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Current mood:  creative Category: Music
Musings On Muses (Blog)
At the fringes of my imagination I am one-hundred-sixty-five-million years in the past, looking up from the surface of the moon. A lone pebble falls silently towards the earth. My eyes zoom in as it touches down. The flash becomes a bright red fireball. I watch the shockwave race across the oceans and thru the atmosphere. Ejectum billows out in a deadly rosette. Fingers of soot tipped with ember arc gracefully and return to the surface. Fires spread to even the dark side. The blue marble becomes black.
At the fringes of my imagination I am one-hundred-sixty-five-million years in the future. I move in parallel with the voyager-1 spacecraft, half a light year away from its dead hulk. A light zips into view but seems to be moving in reverse. A ship re-enters normal space and the hull cools from dull red to a royal metallic blue. A docking bay opens on its side and a mechanical arm juts out. The Voyager is deftly plucked from its lonely free-fall course and drawn inside. They will have to invent the phonograph.
At the fringes of my imagination I am at the galactic core. The torus surrounding a super-massive black hole screams with energy. Nothing is falling in at the moment but a few wisps of dust. A gentle wind of gamma and X-rays materializes above and below. The warp of space bends my soul and I reach out to cup my hands around the anomaly. Beads of light fall away from my eyes and into the depths. These are the last winks of long dead stars. Their death throes preserved in the tracks of frozen light they left behind as they made their final journey.
At the fringes of my imagination I am swimming on the sun. I body surf the shockwaves from massive eruptions for thousands of miles. I slalom thru cathedrals of magnetic force lines. I watch wave after wave of coronal mass flying away as lines snap with megatonic force. The thrum of the sun is drowned out by the hiss of energy rejoicing in new freedom. I dive down deep and find the core. I tickle the hydrogen atoms just before fusion and blow the photons about like dandelion seeds.
At the fringes of my imagination roses rain down on crowded streets. The soldier kisses the girl. Everyone smiles. The celebration is not for the end of a war. It is for the fact that there will never be another war, ever again.
At the fringes of my imagination I am motionless yet moving beyond the speed of light.
At the fringes of my imagination, in a fraction of any given moment, I, am, everywhere.
4:35 PM
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