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... where my muse goes for 2023 ... |
| ... here is where my muse goes for 2023 ... |
The boy and his friend ventured to a museum. They approached the bronze statue of a man, a knight of noble bearing, brandishing a sword of triumph. The young one contemplated, gazed skyward, and uttered, "Does he ever get tired of the monotony of his daily routine, day in and day out, for the entirety of his existence?" His companion maintained a stoic demeanour, and together they perused the other exhibits. The statue exhaled a deep breath and pondered to itself, "Another influx of imbeciles for the day." *** As with most writers, they cannot help but envision themselves as knights in shining armour, wielding their pen like a mighty sword. Somehow, Koe did not envision herself as a valiant warrior charging into the fray, brandishing her sword, and unleashing a fierce battle cry. Koe found herself in a surreal state, observing her own body lying on an operating table. Koe's sentiments towards her craft resemble those of a surgeon conducting a post-mortem examination on herself. She delved deep within herself, wielding a sharp scalpel to extract any remnants of knowledge she could salvage. Even now, she continues to grapple with the reasons behind her unyielding pursuit of understanding. At times, the universe appears to acknowledge her revelations, but more often than not, it remains indifferent, and yet she persists in her actions with a sense of ceremony. Sometimes, she contemplates whether it is an addiction. Who can truly fathom the experience of a writer until they have donned the shoes and walked the path as one of their own? That, my friend, is the only path to becoming a writer—to write, and to write fervently, if one is so inclined. Pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin, intertwined in a dance that we cannot escape. It was merely a day of excavating herself from within. If she weren't cautious, she might just bleed herself dry in the process. If such an occurrence were to transpire, she would mend her wounds and convalesce. That was the moment when Koe would persuade herself to immerse herself in the act of reading. She decided to pause and release her hair for a brief moment. After that, Koe, who fancied herself a writer, would commence slicing herself open from within, repeatedly and without respite, until her spirit could bear it no longer. Somehow, she felt a strange sensation in her gut that there could never be enough as she grasped her surgical knife. |
We moved about like tiny ants, each with our own purposeless direction and destination. It was an uncommon occurrence for us to engage in such behaviour. We scurried along in a uniform queue, as if we were heading towards an unknown destination, but our minds were clouded with confusion, as if the world was on the brink of an apocalypse. The crackling lightning split the inky sky asunder, and the booming thunder echoed the fury of the divine. As she struggled to comprehend the pandemonium, a colossal foot loomed above her, descending with force and crushing all that lay in its path. She found herself enveloped in an endless shroud of darkness, stretching out before her for all eternity. Koe Aoki awoke to yet another haunting dream and found herself in a predicament that greatly disrupted her daily routine. It is imperative that she take action to rectify the situation. It was far from normal. Koe Aoki rose from the floor of her bedroom, amidst her cushions and coverlet. She found herself abruptly jolted from her slumber, as if she had been unceremoniously ejected from a tumultuous dream. The dreams that visit her grow increasingly tangible with each passing night. Koe Aoki ventured into the obscurity, making her way towards the kitchen to quench her thirst. On a night as humid as this, she longed for the soothing touch of a cup of cold water. As Koe Aoki emerged from her bedroom and set foot in the hallway, her attention was drawn to a murky silhouette loitering by her stained glass-encased entry point. The eerie silhouette sent shivers down her spine, and an envelope materialised through the crevice beneath the entrance, landing softly on the carpeted expanse of her home. The enigmatic silhouette then departed. Koe Aoki hurried to the window, gazing out at her front porch and the nocturnal street beyond, eager to catch a glimpse of whoever might be lurking there. She gazed upon an empty expanse, where all was as it perpetually ought to be. Koe Aoki grasped the envelope with a sense of detachment and sauntered towards the kitchen, her eyes scanning the contents of the refrigerator for the jug of water. The illumination emanating from the refrigerator provided a clear perspective of the envelope. On the front of the envelope, her name was inscribed in bold letters, yet there was no indication of its origin or destination on the postage. And on the back, there was no return address to reveal the mysterious sender. Inside the envelope lay a greeting card bearing the words "Happy Birthday" and the signature of the sender. It was not her birthday, but there was something about it. The name struck a chord of recognition within her, reminiscent of a tale she penned in her distant past about a character bearing that very same moniker. Koe Aoki quenched her thirst with a glass of water that she poured from the refrigerator's jug and hurriedly proceeded to the study room adjacent to the kitchen. The computer, a faithful companion, hums softly day and night, a constant presence in her otherwise solitary existence. Koe Aoki has a proclivity for being primed to embrace impromptu notions that may arise unannounced. She delved into a heap of documents and directories until she stumbled upon the name. There was a certain character who existed only in the realm of fiction and had the ability to take on any form he desired for the benefit of other characters. Meanwhile, in that alternate reality, the character was an author who struggled to make a living from his craft. There was the one she fashioned, which bears resemblance on this very day, half a decade prior. Koe Aoki found herself muttering with a sense of disbelief, "Oh, dear." As her eyes brimmed with tears, a sense of trepidation washed over her. |
