Tag Archives: blogging

Happy Friday the 32nd?

Happy Friday the 32nd?

Band Website

Hey Everyone, welcome to Friday! I wanted to send out a quick message to promote a band I love named ‘The Chromaphones.’ They are based out of Madison, Wisconsin and give off a funk/jam band vibe. They are releasing their newly recorded album tomorrow (Recorded, mixed, and mastered by drummer Will Bailey) titled “Friday the 32nd.” I am super stoked about it!

The album is titled after the same song of its name as an instrumental, written by keyboardist Graham Marlowe. Lead vocals and guitar are shared by Tim Coughlin Jr and Cheyne Trost, who also switch out bass between songs. A couple of my favorites are “Don’t Wanna Know,” “Venus,” “Unrequited,” and “My Vitamins.”

I am so proud of these guys and I can’t wait to share their music with you.

The Chromaphones’ music video for “This City”:

Will Bailey Productions

Enjoy your weekends!

I am grateful for music ❤

Monthly Archives: August 2013


Oh, How I Cry

Posted on August 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Oh, how I long to cry

To shed these tears as memories, to ignore the pain seen;

Felt from afar

How many families suffer?

Innocents, children in pain?

Can we pretend that we’re still hungry

and feed each other

blissful responses so as to push one step

closer to the unfamiliarity;

Of how peaceful humanity can be?

Oh, how I long to cry

One tear lost for each fallen soul

Those silently attacked while sleeping in their homes

Laying in their beds, dreaming up the stories that the

Collective consciousness strives to see

Are we so cold?

Oh, how I long to cry

We are the same you and I

Hearts struggling to see the good;

To see the love that they try to hide

This isn’t a battle against one and two

Nor an epidemic of hatred

Are we so eager to be told what to think?

Are we really so blind?

Oh, how I long to cry

Even worlds apart the devastation is clear

A time is coming, there’s no room for fear or

fighting over distractions of mercy

Would you show mercy?

Is there anybody listening?

To those screaming out, wailing cries

To satisfy the wicked planning;

Oh, how I cry.

I am grateful for every second of life. ❤


Stomach Flu

Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Legs straddling the porcelain
One hand back, pulling up sweaty strands in a tight fist
The other, lost in the confusion of the movement
Body shaking, collapsing, suffocating
A putrid stench opens eyes to another wave of volatile cleansing
The bathroom floor has never felt so private
Deliriously making way back to bed
To dream of the reality of the moment
Until feet understand the urgency of the next second before
Eyes open
Another dance into submission

I am grateful for Jess. ❤



Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Take a stab in the dark

To see which holes bleed

To see how long before I start silently screaming

wheezing out all of the damages done

Those perceivable wounds that ooze a contemptuous red hue of thick liquid

that slowly caresses skin

before falling down

Escaping body, rejected from the living

Breathing, suffocating from the metallic smell

hauntingly drifting into each nostril

to inhale one’s self

Foreshadowing what’s to come?

I am grateful for change. ❤


I’ve Always Been a Spider

Posted on August 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Weaving the web in my head

Tying and twisting all of the knots, the

suspicions forming their shapes

and the confusions of everyone

as they stare into the transparent work of art

glistening in the sun

I guess I’ve always been a spider

Announcing to the world that even the definable delicate are strong.

I am grateful for sunny afternoon walks. ❤


Posted on August 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The first stage of doubt:
Being forced to recognize the limitations
Of time and distance
A one hour flight to travel into the depths of mind;
Second guessing position of desire
And what you want
The incessant rain keeps my feet wet, creating
Dirty tracks that lay out the roadmap of the steps carefully placed and manipulated
Just like want and desire?
Knowing the pain to grow stronger with each layer of question, confusion
I sometimes wonder if there’s any strength available for purchase
The expanse between your world and mine is great
I don’t know if I’m capable of ignoring the empty space surrounding
Even though I crave it, I can’t stand being alone
Or, the forgotten thoughts of those who claim ownership

I am grateful for every thought. ❤



Posted on August 20, 2013 by MuseWriter

How many paths must we cross,

Must we stumble through;

Guessing which part of the fork is best positioned for the tastiest bite?

