the museum of my mind
shelves of old treasures,
rusted,
yet still glowing
spilled fingernail polish,
bright rainbow colors,
oozing over everything.
broken shells,
beautiful in their imperfection,
washed up from the depths of a stormy sea.
cobwebs covering the floor,
tiny spiders spinning,
weaving a soft web of truth.
dark corners,
long alleys,
a maze…
amazing.
plants sprouting,
ideas growing,
reaching for sunlight,
sending dirt flying.
old scrolls,
rolled up and crumpled,
teetering piles,
about to collapse.
but there,
in the center…
a cage…
small and cracked and rusted,
about to break…
and inside it…
light.
swirling and running and flying,
sending sparks through the bars of it’s prison,
blinding,
turning blue and white and gold,
my secrets,
jewels and diamonds,
are born inside of it,
futures,
dreams,
the past,
the world from my eyes,
flipped upside down and turned so many times it fades and dissolves into nothing.
orbs made of orbs and tiny bubbles of liqued light…
huge canyons and small mountains,
glory, fame, beauty,
all that i could be….
someday it will break free,
escaping the worn cage that is tired of fighting it.
someday i will soar.
As Luis walked through the empty museum, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat cheated. He had gone to college with notion that working at a museum would be great, but he has realized that it wasn’t his cup of tea. At least, not any more.
I went to the museum with you. You’re eyes glazed at the sight of an Andy Warhol. That’s real…..If I could package that feeling and give it out for Christmas I would. To you, Love me.
To him, all a museum was was a huge room full of decorations. That is, things he couldn’t touch. While his parents were marveling over the genius of everything around them, he couldn’t understand anything. It came to the point where the only thing he found interesting was the pattern of the carpet underneath his feet.
our steps echoed on the polished floor. Lottie glared at us over her stern glasses for dirtying her pristine floors; i glanced away, shamed, but Darcy stared her full on, as if to say, ‘yes, we’ll dirty your floors if we please, now what will you do to stop us?’, and i loved him for that one simple thing. huge framed paintings overwhelmed the walls, covering them from the molding lining the floor all the way up to the impossibly high ceiling, reminding me of a museam. There were portraits and landscapes and paintings that didn’t make any kind of sense at all; somehow i found that the nonsense ones were my favorite.
Museum’s are funny. They hold things people believe they care about. There is a secret here though, museum’s are actually a great design for holding tourists.
It’s a museum of ancients. Of things long since dead and buried, and should have remained so, though their rest had been disturbed and here do they stand now, watching us in anger and horror and paying us the merest of attention as they guard the hallowed tombs of the soon-to-be born and the wraiths of time who stand as the world slowly breaks down as they steal time and days and lives and souls and watch and laugh at us, us, humans and mortals, and flawed, but flaws bring perfection and strength
i remember the met. i wish i was there for the mcqueen exhibit. the swarms of people looked like ants up the stairs in the photos i poured over. what an homage to an incredible artist. what a sad end to such a creative soul. rest in peace.
Her house was sterile. Every piece of furniture was arranged just so. Every doily was draped at a perfect angle. The pictures were hung at perfect ninety-degree angles. He’d expected to walk into a home the first time he met his mother, not a museum.
It’s a never changing, always evolving, sometimes growing, building. It can be a safe spot or an irritating place. I don’t know how I feel about never changing. I only like the good change, I hate anything that makes it into something I don’t like.
I walked up the clean marble steps and pushed open the heavy door. A smell hit my nose. it smelled ancient and lemony. I walked a few steps in and was amazed at the amount of people. Then I realized why. There were hundreds of beautiful artifacts just within the first room of this large building. I felt like I belonged. I was home.
We were there an hour. Nothing “spoke to me” so i kept searching for a piece of art that would cause a second glance. Then i found it, It made me feel warm and cold at the same time.