"You discover who you are by acting naturally." - Zen On that brilliantly sunny morning, we found ourselves standing beneath an enormous oak tree that shielded us from the oppressive heat. The presence of her shadow bestowed upon us a tranquil and soothing ambiance, simultaneously shielding us from the scorching heat. Koe shifted her gaze towards the other individuals in attendance. Most of them had sombre looks on their faces, while a few engaged in animated conversations as they tried to catch up. It was akin to a gathering of individuals convening to engage in discourse about a particular subject. As Koe observed the gathering, she couldn't help but sense that while some had come to pay their respects to the departed, there were others who sought solace and tranquilly for their own souls. Perhaps there exist individuals who may exploit Mother's carefree and relaxed nature, yet this only serves to demonstrate her unwavering fortitude. As Koe gazed upon the casket being lowered into the gaping hole, her mind couldn't help but ponder the futility of those who sought solace in Mother now that it was too late. Four sturdy men stood at the outer edges of the casket, their hands grasping the heavy fabric of the shroud as they lowered it down. Death is an inevitable reality that looms over us all. We must come to terms with the fleeting nature of our existence, for it is a truth that cannot be denied. It is within the realm of possibility for one to stray from the chosen path in life and entertain the notion that mortality may be eluded. However, Koe is cognizant that there is no route that leads to evading the inevitable destination of death, irrespective of the direction one takes. Every person has a starting point—a place where they begin their journey towards becoming who they are meant to be. Sometimes, that journey takes us down unexpected paths, leading us to become something entirely different from what we once imagined. And yet, in the end, we all fade away into the vast expanse of existence. We are but mere byproducts of the insatiable appetite for consumption and the relentless upheaval of the capitalist realm. The concept of freedom is a mere illusion. From the time a person enters this world until the time they leave it and return to the earth, she think that their ability to be of service to others determines how valuable they are. Koe has always believed that certain things retain their value even after they have served their purpose. They remind her of Elvis Presley, who departed on August 16th, 1977, and continues to hold a value of $500 million in the year 2023, despite his absence. There are many others like him, each with their own unique story and worth. John Lennon, for instance, had a net worth of $16 million. Michael Jackson, on the other hand, was worth a staggering $75 million. James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, had a net worth of $100 million. And then there were the authors, such as J.R.R. Tolkien, whose net worth was estimated to be around $500 million. Dr. Seuss, Charles Schulz, Michael Crichton, Stieg Larsson, and Agatha Christie were also among the many talented writers who had made a name for themselves and amassed fortunes. These individuals transcend the boundaries of existence itself. As Koe pondered the nature of existence, it occurred to her that one's worth is only validated by the desire of another to utilise their presence in this realm of the living. For many, if not the majority, success in life is deemed the ultimate achievement. However, she cannot help but wonder what their stance is towards those who thrive solely on their notoriety and wealth. Koe could feel something comparable to prickling paired with a burning sensation behind her neck. This sensation was really uncomfortable. When she tilted her head upward, she saw that a ray of sunlight emanating from the source that was above her had succeeded in penetrating the dense foliage and reaching her line of sight. Her inability to function regularly is partially attributable to the fact that she is hypersensitive to light, which makes it challenging for her to lead a normal life like other people do. Because Koe did not want the sensitive area on her neck to be exposed to the beam of light, she pulled the collar of her blouse further up to its original position. Even though Koe was quite a ways away and towards the back of the group of individuals who were there to support her parents, Koe’s father took the lead position at the gathering. During that time, Koe became aware of a shadowy black limo with windows that were tinted a dark shade. The limo was parked in the shadows. It appeared as though the driver was making an effort to be close without getting too close to the