Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts

Friday, April 11, 2014

Conversations With My Muse

“You are the embodiment of the information you choose to accept and act upon. To change your circumstances you need to change your thinking and subsequent actions.” 

- Adlin Sinclair


Well, it's something interesting to have to warn the people new to your life & writing that "it's not about you." Yet I find that it's now a necessary precaution. As an artist that creates something that isn't real you often have to reassure the people in your life that there's a part of you that doesn't play by the rules but it's not personal. That, yes, you the creative [the writer, the artist - painter, sculptor, poet, comedian, photographer, etc.] may take quirks, ticks, eccentricities and stories when they are given to you but it isn't about them. No, not everything. Some things are not for public consumption. It's amazing how love and compassion for another human being will stay your hand. It does, though. 

So what makes you create? Your inspiration? I'm addressing what most artists have... A muse.  A person, thing, music, etc. that sets forth their creative process. Something I personally do not discuss often is my inner muse. That thing inside my mind that urges me forward with an idea. It's something I locked away a while back. Why? I couldn't control it. It was overwhelming. While someone's courage has inspired me to free mine, I can't help but wonder as I let it loose: will I lose balance again? Will I let the thoughts of others shape and mold what the inner monologue of my muse encourages me to write? Time will tell. 

I hate to preface pieces with a "here's what it's about" but this one is about conversations with one's muse. It's a fun piece that I gave a freudian twist thinking at the time it would be quite harmless. In hindsight: Nothing is harmless without a warning label. Even then it's still up to a person to take it in and make it about themselves...???

Do you have a muse? 

Enjoy! 
Kisses, m. 

orange 22 c/o tylershields.com


Reveal
(7-31-2010)

Here she comes around again… Tiptoeing into the back of my mind when she enters the room. I’m alone tonight. Except for emma.

Quietly she whispers into my ear.

“Let it breathe. The thoughts that fill your mind. Savor it. Enjoy the kill. You know how disappointed you can get when you forget to give in to the rhythm of it all.”

She always does this. Circles around me after entering the room. Leaning in and observing my thoughts with little effort but every time she never fails to diagnose the problem accurately. Tonight is different. I flip the pages shut when she leans in for a kiss and whispers.

Fingers slide in and out of the wire of the chair and I can feel her frustration. Slowly the tiny digits move upward toward my head. Through my hair and reaching down to my neckline. Up and down they slide, gripping around my neck before moving down to my shoulders. I tense up and flinch to shake free. She reacts with a jerk. Wounded like a child she waits before leaning in again. But nevertheless she does. Hands grip tighter around my neck. Locked. Her breath kisses my face while she leans in further to let her tongue glide along my earlobe. She bites and releases.

“Stop hiding behind that mask!” she speaks quietly in a hiss that persists into my ears.

Her anger precedes her. “You’re so in LOVE with your problems.” Words like knives stick into my heart.

A wave of panic sends my heart racing as I spin my chair around to face her. Chest continues to heave uncontrollably while emma slinks over to the bar and continues her rant. “You haven’t written anything in over a month.”

She pauses briefly to pour a glass of Rouge before resuming her rant.

“All of this?” A wave of her beautifully slender arm graces the atmosphere. “Listen to me! All of this has been produced. You are merely coasting on what has already been. There is nothing new. You know it and SO… DO… I!”

She steps around the bar and back towards my work space.

I’m completely speechless as emma crosses the room. She wants to kiss me. We aren’t in agreement so there’s no passion. I despise her, she loves me. I want to tear her face off, she wants to embrace and inspire me. I can feel her rage as she leans over my body across my shoulder to see the empty page.

“Honestly, how can you expect me to continue to show up?” she touches my face and kisses my neck while her fingers run through my long hair. “Look gorgeous, inspiration is standing right in front of you. It’s time to do something about it.”

Quietly I sip at my Merlot and take another puff at my cigar. emma is right, she’s rarely ever wrong. I’m a capable woman yet here I am at 3am holed up with my problems instead of making love to my beautiful muse and producing work inspired by her captivating presence.

Then again she’s grown quite arrogant and I’m tired of these childish games. The coming and goings at all hours is a wear on my patience.

“You think just because you show up, I can instantly turn it on.” My psyche is not ruled by a light switch. “Simply yelling ‘POOF!’ will not make it happen.” emma walks away the moment my voice raises.

But what answer can there be? I’m alone drinking night after night and there she appears and assumes that it’s best to work because she’s in the mood. Well tonight I’m not feeling it. “Shut the fuck up.” I toss an empty bottle in her direction.

“What the fuck?!” She screams and brings down her glass with a slam. The glass shatters and I’m stunned at her reaction.