I stalked around the art museum for a bit as we held hands. There were sculptures, paintings, mixed media, sketches… You name it, the museum had it. It was awkward, since it was our first date and we wanted to absorb the art fully by not talking, but we had plenty to say at dinner afterward.
I was back in the museum. Bones leered out from the shadows. But it was differet this time. I happened to be the world’s leading expert on these bones, and they didn’t scare me this time like they had when I was little. Nope, I was thousands of dollars and many years away from that, and I had come to do my job. It was old, dusty, and smelled like old books, but how I loved it all.
The museum was dark, eerie, making my skin creep up my arm. Statues covered in dust stared down at me in the darkness.
“Hello?” I spoke quietly trying not to disturb anyone.
memories. history. landmarks and souvenirs of anything that has changed time, life as we know it. our minds and imaginations and souls are museums and they are the vessels which create the physical representations of these concepts. what we fill them with are broken hearts, inspirations, and everything in-between.
As we walk through the quiet halls and take in the beauty of it all, I can’t help but to think how I couldn’t imagine these times without you. Being with you is what makes all the artistry more vivid and glorious. I want these moments to be what fills the corridors of my memory when I’m too old and crazy to communicate with the outside world.
Museum. I dont think anything rhymes with museum. Except colliseum. Pee-um. Flee um. equilibrium? PANTS!!!! They should make a museum of historical pants. And then Mari would eat it. Yup. Ummm…. museums are filled with old stuff that doesnt matter to anyone. They’re boring. Bleh.
statues purple ar quebec artifacts night at the museum smithsonian security guard,”sometimes he moves…” “aw man he switched places again!” war “i teach them to walk again”
I sat in the lobby chair and traced the bottom in between my leg, following the scraped groves in a loop. She handed me the ticket and I put the loop around my wrist. We walked around the paintings over and over again, while I tried to stifle my yawns. To the right, a room caught my eye. “Dinosaurs,” I thought. “Now THAT’S exciting.” My older sister rolled her eyes. “What’s so great about a pile of bones?” She said.
The various antiques and dusty painting lined the walls. I glanced over to see my mom swooning over a lamp that looked like it belonged in Grandma’s basement. I rolled my eyes. How could anyone be interested in this crap? We didn’t even go to a cool museum either like the Museum of Science and Industry. No we went to the boring Antique and Art Museum, which I’m sure no one never even heard of.
I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found that no one was behind me except for a suit of armor and the long hallway was empty except mom and I. Chills ran up my spine but I decided not mention it to my mom. She’d think I was making up stories again…
The musty, dusty museum, full of ancient treasures, battles one and lost, laughter and fond memories. But junk, mostly junk, sighed the old man as he dusted off an ancient cartwheel.
one of my best memories is the time that i went to stay at the public museum with a bunch of girl scouts even though i was not a girl scout. we got to stay up all night long and tour the museum while everyone else in the world was asleep. we went into the planetarium and learned about astrology and everything else. it was there when i learned that i was a Sagittarius.
A museum, a place in which all memories are held, a place in which nothing in it changes even when the rest of the world does. A place in which the most beautiful of life secrets are held. A sanctuary for the world.
So many epochs of history collected in one location. She marveled at the thought and couldn’t control her anxiety as the family van finally approached the museum.
His mind was full of stuff. Mad stuff. The kind of detritus that scares the bejaysus out of normal people. But she liked that in him. The accumulated inventory that was the museum of his life contained at least one exhibit for her. “Jane Swordcroft. Homo Sapiens. Lived in my heart once. Now in my mind. Please do not lean on the glass.”
The museum is very interesting. It has a lot of good things that show you history and life. It has a lot of inventions and i like to go to a museum in another place of the world. It is very useful for a lot of homework you do and learn about your past.