memorial site where her mother is buried by driving up close to the location. A tall man with a shadowy appearance emerged from the darkness and advanced to a position where he was almost touching the trunk of the car. Because of his size, it's possible that she could have been fooled into thinking that he was a massive bear. It was the first time Koe had actually seen him in person, and as soon as she saw the window slowly open in the back door, she recognised him right away. Due to the fact that Koe’s mother only had one brother, he is the only uncle she has. Koe’s father looked at her and gave her a quick glimpse out of the corner of his right eye. She got the strong impression from him that it was time for her to depart. As she was walking away from her father, she mumbled something about "goodbye." The mysterious limo pulled away from the area where it was parked, and Koe separated herself from the other humans and continued on her own path. |
Koe cannot dispute that she is invested in the outcome of her work as she sits there, allowing her thoughts to pour unrestrained onto the page. To claim otherwise would be dishonest. When Koe writes without constraints, it does not necessarily imply a disregard for precision. More often than not, the topic at hand is the act of writing itself. That is to say, Koe remains totally committed. As a writer, she understands the value of unrestrained creativity and the freedom to express one's thoughts and ideas without restriction. She can't profess indifference to her own beliefs. She can't accept it in any way. Among writers, Koe is intensely conscious of the content of her work. A man who is uninterested in anything is a lunatic, for without a goal, how can one explain their mere existence? Certain writers are just concerned with whether or not their readers enjoy their work. The truth is that they, as writers, are still deeply concerned with producing exceptional writing that touches the hearts of their readers. Those writers must still orchestrate those pieces in a way that captivates the intended audience. It is common for writers who claim to be apathetic to be filled with strong emotions. As a primary character in any novel, each has a longing. If this does not happen, the narrative will be without a focal point. So, once again, does the author have any concerns? Yes. As she ponder, Koe can't help but think that everyone of us is experiencing our own particular fairy tale. Whether it's a rebirth, a quest, a route to riches, a voyage, or simply being a comic in life, we're all on our own journey. |
Koe sprinted out of the back door as if she had seen a ghost, and I deduced that her mind was most likely on her brother, even though it was highly improbable that he would awaken from his slumber at such an ungodly hour on his day off. Koe found herself in the confounding circumstance of steadfastly refusing to give it up, despite the fact that he showed no interest in the situation in the slightest. She possessed an innate talent that was uniquely hers and could not be found in anyone else. Koe has a plastic bag in her hands, which is stuffed to capacity with materials that are designated for recycling and which are ready to be separated into their proper bins. These bins are located beyond the lovely gardens that extend from the backward sections of our residence. The majority of the items within the bag were made of plastic and aluminium cans. There were also a few pieces of cardboard. Since the day that we instructed her in reading, each day has turned into an exciting new adventure for her. As Koe dragged the plastic bag along the ground, the noise it made as it moved filled the surrounding space. Upon arriving at the bins, she meticulously placed each thing in the container that was most appropriate for it. She derives joy from engaging in that pastime on a daily basis. If the world we live in now were filled with the same enthusiasm that she did, it would unquestionably be a more hospitable place. This is one of my children, from whom even I, the parent, have a great deal to learn. *** When I first opened my eyes this morning, I reminded myself that each day is a fresh start. My window looked out into a world that was just beginning to be bathed in a warm glow cast by the sun as it rose. It served as a timely reminder that the day had begun anew, regardless of the events of the previous day. An opportunity to start over, to make different decisions, and to chart a different course. I took a deep breath, let go of the things that had happened in the past, and then took a step forward into the unknown possibilities that the day had in store for me. I am thankful for the opportunity to write that today provided, watching Koe’s there. |
Koe pondered the question of whether reckless writing exists. Perhaps she has already done so. Writing freely, without constraint, allows for the expression of whatever thoughts come to mind. The words on the page reflect the writer's current state of being at the time of writing. The writer's emotions, whether they be anger, happiness, or bliss, are undoubtedly shaping the tone of their voice. The writer may even exhibit recklessness in the words they have inscribed. Perhaps Koe ought to label it as writing that stems from the depths of one's emotions. The notion of comprehensiveness and expansiveness in capturing the writer's emotions is a compelling one, as it allows for a more holistic understanding of their inner world. Indeed, the essence of humanity in this world of artificial insemination lies in our ability to feel. Koe has come to realise that perfection is not the ultimate goal. In fact, it is her imperfections that make her who she is. By embracing our flaws and quirks, we become more authentic and true to ourselves. It is in this imperfection that we find our true perfection. |