To chew on the destination of thoughts that enable blood to pump and flow

Parallel to the bordered trail like a stream;

A continuous reminder of water and the other elements one person needs to survive

Removing the requirements of life and focusing on all that is surrendered

To a compartmentalized pandora’s box

Categorizing important cargo in a wooden reminder of vulnerability

Dried salmon candle wax puddled on the cracked surface

Staining the purity of all that embraces my mind

I am grateful for friendly neighbors. ❤


Cupid’s Enlightenment

Posted on August 18, 2013 by MuseWriter

Skinny fingers grasp the threaded line

Pulling back the thin fragments with a practiced hand

Eyes focused, not on object of manipulation but within the two figures out of reach;

The one and the two of the mission

The Amor, as he’s called, marks each piece of the puzzle with his target;

The cross point to aim so as not to confuse the scattered faces and bodies

Humming a familiar lullaby tune

Another mindless act to balance the shot

Calculating wind and distance, counting down breaths until the perfect moment

Two arrows let loose from his single bow

A skillful act of original tradesmanship of the god of love, son of Venus

Forgetting his resentment to his indifference, he contemplates what will happen to his latest victims

Unusually curious enough to sit upon his gargoyle perch to see the story unfold

Imagining his sport as a work of art and reflecting on the murals dedicated to his masterpieces of past

As an excited child he waits, watches as one lover finds another

Two hearts beating to the similar thoughts projected from their maker’s intense stare

Mystified, he trembles, he questions mortality and the gift of happiness

Longing to understand the passion of pain brought about by the penetration of his pointy arrowhead;

Staking claim as the narrator of their story

The reality of his genius keeps his heart beating

Even without the possibility of ever surrendering to his own magic.

I am grateful for Cupid’s art. ❤

Most People

Most People

Most people only ever come into our lives just to be temporary distractions. These walking, breathing, and talking amusements stimulate action to help escape the shackles of the monotony of everyday survival. The Universe perceives these occurrences as the heightened view into the inner workings of an individual human being. Two people can come together as separate entities to try and satisfy some sort of need, whether that means physical or emotional and/or both. The best result of these acquaintances only amount to brief, inconsequential encounters with their mind-numbingly, two-dimensional connections. The moments these relations afford are based more off of the selfish emotional responses to one’s own goal of betterment, instead of relating and tuning into the actual character of a being other than self. The soul, when bound into itself, enables the body and mind to regulate the creation of happiness, or at least to settle for the satisfying accomplishment of instant gratification in finding various methods to not feeling/being alone. Euphoria is met, boredom ensues, and the people disperse to find their next source of entertainment meant to be forgotten.

Most people live in debt to this life, never seeking out nor accepting in the sensations of knowing something other than self. As the Human ages, daily demands slowly attempt to terminate the innate innocence and curiosity that we inherently practiced as children. We begin to avoid the situations and the people that threaten to upset the defining factors of what we choose to believe in as “me;” separating oneself out of the collective human race and claiming stature as “other.”  But as other, we project an estrangement of disconnectedness, a thick and impenetrable essence that effectively blocks out any passing beam of light willing to shine. Refusing sensations of meeting skin to skin to the point of ignoring the opportunity for a friendly handshake or hug. Refusing any chance of mental stimulation for fear of vulnerability of giving away more of self than wanted.

Most People become static, lost in their hollows; the hollows being defined as the shadow World. This suffocating place where indifference and apathy are born. The bodies and minds found there are lost, having chosen a reality without the attachment of soul, to soul. The shadows are comforting to those who cannot handle the light or the dark. The “others” hide in the shadows, allowing the numbing embrace to cocoon them within their wished-for complacency; never inspired, never inspiring.