One morning at the museum, a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton decided to wreak havoc upon a small tangle of delinquent school children who had decided to throw rocks at the displays. How they were able to smuggle so many rocks into the museum without security being none the wiser was unclear to curator Benjamin Reynards, who grinned a toothless grin as the preteens shrieked like girls at the dinosaur bones lumbered toward them. He’d have to give his pet a treat in reward.
let’s learn all we can go our separate ways find out what we crave to know and reconvene here later just promise to me that you’ll teach me everything you know that you’ll share your knowledge of life and your dreams of what you hope to find with me that i can be your museum guide to the future
That one part of Girl, Interrupted when she’s in the museum and sees the painting trying to tell her something before she goes to a mental hospital. I feel like that’s gonna happen to me some day.
Museum is a terrifying creature to spell
for those whose mind is a mixing pot
It generally pours out ‘musume’
or ‘musuem’
I ought to right meanings for those words
Walking through a museum is depressing
Everything is dead
But yet it still toys with us in the present
Haunting our future
Ghosts peering through glass displays
this place is like the back rooms of the museums….piles of things that may never see the light of day again but can’t always simply be thrown away. so what to do with all of it now?
The first museum I recall going to was with my dad. Now, most of the time I was fearful of my dad. He was big and often angry. But at the museum, I saw a different side of him. He loved going and gazing and getting excited about learning new things. Afterward, we went to a small zoo behind the museum. He took time with me that day. I’ve loved museums – and zoos – ever since. My dad? It took many more decades before I completely loved him.
Historical historics important to critics, discoverers, wanderers, explorers and kids.
Often osaurs-dino openly operate in pictures that move within these walls.
The museum in the closet held all of the moments of a piece of my lifetime I had been desperately trying to forget. Box after box contained nothing but mementos of a time when I thought that I was happy. I was in love, or so I thought. He was in love, or so I had hoped. Alas, neither one of us was aware of the fact that we were both pretending.
the museum of my mind
shelves of old treasures,
rusted,
yet still glowing
spilled fingernail polish,
bright rainbow colors,
oozing over everything.
broken shells,
beautiful in their imperfection,
washed up from the depths of a stormy sea.
cobwebs covering the floor,
tiny spiders spinning,
weaving a soft web of truth.
dark corners,
long alleys,
a maze…
amazing.
plants sprouting,
ideas growing,
reaching for sunlight,
sending dirt flying.
old scrolls,
rolled up and crumpled,
teetering piles,
about to collapse.
but there,
in the center…
a cage…
small and cracked and rusted,
about to break…
and inside it…
light.
swirling and running and flying,
sending sparks through the bars of it’s prison,
blinding,
turning blue and white and gold,
my secrets,
jewels and diamonds,
are born inside of it,
futures,
dreams,
the past,
the world from my eyes,
flipped upside down and turned so many times it fades and dissolves into nothing.
orbs made of orbs and tiny bubbles of liqued light…
huge canyons and small mountains,
glory, fame, beauty,
all that i could be….
someday it will break free,
escaping the worn cage that is tired of fighting it.
someday i will soar.
As Luis walked through the empty museum, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat cheated. He had gone to college with notion that working at a museum would be great, but he has realized that it wasn’t his cup of tea. At least, not any more.
I went to the museum with you. You’re eyes glazed at the sight of an Andy Warhol. That’s real…..If I could package that feeling and give it out for Christmas I would. To you, Love me.
To him, all a museum was was a huge room full of decorations. That is, things he couldn’t touch. While his parents were marveling over the genius of everything around them, he couldn’t understand anything. It came to the point where the only thing he found interesting was the pattern of the carpet underneath his feet.
our steps echoed on the polished floor. Lottie glared at us over her stern glasses for dirtying her pristine floors; i glanced away, shamed, but Darcy stared her full on, as if to say, ‘yes, we’ll dirty your floors if we please, now what will you do to stop us?’, and i loved him for that one simple thing. huge framed paintings overwhelmed the walls, covering them from the molding lining the floor all the way up to the impossibly high ceiling, reminding me of a museam. There were portraits and landscapes and paintings that didn’t make any kind of sense at all; somehow i found that the nonsense ones were my favorite.
