Tuesday, May 3, 2011

slave to the muse

If you're wondering where I am, I'm here.

In this album, wrapped up like caterpillar in a cocoon.




It's funny, how ephemeral and strange and dancing the muse can be. It shows up, I write. I don't clean or cook or talk to friends or do laundry. I listen to the music, I dream, I live in the story, I try to capture it.

I'm a goddamn mess. It's annoying. It's torture. And it's wonderful.

I love it and I hate it and I rarely feel alive as I do when I'm a slave to the muse.

That's all.

3 comments:

McDave said...

Does the Muse know it's an "it"?

delilah, the unruly helpmeet said...

I think of it as something cthonic and many-limbed, like an octopus. If it has a gender, it's keeping it tangled up in the shadows, and I don't wanna know.

delilah, the unruly helpmeet said...

Just realized the dude in the video was wearing shorts with his fur capelet and crown. That takes moxie, right there.

MOXIE.