Monday, September 26, 2005


I struggled my way through a suffocating swamp wide as an ocean and ridden with hostile creatures of amphibian physiology whose forte seemed the strangulation of all thought. This was the path to the house where she lived. I had been there many times before, but each time the way was different and I had to divine it anew. Invariably the journey was perilous and taxing. A previous time I stumbled my way through the crass outline of a city, erring through an eternal crescendo of traffic and noise and anonymity to find my way to her. But despite the physical ambiance of the journey, she was always there in her abode, waiting with exactly the words, some spoken, some held in her eyes, woven like a net, to catch and draw out the idea slumbering unseen inside me, visible only to her. It was so light there, so airy, in contrast to what I knew, and I always found her dancing to a music only she could hear. But as I undertook the journey of return, the idea clutched in my hands, I could almost hear the melody following me with the breeze, and I felt like skipping along whatever path it was that held me.

Story #285

Note from Indeterminacy: The photo is one I took in 1996 of my muse. Thanks to everyone who contributed a story. They have been reposted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com

24 comments:

rusty said...

Gay abandon !! Pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof.....soft music in the background......musty smell of earth......forgotten yesterdays.....postponed tomorrows......this moment...right now....I live.

princessdominique said...

Awesome photo. It would probably evoke poetry moreso that a story for me. I can't wait to see what you come up with.

fluff said...

I love this picture, too. Indie, was it how you found it or did you crop it?

Indeterminacy said...

Princess Dominique: I haven't a story yet for this photo, but I'm sure I'll try to make it poetic. On the other hand, that's not a good sign. My best results are when I don't try to do something. If I try, it usually goes wrong.

Ariel: I don't modify or influence the photos I find in any way. I hope it inspires you to write something. I'm still thinking.

Rusty: Thanks for writing a story so quickly! I havn't read it yet - I avoid reading the contributions until after I've written mine.

The Mushroom said...

It wasn't your average day in Vestial Virgin Land. Yes, it was sunny, everything glowed in clean whites, and the air was still pure. But rather than saunter around passively and in quiet expectation of some unknown event, one of the girls broke free. She used ground roots and berries to change her hair color from golden blonde to a brown so dark it seemed black. She modified her outfit so while it was still chaste it was free and functional -- those long dresses that touched the ground were hard to keep clean and hard not to step upon while moving forward. And rather than sticking to the prayer-like contemplative facial stance, she smiled and used her neck and looked like she was having good clean fun for once. She danced through the room rather than flowed abruptly like a bridesmaid. She introduced two things to Vestial Virgin Land which had never existed before: actual happiness in herself, and quiet envy in other residents.


Come clean, Indie, that's one of your recently-printed photos, and that's your Muse, isn't she?

weirsdo said...

Princess Lucinda was excited. It was the first of May, the day her fairy godmother had promised she could free herself and her people from the clutches of her evil Auntie Kodachrome. But only if she danced long and beautifully enough.
She had already been dancing for hours to any music her people could provide--bawdy drinking songs, heavy metal, one dedicated group of volunteers even performed a symphony. Lucinda was tired, but she was resolved: she and her people would not be imprisoned in the black-and-white world forever. She clung to the pillar in the great hall of her castle, swinging round it with wild abandon, tossing her hair over her face in a frenzy.
The last voice she heard was her godmother's. "You have done well, my child. The sun is setting. Your people will be free. . . ."
But Lucinda heard no more, for just as the sun dropped over the horizon, she fell dead, and the bush behind her broke into a riotous bloom of color.

weirsdo said...

O. k., so I borrowed a bit from the Rite of Spring. Sue me.

dddragon said...

She felt incredibly carefree this morning. The very air invited her to look for a new adventure.

But where?

Jamie Dawn said...

This happened every time Mike brought by a couple of chilled six packs of Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Ella would drink them and start giggling, then dancing, then she'd open up to Mike's advances.
Worked every time.
What Mike didn't know was that whenever he looked away, Ella would pour her drink out into the base of the Palm tree. She wasn't drunk at all.
She was giggling and letting him kiss her simply because she wanted him too.

The Mushroom said...

Jamie: is that anything like the old joke...
Blonde mating call - "I'm Druuuuunk!"
Brunette mating call - "I SAID I'M DRUNK!!"

Jamie Dawn said...

Funny, Mush, funny.
My story is supposed to be sweet, very simply sweet.

Indeterminacy said...

Rusty: Now I can tell you I love what you wrote. I think it perfectly captures the mood of the photo.

Princess Dominique: Now I can thank you properly for the unintended compliment. It's a photo I took and enlarged myself of my lovely muse.

