Tarik Murrell

Joined November 2022

0 stories

Bio

A physicist learning to write.

I wrote a book! $10 and it's yours.

I want to eat from my writing. I feed it , so it can feed me.

Stories (20/0)

ExEcutIon
A friend of mine says that we often know the right thing to do, we just take forever to do it. She says, “We have the clarity, it’s the conviction…” .
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
PaRTneRs
Quantum entanglement is what happens when a group of particles interacts and leaves inexorably bound together. No matter how far they are. A change in one particle, is a change in the other. They call it “spooky action at a distance”.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
Wordplay
A piece of peace. A little wordplay, maybe we think about it deeper and say it’s conceptual play. Peace, something that’s supposed to endure forever and piece , which is only a small amount of something larger. A small forever. A piece of peace.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
Gluttony
I learned a few years ago that I’m incredibly impressionable. It’s something I have to be very aware of. The things around me and the people around me, become me.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
rIghT
If you do the right thing, right now, you won’t see the results today. Or even tomorrow. It may be weeks from now, often months.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
sPeAk
Sometimes, I’m afraid of making bad art. Art that disrespects the artform. As if the artform has some platonic standard that must be met. There are days when I don’t think I have the skillset to meet that ideal. Where I am all aspiration but no ability.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
MisTakE
What do you call it when you make the wrong choice? Clear headed, low pressure, reasonably informed and still choose incorrectly. You’ve made the inefficient choice or the unethical one. The one that hurts. The one where when you retell it is so painfully obvious you want to cushion it with some kind of detail.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
Memory
Dreams belong to me. They are my story, my experiences. Bound by rules only I can attempt to understand. Memories belong to us. We are shaped by them, we shape the ones to come. We experience them over and over again. In glee and delight. Sweeter with time and more profound with age. Memories ripen under our shared gaze. Context fading and pleasure rising. Context is the cage that restricts. It limits, restrains the glee. The less of it we have the more fantastic the memory, the more ecstasy we allow the memory to drown us in. When we remember, we dream together.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
Babble
Sometimes, I’m afraid of making bad art. Art that disrespects the artform. As if the artform has some platonic standard that must be met. There are days when I don’t think I have the skillset to meet that ideal. Where I am all aspiration but no ability.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
CoWarDice
I hate cowards. I hate to see cowardice absorb the mind and body of someone capable of accomplishment, far less excellence. What a waste, what a bitter disappointment; a receptacle for genius, a conduit for the ineffable excellence choosing to channel frailty instead.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
StOrm
I’m up and I’m scrambling. I’m up and trying to make sense of this. This ocean of dizziness. Nothing makes sense yet. Am I up? What am I up from? What am I up t-
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets
LiSten
Sometimes I remind myself to listen. When there’s silence, just listen. Listen to the grass growing up trying to brush the sky with its fingertips, to the concrete straining to hold us together, to us trying to be both grass and concrete. If I take a moment I can hear it all. My mind finally in tune to all the things my ears so diligently deliver.
By Tarik Murrell2 months ago in Poets