MUSE ARIADNE - WRITING CLUB

Prelude - Week 6, 2024

Write about what ways writing plays a role in your life-- why do you like it? is it hard? What's your relationship with it? Be as abstract or direct as you'd like.

I've always written, or as long as i've had the notes app on my first phone.

When i started my relationship with writing was very different from how it is now. Back then it was mostly 'I AM SAD. I AM UNIMPORTANT, YET IF I MAKE A MISTAKE THE WORLD WILL COLLAPSE. I AM MISERABLE AND SCARED'. It wasn't very fun to read for either myself or others, so i never showed it to anyone. But i needed it at the time. I wrote and wrote my wailing cries, closed the notes and never opened them again.

Nowadays i can't find catharsis through just going 'I AM SAD!!!', instead i have to confront the feelings in me, and weave something out of it. And so i still write. I don't think i'm the best at it, but i don't really mind.

I also share these note app excerpts nowadays, which is strange. But in a good way. Poetry helps me preserve this feeling of anonymity, false or not it may be. I get to talk about my feelings in a way that doesn't need to be strictly autobiographical. I've found that as long as you are emotionally honest the intents themselves usually shine through, regardless of the words used. I can show my face, without showing my face.

I do think i'll always write. Whether it be 'I AM SAD!!!' or something longer than that, whether i'll show it to others or keep it in the notes app; i don't know. Guess only time will tell.

Epicenter - Week 23, 2024

Think about undercurrents as you write– movements and energies that flow beneath surfaces. What surfaces do they lay beneath? Is it an undertone in skin or a song, a literal current, a political movement?

an oyster, a naval mine, a pair of flip-flops

do you want me to tell you what happened last night?

no, so let's walk along the shore

pick up the pieces of small things

that used to be big things, but now

aren't much use to anyone at all


if we're diligent we'll be done before lunch

then we can go sit down at some cozy cafe

to talk through each other

we'll work through all the kinks

you and me will be as smooth as the waves themselves

we won't ever have to fight


after the storm there's forgiveness,

a crude gesture

built in the same language as love,

with hands of another

yes, she's a fair woman

embracing us night after night


so come cuddle up next to me

rest against my chest

and when the clock stops somewhere around 2:49 am

i'll wake you up the gentlest way that i can

and the birds will sing along with me

when the tide comes again

Maybe this time you'll get four - Week 11, 2024

Explore a life cycle in some kind of writing. for example, you could use metamorphosis, diapause/hibernation, paedogenesis [very weird], puberty, the salmon life cycle, the amphibian life cycle, or something else entirely! you don't have to be direct-- just start here and get inspired.

start from the beginning

dig her up

see? it can't be that hard

feel her teeth underneath your fingertips

hear the thrum of a jaw clenched tight

ignore the crumbs of dirt and soil and things that shouldn't even be solid at all

carefully put two and two together

run over the instruction manual an extra time,

be sure to pry every orifice open

so when you've got something resembling a terrified child

and you've finally got her back in your arms

don't you dare close your eyes, and

crush her skull all over again

all in the name of progress

all in the name of progress

Berlin - Week 7, 2024

Write about a worldly place that is a threshold for you. This can mean anything-- maybe it's some place between end and beginning, forward and backward, past and present, here and there, friends and lovers, or something else entirely!

tw: talk of suicidal intent.

I was 16, and nothing worked. Ran up the same hills everyday with busted legs, cursing myself for falling over & the lactic acid moving me out of body. I could feel my organs shutting down, one by one.

So it was Berlin that i begged would save me, and i followed her to a hotel room. Putting on my big boy boots i walked all day, i saw all day. But that stupid city is just built on concrete and doomed history.

I went to eat dinner, but i could only taste the heartburn. I went to the museum, but it was only about the cold war. I went to the hotel room, but the mini bar was only stocked with liquor. The cafes served me tarred cigarette butts, a la mode. And her cough reverberated through my body.

So Berlin gave me the last she could, and she gave me a bathtub.

The fire burned so cold. Out of the tub rose the flames, higher than the walls allowed. Cradled into the porcelain i begged the fever to finally just fucking warm me. A romantic rendezvous with the flesh and the ceramic.

And she promised me what i wanted. Hovering over my stiff body, a single slip threatening to crush me.

Lips against my ear, breath with hint of a fire. Say my name: i can be yours.

The water burned so cold.

I emerged dry.