But what of us who don’t fit into these black, white, and gray planes of existence? What of us who can relate to all of the moments of awareness; never asking for the experiences but seemingly overwhelmed with them throughout the entirety of life. Tired empathetic souls who were fortunate enough to be selected out of the billions at random(?), whether grateful for the gift or not. What is our fate, when the majority of ‘Self’ is nowhere around to mix within the questioning contemplations floating out of our heads and into the collectiveness of our World?

We are connected, you and I. We share a bond that neither one of us has claimed, or claims to understand. Both of our souls are struggling, battling against the ailments of the Human inadequacies of mind and body. All of the while attempting to recall our past lives and their accomplishments and failures. Giving into the passions of feeling to please our insatiable souls. We do not label ourselves with the mundane and we do not settle for complacency. Our destiny was planned so that we would have the option of choosing our pathway to death, instead of living a life already dead.

We exist in this moment because we believe that we do and I believe in you. I love you. I love you in more than just the verbal classification of the word. I love you in a state of complete openness and vulnerability. I love you more than what is said between one person to another. I love your soul. I love your passion. I love you. I send this love out because it’s not said enough. We should be grateful for the intensity of love, not afraid, not jealous, not embarrassed, not hated.

What we have together, what we have experienced together, is more than average; we are above being typical. And with that knowledge of self-actualization (“self” describing the bondage of our souls into one), we can become lost within the ideals of moral absolution and the stigmas of society. After all, we have been chosen to feel for the World so feel it ALL we must. The highs become shared expressions of elation, and the lows that we connect on, push us apart.

I don’t want to push you away and I don’t want you to push me away. Our infantile shortcomings are at no fault to any of us, we’ve been awarded these roles for a reason. You are not just another temporary distraction in life, you have shared your soul and I have shared mine. That alone is more than Most People can say. But in doing so, we will always and forever be connected; this lifetime and the next. Perhaps we’ve been connected since the beginning of time.

You are my everyday companion, a shining light to keep me from giving into my curiosity about the shadows and any morbid thought that seeks to destruct. We are higher beings who consider the philosophy of life to be easier than surviving here outside of the mind. We are not enemies nor do I claim any. You are my family and I will always love you, and in that, always accept love from you.

I am grateful for changes of reflection ❤

Monthly Archives: July 2013

Monthly Archives: July 2013

Every once in a while I’ll go back and read what I’ve posted in the past. It’s hard to believe that I started this blog back in 2012 and I’m so grateful that I did. I’ve met so many wonderful friends on WordPress and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without this little outlet. In honoring these feelings of nostalgia, I would like to re-share with you, so to speak, some of the writings that I’ve posted in the past. Thanks again for being a part of my story! ❤ Muse

Gravel Road
Posted on July 31, 2013 by MuseWriter

Blindly walking down the gravel road
Outlined in wavering oak trees mixed in with pines
I count each forward step, grateful for the movement
Thankful to have the strength to be standing at all
The random rocks scattered below foot
Offer an uncomfortable pathway to travel
Carefully avoiding sharp edges protruding from the dirt
Sucking in breath as one quick glance fails to notice the pointy canine of a monster
Fangs out, hungry for flesh
Bloodthirsty stranger claiming ownership
Gouging the arch of my left foot, leaving a trail of blood behind.
I am grateful for this weekend! ❤

A Master of the Call
Posted on July 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

Passion seeping, seething to begin to tell the story of an introduction of the most extraordinary kind
A kinship of identity, feeling apart of something at the very first discovering of voice.
A master of the call patiently carrying out thoughts and creating thinkers who long to continue the traditions:
Of thought provoking, mind boggling, completely ordinary phrases that trump any trained structure taught to little boys and girls;
Who paint pretty flowers that represent the generics of an underground world, but not him.
Disregarding the perfectly placed soapbox and stepping off into the crowd, emerging self to penetrate the barriers of the weak mind
One of the brightest stars known to our eyes,
I can still see him burn, burn, burn
Igniting the fuel in those who feel alive.
I am grateful for motivational conversations, especially about a hero. This might not be the last of Kerouac ❤

