Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Time and time again, we have the nerve to be startled by the sight of dawn.

    Dark, the shade of hush, before warming to red beneath the Sun.

    I found my place of solitude by endeavoring for it to never be found naturally. So vibrant are the strings of this instrument and this medium.

    The first dimension, a point. A declaration. The point is a roaring monolith, gathering a place for construction less a meaningful construct in and of itself. The second dimension, a line. A barrier. A means to restrict, consume, or convey. The third dimension, a space. A vessel. A playing field for the ever-infant chaos, ever-long doing what it pleases.

    What of this chaos?

    Finding my place of solitude in the precision of rhythm guitar. And every rain has its wind, expounding lead guitar whistles and whispers while droplets' placement and delivery evoke white noise sequences. And what of my displacement of matter? Hands on the fretboard, have I really enacted a change in the chaos of the universe?

    Heart beating steady, polyrhythmically. Disinterested breathing going on beneath my eyes, I play out my line.

    Warmth of passion exits my lungs. I beg the question… barometric pressure, temperature, humidity, energy. I'm absolutely sure of it, I've changed the entropy of this system, but more can be less. Significant, anyway. What significance is there if I lift a barrel of apples six times a minute for three hours? None if you're more interested in the non-physical information.

    I step outside and soak up the atmosphere, exhaling and initiating exhaust vents like an organic biomachine.

    There, I find my halo.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.