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Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Writing Prompt Wednesday: A World of Music



Create a World Based on a Genre of Music

Meet Author Lia Rees:

Psytrance

You better watch your step, you're in Psytrance World.
As you walk onwards the scenery shifts.
Something flashes on the horizon but it's gone the second you look at it.

The beat is constant - it resonates into all your senses,
permeating your body with a constant pulse,
turning you into an instrument.

The synthesis of everything is centred in you,
and you can barely grasp the million billion connections.
They scintillate like constellations.
You have become a kaleidoscope.

There is a direct pathway from the spinning of the galaxies
to the electric signals in your cells,
and you are standing here in Middle World
with a prime position to observe them both.

And the beat pulsates with your brainwaves in synchronicity.

Lightning flashes through your neurons.

Sounds both organic and unearthly fuse and make a twisted kind of sense.

The lens of the universe is focused on you. This is the source, the nexus, the eternal flux.

Psytrance.

About Lia:

"Supposed" to be a book designer and cover artist (FreeYourWords.com), Lia Rees insists on playing with such disparate things as T-shirt design and jewellery making. Her first book, But I'm Not Depressed, is a memoir about brain injury. At the time of writing, she is planning a poetry collection titled Electric Blue, to be printed by herself in blue ink. She has a liking for music, open-source culture and anything to do with space. She is a multipotentialite - look that up - and Myers-Briggs xNTP (still working out the first letter). The American anarchist fiance has not become sick of her craziness yet.

Links:

http://www.LiaRees.com

http://www.facebook.com/LiaWayward

AR's World

Singing the Blues


I rode the yellow broken-down bus, painted with rainbows and smiling faces. My head, leaning against the windows, I listened to the squeak and squeal of the under carriage. Beyond the cracked glass I saw empty fields dotted here and there with discarded couches and old refrigerators. The grass was dead and brown, the sky a heavy, leaden gray. 

The concrete was broken, dilapidated buildings leaned sideways as shutters flapped in the wind. No one walked alone in these neighborhoods, even during the day. 

A speck of red caught my eye, and I leaned forward, interested to see what made the splash of color in the otherwise drab surroundings. Growing from the corner of a crumbling corner building I saw a flower. One tiny red bud, reaching for the sky. It made my stomach clench and tears gather in the corners of my eyes. Even here, there was something beautiful. 

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