Ariel: My muse was looking through a box of photos and suggested I use this photo of her (We'd already planned to slyly slip in one of her photos, but weren't sure which one. Actually I was going to suggest one from this series, when she walked in the room with the photo you see.) I scanned it in and cut off the white border. I had no idea the photo would stand out so.

Mushroom: I love how your story turned out. I think the photo inspired you. My own story was hard. Try to write something when your muse is standing behind you telling you "It better be brilliant." You found me out with your guess, except it was for the wrong reasons. This photo was made around 9 years ago.

Weirsdo: We both enjoyed your story. What did you mean with "Rites of Spring"? Do you mean Stravinsky's work? Next time don't listen to classical music when you write something ;-)

DDDragon: A new art form. The two sentence short story. Cool.

Jamie: I think your story was very sweet. I'd guess a lot of women know more about the psychology of men than men know about the psychology of women.

Jamie Dawn said...

Beautiful words, Indie, for a beautiful picture.
Your muse looks heavenly. Very pretty.

Indeterminacy said...

Thank you Jamie. I'm truly fortunate to have found my muse.

Alice: In Wonderland or Not said...

Ya'll are quite inmpressive.

Indeterminacy said...

I think it's impressive that Mushroom guessed about the photo.

The Mushroom said...

I hadn't any doubt. I might have been wrong about it being a reprint (I've been playing with a lot of original photos of my bride's family from 1910-1960 with the intention of making reprints) but I did presume it was a picture taken at a previous time by you of her.

Muses are hard to find, and yours is de-lovely. Happy to hear I guessed correctly. :)

GPV said...

It was on the second day of school and since I missed the 7:30 bus,I was kind of late,not too much no,not late enough to run but late so that I had to walk fast,I heard the bell of Fortier High School ringing from a hundred yards off,I had to speed up.
She walked out of her alley and at the first sight of her my fourteen years old heart skipt a beat or two.She was going the opposite way from Fortier so she passed me by,I turned around to watch her go and I almost ran into a post, she looked back too so she had time to see what was happening and I heard her giggling, as I hurried to school I felt myself blushing.
I kept taking the 7:45 bus everyday for a month or two so I could just time my walk to school to see her get out from her house and our paths would cross until I had enough guts to say hello to her,she answered and her voice was a low chant "Hi" and I blushed again,she saw it as her eyes looked up and she smiled and looked aside the way girls do when they mean yes,even though they might say no.
I learned little things about her,bit by bit;she didn't go out on fridays to wherever she was going the other days,she had a floral perfume which left a light
and fresh scent around her,she didn't have much books to carry and after a while I learned that most saturdays she spent on her house's porch reading a book or doing nothing(I learned this because my dad drove me by a saturday afternoon) on another saturday I checked to see if she was there,she was.
It took me sometimes to gather enough courage to go to her place
on a saturday afternoon and to be obvious about coming to see her,
so I decided to play it franckly
and I walked to her home and she saw me coming,she got up from her chair as I stopped in front of her lawn,she reached for one of the posts of the porch and swinging around it in half an arc she said:
You don't go to school on saturdays do you?-No,I...was just..well I came to see you(blush).
_Oh,nice,well then come on in
and_You like some tea?

As if we knew each other since birth.

Lynn,my sweet fair brunette, first love I had in New Orleans who would walk like dancing,with dark eyes so deep my heart drowned
in them,Lynn died in a car wreck a few weeks after we met,after we made love eyes in eyes a few times.. OOOOoo much too few.
When I think of her some nights
water falls from my eyes,it rains a bit on my pillow.

weirsdo said...

I really liked all the stories. She really is a Muse!

fluff said...

beautiful story, Indie, is worthy of the beauty of the picture.

still life said...

come dance with me she whispered

i'd rather watch from here

put down those things and dance with me

but I am, just to look at you

Indeterminacy said...

GPV: Your story is especially moving. Not once could I have stopped reading, even if I wanted to. It made me remember those tender teenage moments of liking a girl I'd seen, trying to meet her. "made love eyes in eyes" is such a beautiful expression. The way you wrote this makes me feel that it's a true story.

Mrs. Weirsdo & Ariel: Thank you and thank you. My muse doesn't believe me, but when I look at her, she looks the same to me as when I took that picture.

Still life: Thanks for contributing something so late. I hadn't thought of it, thought I should have, that photo has something of an invitation to dance.

I will repost the new stories at indeterminacies. And today's story will be a surprise. My muse is writing it!

M.P. said...

A very PRETTY Photo!! And I loved the story you worked out, Dr.Mabuse! Tha breeze that "goes after" you in your short-story seems to be the one that has been doing the same to you in real life! True?? :) Hope you're doing well! **

Anonymous said...

the photo is very sweet, and you can tell the person loves the one behind the lens...you just can. what a lucky pair! what a lovely family. :)

inde, i'm on pause, dear. but i'll be about.
alix