1 + 1
Posted on July 27, 2013 by MuseWriter

The backdrifters:
A picturesque display of the 2D sideways view of the
stick figures climbing
The stairs into oblivion
Is this transition so modern, so irrelevant
To anything meaningful at all?
Patiently we tremble
Buckling from the strength “borrowed”
for the good of the people and all of the good that will do
Masking consideration with indifference
So as to not draw any unwanted attention
Of what he said/she said
Have you heard what he said/she said?
Would it be alright if we could
replace uniformity with a new kind of thinking;
to save lives?
To promote the spiritual awakening within the familiar
memories of everyone gazing at the stars,
Those curious enough to see past the barriers and restrictions
of our world
and forget the basic math of 1 + 1
I am grateful for you! All of you wonderful WordPress writers that put life on hold to read a stranger’s random thoughts of accidental sentences. Thank you for making this experience so rewarding! ❤

Where are the heroes?
Posted on July 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Making friends with the little face in the blanket
An onlooker with a friendly smile to offer
at just the right glance, to see the full bearded grin
Knowing me, myself, deeper
perceiving all of the idiosyncrasies to claim, that I navigate
Giving in, to someone
Anyone relatable to vulnerability
An abstract being committed to acknowledging
every ounce of the commitment to waiting
Even if I dive down into the deepest depths of the ocean,
just for a quick dip, every once in a while.
To find balancing minds that comprehend a particular understanding
Those who challenge all of these pent-up frustrations;
Every building block balancing on the last square’s sharp corner
Escaping face, running away
Blaming those who claim to penetrate the thought
but then falter when the war horn starts blowing;
Cowards that brave the training but abandon the reality
Of it all, if this is all
just a daytime act of the fairytale world
Who are our warriors?
Where are the heroes?
I am grateful for those in my world that keep it spinning round and around. ❤

Everything, or Nothing At All
Posted on July 24, 2013 by MuseWriter


Soft humming, whispering through the dark
A song that carries a familiar melody,
a voice that I hear often
Deep, harmonious onto itself, splitting moments of sound into a stereo
speaker of what is being said, sang
I understand what it costs, to be yourself and forget
the thoughts that project, interject
from everyone screaming around
The intensity is loud, overbearing, uncontrollable
What of this awareness if there is no one to see it?
Time always proves the existence of man
To see him stumble, fall, and still rise, to lift himself up;
True will; impenetrable determination,
until light is eventually extinguished
Is this the song, the meaning behind the feeling suggested;
An introduction to the power of what rules the world?
The angel sings, echoes softly within the breeze
Catching on the particles that reflect off of the moon
They flitter, flutter
Dancing to the flow
Little fairies of a fraction of light to behold
I hum out a wish to further push the troops along
A breath of exhaling frustrations searching for the mutual understanding
of companionship
and what that means, if I could believe in everything,
or in nothing at all.
I am grateful for writing and late, Radiohead kind of nights. ❤

Old Shoes
Posted on July 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Someone I once met, was an advocate of shoes
“The most important aspect of walking,”
Said an older man with a learning soul
Enjoying the day, enjoying the people
Showing off a younger brand than expected;
However, they were all white,
I’ve heard that’s cliché?
But he didn’t know, and if he did, he didn’t care
Happy as a satisfied customer invested in selling his satisfactions with another
Who happened to be me, as I reflected on
The time I first put my shoes on my feet
One year, maybe two; my disregarded
necessity of almost everyday wear
Mostly gray with a rubber sole of neon pink,
Perfect balance of my kind of fashion, comfort
If I have to be convinced of buying new footwear, it must be easy to find the replacement;
This, coming from a skeptic
I’m hesitant to admit that my shoes are old.
I am grateful for the many trails available for walking in this city! ❤

If you were here today…
Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Laying back, ground warm and soft
Wrapped in your arms, on the comfort of an old quilt
Pretending to care about the stars shining overhead;
Making that a reason to be here anyway
Whatever works, I’ll take it.
This is how I would imagine it
if you were here today…
I am grateful for technology. It makes communicating a lot easier ❤