Whenever Koe delves into the pages of a book or stumbles upon a sublime sentence, it never fails to vex her that she is not penning her own words. It's not that Koe lacks the ability to conjure up such magnificent phrases or sentences, but rather that she finds herself simply stringing words together in order to form coherent thoughts. She spilled forth the contents of her mind without restraint or hesitation until her spirit soars like a lark, singing its own sweet melodies. It is not within the nature of birds to assume that we, or perhaps only she, hold any admiration for their melodic tunes or vocalisations. Every morning, Koe could hear their voices singing in unison from behind the tight curtain of her bedroom. Perhaps they would cease their singing if they were aware of Koe's presence. Not every writer desires to be noticed. There are certain writers who are at their most productive when they are in solitude, existing within a realm entirely of their own creation. They say that writing for others may not be a lonely pursuit, but in truth, being alone is what we writers do best. Koe finds solace in the company of her own thoughts, for she is never truly alone when she is with herself. “Writing is alone, but I don't think it's lonely. Ask any writer if they feel lonely when they're writing their book, and I think they'll say no.” - Margaret Atwood |
Koe had never anticipated that she would exude such a profound sense of tranquilly. From Koe's vantage point, she observed her intently. Koe could hear a voice, distant yet clear, calling out to her, urging her to depart at once. There is a certain time and place for everything. Somehow, rules had never occurred to Koe as necessary for such a peculiar place. Koe's hand seemed to have a will of its own, pulling away from her body. They strolled along until they arrived at the entrance of a wooden bridge. The expanse at the opposite end appeared rather vast. Koe contemplated that she would abandon her to traverse it alone, yet she pursued. Koe inquired of her about the reason for her presence, to which she replied that traversing this bridge unscathed was not a feat within everyone's grasp. Midway across, Koe paused and gazed over the side railing, peering down into the depths below. As they traversed the bridge, Koe couldn't help but notice the absence of water below. It left her pondering exactly what it was that they were crossing over. Koe found herself compelled to question her own thoughts. She spoke to Koe of those who found themselves unable to depart, instead choosing to plunge into the abyss of their own irreversible fate. Koe gazed once more and beheld nothing but an interminable abyss. Perhaps many of them lost their way while traversing this bridge. They continued their journey in shared silence. Before long, they arrived at the terminus of the bridge. She instructed Koe to proceed with her voyage henceforth in solitude. There existed a portal suspended in the ether that demanded Koe's solitary ingress. Koe did not inquire as to the reason, for Koe presumed it to be yet another route she herself must traverse alone, as Koe had anticipated from the outset. She said to Koe that, henceforth, Koe would be unable to recall anything from her own past. When Koe stepped through the threshold, nothing would trail behind her. Koe felt a sense of contentment as she traversed the bridge, embarking on a new chapter in her own existence. Koe expressed gratitude to her own being and continued the journey. Koe took a few steps forward, then abruptly pivoted to bid her final farewell. Koe couldn't help but observe that all that had been present here had vanished into thin air. They disappeared right in front of her. Koe followed her instructions obediently. Koe opened the door and stepped into the blinding light, crossing over to the other side. |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The sound of one's own voice has the power to divert the mind from its cogitations, leading to a disruption of the inner monologue. Reiko find that composing amidst the bustle of the city can prove to be quite a hindrance. She suppose there is no such thing as a flawless individual. In a certain sense, it could be said that such experiences cultivate a certain fortitude, a capacity to navigate diverse situations amid shifting conditions. She is aware of that—a small but positive detail. One might argue that this exhibits a certain level of emotional intelligence. Reiko have always been attuned to the nuances of her environment. The slightest shift in the air or the faintest rustle of leaves can speak volumes to her. It is this sensitivity towards her surroundings that has allowed her to navigate the complexities of life with a certain grace and ease. For Reiko, the world is a rich tapestry of sensory experiences, each one offering a unique insight into the mysteries of existence. |
| I sat at my desk, staring at the blank page before me, wondering where to begin. The only sounds in the room were the soft hum of the air conditioning unit and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Together, they formed a paragraph. - The writer. |
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