewarded with money, been showered with dozens of copies of his newest album?

Continue reading “No Context #2: And Now For Something Completely Different”