Ink Blotches
Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

A festival for summer to gather the thinkers
Collecting names and creating futures one by one
Marching them in like cattle to be herded and sorted
Ironically matching identity of self into what self stands against
Creating an image, creating a challenge, creating a burden?
As a child I wander; not searching, nor pretending
Was this to witness a gift or a plot of destruction?
Another thought added to the list of doubt and pessimistic questions;
But I think everyone has some of those
Whether locked up in the moldy storage trunk, long forgotten in the attic
Or, burning in eyes until question mark ink blotches stain face black
I am grateful for these opportunities of learning. ❤

Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The melody is soft, playing slow,
harmonizing air to produce the flow of sound
With vibrations thundering through to the heart, keeping beat or count,
of how much life costs
A transcending thought from artists to listeners, connected by the
shared moments of understanding
One medium yearning to strip naked of bodily self and
give soul to all;
the other, open to enlightenment and
characterizing feelings and emotions,
A satisfying gift to witness, to experience
Assisting in quenching the thirst for inspiration by saving the full glass of motivation
for the dry tongued, those of the communicators
of mouth and word;
conducting phrases of letters and
weaving them into various
sequences of belief(s)
Only those worthy of
interpreting voice should ever
listen to music at all.
I am grateful for the musicians of the world, the lovers of sound. ❤

Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

Searching the crowd
Dedicatingly scanning faces for someone, anyone
My body as self-aware, before mind could respond;
maybe humbled by the overall feeling
Foreshadowing that any particular day may have an outcome
that defines the rest of life
Sometimes fate leaves the harder decisions up to the Universe
But not always; sometimes one’s given the chore of deciphering
choice from careful consideration
Although I find balance best, it’s harder to be patient for the motion to end
Carrying the weight of the world and assessing the burden of mankind against
the sky and the trees, the prairie grass and the seas, or the mountains and the river streams;
The natural magical wonders that feed the curious,
tempting retreat outside of any kind of stressful physical means:
I envision an oasis of pine and oak leaves bordering out
green edges against the blue summer sky
A slight breeze to shuffle the air and freshen the mood,
to create energy and movement
When I picture myself standing inside my utopian safe-haven,
I am not alone
But with you, a new lover of heart who
answers to the call of the beat when heard
Imprinting empathetic minds, living in the world anew.
I am grateful for all of the people I have met this summer! ❤

If it is…
Posted on July 16, 2013 by MuseWriter

If it is song, then we can sing
If it is prayer, then we can pray
If it is silence, then we can think
Too many if, then contemplations to consider
I find myself remembering less when I focus on trying to figure out more, details
Of this and that, of her and him
Faces that shift shape and illuminate questions of recognition
But are we that familiar?
I ask for forgiveness from the deep vibrations of my bones
Can you hear the echo bouncing off of the muscles and tendons
digging down into the deep, dark edges of my soul;
Hiding from the reaper, seeking within?
Belief seems fake and brittle these days
But I’ve never understood the belief in the falsity of placing so much meaning on
any particular word, words, to outline:
Some definition of phrase to listen to or compose for a muse’s kind of gathering
Would you listen to the voices calling out random names,
Quiet whispers dancing on the erratic changes of the wind?
The identity of a character determined by the mind of the reader,
And who hears, what is being interpreted the “correct” way;
to trust in communicating and giving up on all other
interpretations to shuffle through.
If it is song, then we can sing
If it is prayer, then we can pray
If it is silence, then we can think
I am grateful for today and what I have learned. ❤

