So, I was sitting in my room being bored and listening to music on Spotify. Then a thought a came to me; why not write according to what song was currently playing? I decided to do just that with songs by Lana Del Rey, and this is what I came up. Unfortunately, I didn’t record the song titles while I was typing. Maybe I’ll do that next time.
Typed Short Paragraphs Based on Random Lana Del Rey Songs:
She was in a cathedral, created from elevated domes perched on the peaks of arches constructed from insect wings and marble. The floors were mosaics of sea pebbles smoothed down into gleaming gemstones by the churning waves and who still whisper the echoes of their past through their vibrant colors. The windows were grand doorways of light and art, sometimes aflame and sometimes cascading in colors that flowed like rivers coming from an unseen haven. There were portraits of past leaders and old friends, their faces made of dull stones staring down at her with empty eyes too full of memory and remorse and the silent whispers of a past she could now only recall in her dreams and in their images. She wraps herself in the drapery of the church, its velvet texture her flowing hair, her violet sadness.
She lets the velvet cloth drop to the ground, and she follows the low chanting of distant men deeper into the shadows of the cathedral. Innocence and ignorance slip off her shoulders like childhood memoirs, her heart drenched in storms as she finds herself lost in the endless maze of the cathedrals twisting halls. There, a young girl dances and sings a humble tune, following her small feet as this girl breaks her tune into confused parts full of canyons and tunnels overflowing with secrets and mystery. The girl leads her into a dance and begins singing another tune that resounds through the darkness of the tunnels, her light voice breaking through the shadow and allowing the sun to drip in the depths of the cathedral like honey and amber dripping into the sunlight.
She lets go of the girl and the girl continues to dance. She keeps on walking past her and deeper into the cathedral. There is glass everywhere, shattered accidentally and shattered purposely. Here, shimmers of slim light are caught on the pointed tips of hallow sculptures that are as smooth as ice and maybe as cold. Snow is falling beyond a window on the wall, cold and dark in the setting night sky. Light is retreating from the world and she traces her fingers along the blunt and sharp edges of these glass figures, waiting to see any trace of broken skin to meet her eyes and for her crimson blood to be set free. She wishes to see the fire bird and follow it out of this hellish nightmare, this prison of black and chilled air. She is asleep, she assumes as she begins to retrace the steps of the happy girl she had met before and dance a variant dance of hers, but more distressed and filled with an edge of despair. She dances along the glass edges, thinking them to be the cool edges of her bed if she is truly asleep in a terrible dream. This dream she believes is terrible because she cannot believe that she has no control over her ability to leave this unbreakable, unrelenting place of no doors and only windows and shadows. Why must she wait for the dream to be over when she wanted to leave now? She cuts herself on the thorn of a glass rose, its crystalline perfection reflecting her still face in many fractures and mirrors. She watches the blood flow from her feet and thinks, Here. Here, let me wake from this dream. Here, this is my blood, this is my sacrifice to whatever power holds me here. I have shed what is mine, I have given what is my life. Now, let me out. Please, let me out of this place.
Her eyes closed and she falls asleep. In her own darkness, warm and familiar, she finds the face of a past lover staring to her as well. She reaches to him with a hand unseen, but he vanishes with her love, and her eyes open again. A flower field surrounds her, her form laying among the swaying heads of a thousand tall, yellow flowers. She stands and surveys the sea of flowers around her, their glowing petals like crowns made for fairies of the old and mythical tales. There is the sound of a running stream of water and she decides to run towards its soothing lullaby. The flower petals brush against her like the kisses and caresses of angels, urging her on with frayed leaves and azure skies.
The river is before her now, but it is not as she thought it was. It was not a river, but the green ocean, its rolling waves in eternal cycles of coming in and retreating back. The shores are not sand, but are soil as brown as the mother earth in her ancient form. They are as brown as her old lover’s distant eyes, and the sight of it makes her heart take a sad turn of melancholy and acknowledging that such a thing would never be. She wades into the oceans, wishing for the cruel sadness to end and her cruel memories to forever flee from her. She wishes not for this dream, for this memory, for it still causes her pain. A golden mermaid leaps in the distance and comes to the shore, ignoring her as it brushed its sunny hair and smiled.
This mermaid was lovely and filled with content for life, ignorant and unknowing of the sadness that she was feeling, and that itself tore her heart with more pain. The mermaid took some of the soil and rubbed it over her scales like an ointment and sighed as the waves washed off the dirt with gentle laps and touches, a caressing mother, a kind lover, life-giver and care-taker. The golden hair flowed in the warm breeze of the sea and rippled in beauty, and the mermaid’s eyes finally turned on her. They were both silent as they stared at each other, taking in the appearance of the other with silent awe. Then the mermaid spoke, her voice the sigh of the seas and the soft rains in sunshine, “Come to me, child. Do not be afraid to be happy, for I am here. Do be afraid.”
A storm brewed in the distance; she was unsure to take the mermaid’s distant hand, to trust the gleaming smile that reflected too much of her own despair. The sea waters turned to grey and thunderstorms in the reincarnation of water. She wished with all her will to take the hand of this welcoming mermaid and find the happiness she desperately needed, but she could not heed her own heart or even make her own body heed her. She was a stone in the sea as it grew in turmoil and strength, ready to be tossed and crushed under the powerful jaws of its curving waves. She wished and yearned to die.
The mermaid knew her heart, for she was the happiness she had searched for so long and it had finally found her, and it will not yet abandon her. The sunny mermaid of a golden heart and happiness came to her and held her in its warm arms as the sea waves engulfed them both in its stormy body. They toss and turn like the colorful pebbles of the cathedral’s mosaics, sometimes in the form of a dance with no need for ground, other times in a rushing tumble of madness and endless swimming. In this confusion, she thinks that perhaps she should have eluded happiness in return for survival. Then a fiery glow comes from the bottom of the sea, and they glide towards it to find that it was a paradise on the sea floor, glowing like the aftermath of a healthy fire whose embers still held its flaming spirit in their compact, wondrous bodies. She turned to the mermaid to share her wonder of this new place, but the mermaid had gone, had never existed. She saw that her heart had been glowing gold in this stormy green sea, and she floated to paradise and smiled and fell asleep.
A new dream came to her, and it held no cathedral, no old lover, no golden mermaid or sea in turmoil. She was laying in the darkness, now her good friend and comforter. Her blankets kept her warm, her bed kept her company. She felt loved, even if it was by herself. She felt strong, even if the source of her flame felt so far away. She seemed awake for a few moments in this shadowed dream, then she faded away into the night.