Museum’s are funny. They hold things people believe they care about. There is a secret here though, museum’s are actually a great design for holding tourists.
It’s a museum of ancients. Of things long since dead and buried, and should have remained so, though their rest had been disturbed and here do they stand now, watching us in anger and horror and paying us the merest of attention as they guard the hallowed tombs of the soon-to-be born and the wraiths of time who stand as the world slowly breaks down as they steal time and days and lives and souls and watch and laugh at us, us, humans and mortals, and flawed, but flaws bring perfection and strength
i remember the met. i wish i was there for the mcqueen exhibit. the swarms of people looked like ants up the stairs in the photos i poured over. what an homage to an incredible artist. what a sad end to such a creative soul. rest in peace.
Her house was sterile. Every piece of furniture was arranged just so. Every doily was draped at a perfect angle. The pictures were hung at perfect ninety-degree angles. He’d expected to walk into a home the first time he met his mother, not a museum.
room to room, hand in hand, they traveled through out the entire museum.
It’s a never changing, always evolving, sometimes growing, building. It can be a safe spot or an irritating place. I don’t know how I feel about never changing. I only like the good change, I hate anything that makes it into something I don’t like.
I walked up the clean marble steps and pushed open the heavy door. A smell hit my nose. it smelled ancient and lemony. I walked a few steps in and was amazed at the amount of people. Then I realized why. There were hundreds of beautiful artifacts just within the first room of this large building. I felt like I belonged. I was home.
We were there an hour. Nothing “spoke to me” so i kept searching for a piece of art that would cause a second glance. Then i found it, It made me feel warm and cold at the same time.
I stalked around the art museum for a bit as we held hands. There were sculptures, paintings, mixed media, sketches… You name it, the museum had it. It was awkward, since it was our first date and we wanted to absorb the art fully by not talking, but we had plenty to say at dinner afterward.
I was back in the museum. Bones leered out from the shadows. But it was differet this time. I happened to be the world’s leading expert on these bones, and they didn’t scare me this time like they had when I was little. Nope, I was thousands of dollars and many years away from that, and I had come to do my job. It was old, dusty, and smelled like old books, but how I loved it all.
The museum was dark, eerie, making my skin creep up my arm. Statues covered in dust stared down at me in the darkness.
“Hello?” I spoke quietly trying not to disturb anyone.
memories. history. landmarks and souvenirs of anything that has changed time, life as we know it. our minds and imaginations and souls are museums and they are the vessels which create the physical representations of these concepts. what we fill them with are broken hearts, inspirations, and everything in-between.
I love museums, but I don’t take advantage of the free ones here in town as much as I should. Which is a shame.
I haven’t been to a museum in the Philippines. I would want to go to one, but I’m afraid it will only disappoint me.
As we walk through the quiet halls and take in the beauty of it all, I can’t help but to think how I couldn’t imagine these times without you. Being with you is what makes all the artistry more vivid and glorious. I want these moments to be what fills the corridors of my memory when I’m too old and crazy to communicate with the outside world.
Museum. I dont think anything rhymes with museum. Except colliseum. Pee-um. Flee um. equilibrium? PANTS!!!! They should make a museum of historical pants. And then Mari would eat it. Yup. Ummm…. museums are filled with old stuff that doesnt matter to anyone. They’re boring. Bleh.
statues purple ar quebec artifacts night at the museum smithsonian security guard,”sometimes he moves…” “aw man he switched places again!” war “i teach them to walk again”
I sat in the lobby chair and traced the bottom in between my leg, following the scraped groves in a loop. She handed me the ticket and I put the loop around my wrist. We walked around the paintings over and over again, while I tried to stifle my yawns. To the right, a room caught my eye. “Dinosaurs,” I thought. “Now THAT’S exciting.” My older sister rolled her eyes. “What’s so great about a pile of bones?” She said.