The Monster Within
Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Glancing down through the storybook
Fumbling through the pictures and stopping on a familiar scene of intense contrasts
Background black but outlining a lone figure illuminated by an opened door’s light
Just a shadow caught in-between the different realities and wondering how to connect
As the true self opens up, the metaphorical sharp teeth grow into a snarl
The monster within scaring away the person who finally solves the riddle, whatever the answer may be?
Understandable resentments that pop when squeezed hard enough,
And ooze a tainted green slop of contemplation; not that it really matters.
I feel a sense of understanding; wondering why darkness seems so stereotypically engulfing?
This liminal body, reflecting curiosity into the story
Always tempted by learning, perhaps addicted to the questions asked as chance happens
I try to focus, least of all, on the other aspect of individuality;
That we often find ourselves exploring these thoughts alone.
I am grateful for moments to myself, being alone and enjoying it 🙂

No One
Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Should I cover mouth and smile,
Through eyes so as to cause less discomfort?
What child stands upright at the break of learning how to walk?
There is no one who can blindly lift themselves up;
every pathway cannot be claimed, walked
We are a body of matches and pairs
Silloutes of shadows and meaning
To disgrace oneself by judging the unknown;
no one is good enough to predict the many faces of the future
But if you have opinions to share
Please let me offer;
if you can’t believe than get the fuck out.
I am grateful for distractions. ❤

Hard to Tell *New Music*


I love to sing but it’s even more fun jamming with my boyfriend Tim Coughlin Jr. We had a lazy day yesterday of coffee and music. I hope you enjoy 🙂

If you would like to check out more of his music: https://timcoughlinjr.bandcamp.com/

insert title III


Memories and Reflections


Standing on the hill with a random breeze catching on
His strawberry hair ruffled and soft to the touch;
Succumbing to the force within the currents of the wind

The sun and the moon endure their usual aversion of each other
As they sit on their thrones to enjoy the splendor below;
Loving the thoughtless creatures of mortal limitations

Of this one in particular pretending magnificence

(As a peaceful representation of living in perfect harmony
and fighting the fear of indifference
while promoting beauty in the uncertainty,
or at least the everyday moments that the
World can be too busy to notice)

As the ordinary miracles catches his attention;
A man of notice and the gifts of perception

Breathing in the reality tasted by the events determined
From the recordings of the subjects in question;
Their memories and reflections of them

She’s Not Me

I heard all of the rumors and

The messages that she sent

I thought maybe I was her but

She showed me that we’re different

Her wounds bound her together and

Although they seemed similar

I knew that I was only myself, that

She was not me but someone else

Another drifter saying the same things

Thinking the same thoughts day to day

Except she claims to see more

As if she knows the future

Or maybe bits and pieces of our

Memories shaped together


I’ve got the fire burning in my belly

My heart is pumping strong

There’s a few words I’ve been thinking

That lay balanced on my tongue

I thought you were my brother

I called you my best friend

But at the first chance you got

You shoved a dagger into my back
Supposed Friends


Calling all supposed friends!

Oh where Oh where have y’all been?

I’ve found myself among the wolves

Their howls keep calling me home under the moon

Have I died and been gifted a life reborn?

I woke up soaking wet and standing alone

Dripping droplets of their bitter scorn

Leaving puddles of poison on the floor

The grass is always greener in this war

Battles of greed to keep us wanting more

You can claim all of the fields of clover

A fake reign won’t live on forever

I am grateful for lost thoughts ❤



Heart don’t fail me now

The room’s spins are keeping me facedown

Looking at my feet planted on the ground

Ignoring everything trying to stay calm

My own thoughts screaming out

You’re stupid, you’re sick, you’re all on your own!

Oh heart, tell me something else

I’m feeling disappointed in myself

Even with you and your love around

I’m better than what I am and what I know

I’m stronger than what’s left of me now

Desperate to cash in my promises to this World

Beat heart! Shake off the dusty rubble

Open up to purge out the damages done

With a butter knife slice down the middle

Its jagged lacerations driving the blood

Separating the pieces into two parts of myself

One half for my soul and one half for my love

Heart don’t fail me now

Feeling the look of those pair of brown eyes

Staring back at me with only love and life

Ignoring everything except for us

My own thoughts screaming out

Don’t fuck this up girl, this is what you want!

I am grateful for night drives ❤