View From My Coffin

I work in a building that is below street level, right near the railroad tracks.

When I look up I can see the part of the sky and the sides of buildings- some are brick, some glass and buses, I can always see them . I know. Exciting, right?

I call it my Coffin view because if you laid down ( which I wouldn’t advise, so you’d have to imagine it ) it’s the view you would get if you were in a coffin.

One day though, I saw something new what I looked up peeking over the rail at me from the foot of my coffin:

A.M. Moscoso

Really? I thought. Am I really seeing this? I  walked up a little closer and looked straight up and in addition to f the usual brick and glass and bus tops – it really  was  there looking down into my coffin.

A.M. Moscoso

I walked through an  unused  train tunnel to the street above and there he was

Anubis- and he was magnificent.

Photo A.M Moscoso

I had no idea what at the time what it took to set up a 26 foot tall 5.5 ton  statue of the God Anubis to the corner of the street that overlooks my Coffin- I have no idea because from my coffin I can’t hear much of what happens on the street above.

I’m guessing if you asked the segment of our former population that now resides underground they would say the same thing.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I spent a lot of time around the statue of the God Anubis during his visit to Seattle. After all, I had learned the art of embalming, I worked below the street where there are the remains of what used to be everywhere I walk and I write about ghosts and those little things that crawl into our dreams at night and turn them into nightmares.

I’m very fond of this particular deity…color you surprised, right?

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Of all my pictures, I love these the most because of what they represent:

Sometimes when I go outside and look up from my Coffin and my lip sort of does the Elvis lip curl because it’s a pretty uninspiring, bland smelly view but I remember this day and I have the pictures recoding the moment and I actually  hope and think it’s possible that one day  I see something this great again.

HERE is a video of the statue of Anubis being  brought in that was shot by the Seattle Department of Transportation:

SFC: Alluvial Mining: MINING FOR IDEAS

Sometimes, It Comes For You

Today I took three pictures and each one came with a story as  captured them.

It was like a little play that I walked through at lunch time.

Interesting.

amm

Act1

PHOTO A.M. Moscoso

This cat used to be two rabbits

and then one day it changed

Did it eat the rabbits you might wonder,

or did the rabbits run away?

Act 2

Photo A.M. Moscoso

There is a face

that is screaming

because it’s trapped against this wall.

Nobody ever sees it, nobody hears it

nobody cares about it at all.

 

The End

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Sometimes

he said to me sadly,

as his world came to an end

Sometimes

you don’t have to go to Hell.

Sometimes.

It comes for you.

 

SFC Prompt: ALLIVIAL MINING: The World’s A Stage

There You Are, You Little Devil!

From The SFC Prompt ALLUVIAL MINING- Looking under rocks for ideas

I was never a grave digger, but I did learn as I watched a gravedigger use a back hoe to break ground for a grave that it’s a skill a not unlike the one I was learning at the time.

The modern day digger could bring this smallish piece of heavy machinery into a  cemetery, navigate it down the little drive that was really only big enough for cars to proceed one by one, he could raise it’s arm up through the trees ( without breaking a branch or knocking off leaves ) that shaded some of the graves- then he did his part and before you could say ” Bob’s your Uncle ” he’d be done and gone before anyone saw him because let’s face it, how would that look to a family seeing their loved one off?

Frankly, I was amazed. I can’t even use a weed wacker without getting the line tangled up or hacking some poor innocent plant to death and here was this grave digger at work during the day opening a grave like a Ninja.

Did I find that inspiring? Did the writer in me see something, did she learn something?

Oh. Yes. I did. And I’m still dining off those moments to this day.

Some moments, when you can step back and let them open up and play in front of you are so full of sights and sounds and color and textures it’s possible to feel overwhelmed. So soak it in and record it anyway you can and squirrel it away for future consumption.

Today I wrote a poem that was stark and brutal- the prompt itself encouraged us to write a poem about our origins and where we thought we were going:

We’d like to challenge you to write a poem of origin. Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually? Maybe you are from Vikings and the sea and diet coke and angry gulls in parking lots. Maybe you are from gentle hills and angry mothers and dust disappearing down an unpaved road. And having come from there, where are you now?

I guess I was wondering, how could I take my life- which was pretty much over before it began- let’s just say I was never expected to do much or matter much and I haven’t.

So how do I dress that up?

I didn’t dress it up. Not even a little. It turned out a lot of people liked it-which honestly surprised me:

 

I’m Not A Viking, That’s For Damn SURE

I came from nothing

I going nowhere

I am  from the worst house on the street

surrounded by fences topped with

jagged barbs called ‘words’.

 

I am from the town of

‘Settled For Less”

hidden in the county of

” Good For Nothing.”

I came from nowhere

and I am going nowhere

that’s where I am from

and that’s where I  will stay.

So why did people like such an angry poem? Aren’t poems about love and passion and perfection in form and clever turns of phrase?

Consider this:

Pablo Picasso “We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth, at least the truth that is given to us to understand.”

In the end though, I am really inspired as a writer by stories- all kinds if stories from a buffet of sources. My family loved to tell stories, especially ghost stories.  I loved to read I love to listen to music. I’m not picky about the quality, I just want something to whisper into my ear and I want it to give me the chills and I want it to light my brain up and make me glad that I am a writer:

Okay, I found that clip awesome so I wanted to share it and I did.

But seriously, did I find it inspiring? Will I write a story or a poem about the feeling it gave me, or will that tattoo above his hip end up making an appearance one day because I was sitting there thinking as I write…now what, now what?

It will happen, it always does.

Like I said, take it in give it a home and see where those images and impressions take you.

Photo A.,M Moscoso

I’ve mined for ideas in all sorts of places and what I wrote about here were three in particular- my own experiences, writing prompts and going over books and stories and art and music that I enjoy with the goal of learning something new and becoming a creative person with something fun to share.

Bon Appetite!

For your consideration:

Tales From The Medieval Crypt

Soul Food Café Writing Prompts

National Poetry Writing Month

Goodreads.com