The various antiques and dusty painting lined the walls. I glanced over to see my mom swooning over a lamp that looked like it belonged in Grandma’s basement. I rolled my eyes. How could anyone be interested in this crap? We didn’t even go to a cool museum either like the Museum of Science and Industry. No we went to the boring Antique and Art Museum, which I’m sure no one never even heard of.
I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found that no one was behind me except for a suit of armor and the long hallway was empty except mom and I. Chills ran up my spine but I decided not mention it to my mom. She’d think I was making up stories again…
Near the Bodemuseum, in Berlin-Mitte, many singers musicians are used to play music. It is very relaxing after an hard-work day.
The musty, dusty museum, full of ancient treasures, battles one and lost, laughter and fond memories. But junk, mostly junk, sighed the old man as he dusted off an ancient cartwheel.
one of my best memories is the time that i went to stay at the public museum with a bunch of girl scouts even though i was not a girl scout. we got to stay up all night long and tour the museum while everyone else in the world was asleep. we went into the planetarium and learned about astrology and everything else. it was there when i learned that i was a Sagittarius.
A museum, a place in which all memories are held, a place in which nothing in it changes even when the rest of the world does. A place in which the most beautiful of life secrets are held. A sanctuary for the world.
So many epochs of history collected in one location. She marveled at the thought and couldn’t control her anxiety as the family van finally approached the museum.
His mind was full of stuff. Mad stuff. The kind of detritus that scares the bejaysus out of normal people. But she liked that in him. The accumulated inventory that was the museum of his life contained at least one exhibit for her. “Jane Swordcroft. Homo Sapiens. Lived in my heart once. Now in my mind. Please do not lean on the glass.”
The museum is very interesting. It has a lot of good things that show you history and life. It has a lot of inventions and i like to go to a museum in another place of the world. It is very useful for a lot of homework you do and learn about your past.
One morning at the museum, a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton decided to wreak havoc upon a small tangle of delinquent school children who had decided to throw rocks at the displays. How they were able to smuggle so many rocks into the museum without security being none the wiser was unclear to curator Benjamin Reynards, who grinned a toothless grin as the preteens shrieked like girls at the dinosaur bones lumbered toward them. He’d have to give his pet a treat in reward.
let’s learn all we can go our separate ways find out what we crave to know and reconvene here later just promise to me that you’ll teach me everything you know that you’ll share your knowledge of life and your dreams of what you hope to find with me that i can be your museum guide to the future
That one part of Girl, Interrupted when she’s in the museum and sees the painting trying to tell her something before she goes to a mental hospital. I feel like that’s gonna happen to me some day.
Museum is a terrifying creature to spell
for those whose mind is a mixing pot
It generally pours out ‘musume’
or ‘musuem’
I ought to right meanings for those words
Walking through a museum is depressing
Everything is dead
But yet it still toys with us in the present
Haunting our future
Ghosts peering through glass displays
this place is like the back rooms of the museums….piles of things that may never see the light of day again but can’t always simply be thrown away. so what to do with all of it now?
Museum
The first museum I recall going to was with my dad. Now, most of the time I was fearful of my dad. He was big and often angry. But at the museum, I saw a different side of him. He loved going and gazing and getting excited about learning new things. Afterward, we went to a small zoo behind the museum. He took time with me that day. I’ve loved museums – and zoos – ever since. My dad? It took many more decades before I completely loved him.
Historical historics important to critics, discoverers, wanderers, explorers and kids.
Often osaurs-dino openly operate in pictures that move within these walls.
The museum in the closet held all of the moments of a piece of my lifetime I had been desperately trying to forget. Box after box contained nothing but mementos of a time when I thought that I was happy. I was in love, or so I thought. He was in love, or so I had hoped. Alas, neither one of us was aware of the fact that we were both pretending.