Blogs » Musings On Muses » One Thought (short Story)


The record company wanted the album yesterday. I wasn’t lollygagging about it. Thirteen songs were in the bag. I just needed the fourteenth to complete the package and close the circle on the theme. I don’t do ‘filler’, ever. When the thought crossed my beleaguered mind I realized that I had reached that proverbial ‘block’. Nothing was evolving out of the cascade of noise I was wringing out of the amplifier stack against the wall. With relaxed expedience I set the guitar on its stand and left the room. The loop of feedback circling between the amp and guitar was trying to melt the enamel off my teeth. I shut the door and left both tools inching towards meltdown. Silence crashed in abruptly.

Out in the lounge I lowered myself onto the couch and sat back into the soft cushions. Head back, I closed my eyes and expelled all the air from my lungs. Next, I refilled them with a slow deliberate breath and held it for a few seconds. Presently I trickled that breath out as slowly as possible and fell into a meditative lull. I lost the sense of breathing. My heartbeat slowed to a distant plod. The blood moving thru my veins became the gentle breeze of white noise in the background. The errant echoes of some lost chord progression made their final bounces around the inside of my skull. I became slowly aware of a small clock radio on the far side of the room that was on a local station. The volume was just below, or above audible. I tuned it out and forgot whatever the DJ was saying.

Thirteen songs appeared to me on a rolling marquee. They floated down thru a purple sky and disappeared into the darkness below. One by one they fell again, and again. The order changed after a while and then they fell into the order I wanted them in. They faded to green and brightened a bit. They all began to playback together. Themes congruent in each occurred in groups of cacophonous rapport. The deluge of sound dampened down and something new formed out of the mists of my mind and creation.

All the ideas I’d been ‘mused’ with came crashing in softly. Abodes of inspiration wafted about like sleepy fireflies. As each passed closer to me their inspirations were once again emoted as if to remind me not to forget the taste their offerings. My mind floated on that swell of thoughts. I pulled every muse to me and drowned in them. They giggled like so many strobe-lights at different speeds.

Although I knew why I had come to this state of mind, there was no room left for more inspiration. I could in no way find even a single thought to release back into the ether in order to make room for a different flavor, color, meaning, or modification of themes in use. Every muse was raising a voice in earnest and they were getting louder in a slow crescendo. Screams and whispers pressed into my spine along with everything else in between. I had to come up with one more song!

Time was gone from existence and it had passed my focus on the task, as it left. Inspirations were radiating fiercely and painting the inner walls of my state of mind with echoes of light and sound. I floated away between stars and tickled the hearts of nebulae to watch their multicolored clouds ripple with waves of cosmic laughter. Time was beating at the door but I could not hear it.

New ideas, ‘mused’ thru the walls that weren’t there and my mind swelled with each addition. They came in droves and packed in like cotton candies of infinite flavors. There was suddenly no room for anymore. One thought lingered at the periphery of my mind, wanting in. I was reluctant. I was sure that if I let it in amongst all the other ideas, brainstorms, and daydreams, I would surly loose all my physical senses. Blindness, deafness, and dumbness, would be my only tools left...And then I wondered (without perishing the thought), might I still trust my sense of taste, touch, and smell? It was after all, ‘just a thought’.

Nirvana disintegrated in a shower of white hot static as I crashed back into reality. Ghosts of ideas were ripped away. Soft specters trailed faint light-shadows towards the studio door. The, “Shut-UP!-I’m Recording!” sign, was still on. Beyond that door history was begging to be made. Guitars were itching to be fetched from their stands and empty tracks were waiting to be filled with sound. Although I could not hear them, the amplifier and guitar were still locked in their scream of feedback. Confidence slapped me square in the face. I flew off the couch because I’d had a thought, and went thru that door.