What the fuck, indeed. I’m alone. Drinking. Yelling… at my muse!

Mentally this is the point she checks out. Tonight is different though. She wants my throat. I want her death. We are equally in contempt for each other.

Across the room it flies. A bottle of red wine zipping past my face. “You’re wasting your time and good wine. You missed my face you stupid bitch! Quit.”

Bottle after bottle hits the wall behind me. Red splashes across the white. Blank canvas coated in a watery mess.

“Ha ha ha! I see red!” She shrieks in sheer delight from across the room before tossing the bottle of Chianti at my head.

Typically she mentally checks out when it gets too rough. Not tonight. She’s in it to win. Whatever could she be after? I’m certainly not inspired by this tantrum. But it is entertaining. I quite enjoy her fits on occasion. This one seems like it is almost over.

“REVEAL YOURSELF! Tell the truth.” She yells at me in a giggling yet taunting arrogance.

“What ever do you mean by all of this? No one is the enemy. We are in agreement.” Although we are not I say the words to pacify her. Halfheartedly I toss aside my glass and start over towards emma.

She is standing still with a bottle raised over her head. There’s still anger in her eyes and she speaks calmly despite her hostile stance.

“I’ve given you countless opportunities to confess. Say it. I need you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Why silly that you’re a fraud, of course.” She opens her bright red lips wide to reveal her white teeth as a laugh grows from her belly. Down lowers the bottle during this hysterical laughter until it lands on the floor in a shatter. The red liquid sprays across her bare legs and coats the hardwood floor.

On and on pours out the laughter. Until I finally edge close enough to put my hands around her waist. She stops smiling and looks at me. I kiss her forehead and lean against her face. Then I begin.

“Honey, please sit down. Talk with me. What are you thinking?” I motion toward the nearest chairs. She stiffens but does not jerk away.

“Take off the mask with me. You know I can still see you with it on.”

“Fine. Why am I a fraud? Is this about the work again? We’ve been through this far too many times. In the end I will win. There are no masks concealing anyone.” I tighten my grip around her waist and shove her toward the chair. I’m tired of this silly shit. I need to work and I’m hardly up for these antics.

“Liar. Without me there would be no work. I’m everything…”

emma shows up everything does seem to move better, but that’s hardly inspiration. She’s unreliable, unreasonable and I’m going to kill her. I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.

“Stop. Who’s lying now? You can’t prove that. I was spinning thousands of tales before you showed up.” Tighter my hands lock in. She reaches up and grabs my waist and pulls me down.

“But nothing was worth a penny before me. And… you know it. Admit it.” She bites at the skin on the inside of my arm. Red smears across the whiteness of my skin. “Are you going to do it or not?” Afraid? Maybe I’m right and all of it goes...”

Let loose. Back flies my hand and strikes her face. For some reason punishing her hurts me. I wince at the pain my slap causes her.

“You do it and I’ll take it all with me.” She plays extortionist better than she plays lover. Lips keep kissing and biting at my elbow between words. Hands and fingers are unbuttoning my shirt and pulling at my skin. She wants more but I loathe her.

“I don’t care. Die!”

I wrap both hands around her neck and start in. Her arms reach out to pull mine away and find no match for the anger that is in my grip. Eyes open wider and wider. She looks like a blow up doll with her mouth wide open and eyes popped out. Click. Click. Click. Sounds like a clock escape out of her dry mouth. Legs raised and heels flailing. Slowly energy drains from her body. I can feel the struggle gently fading away. Her face drops aside without lines and I let go.

Sitting down I look over at her unmoving shell and wait. Wait for the animation of life to take hold again. Can I create without her? I don’t know. I’m in love with her, but I can not tolerate this abuse. She’s always like this but tonight is different. No one walks away. Not even I.

And I’m inspired. That makes this scenario almost worse than before. Is it there because of what I’ve done or is it just there like a light that has been turned on? She’s beautiful when she’s silent. Bright red lips spread wide open. Still. I place my head in my hands and feel like sobbing. But I can’t there are words. Oh so many words flowing and pouring into my empty head.

Two hands wrap around my waist and slide up around my breasts. Breath crawls around my neck as a face leans against my shoulder. “Did you like that?”

“Is that how you plan on handling things from now on?” I reach over and touch her cheek. She leans in to kiss me.

“I gave you what you needed. It’s what you were afraid of. You know…”

“Losing you. My inspiration. Without you what would there be? What will come next?”

“Don’t worry about that. Come to bed.” She releases her hold and gets up. Walking away quietly she begins disrobing. emma is always like this when she returns. I never know what the timing will bring. Only that it will come.

“I have a few things to…”

Quietly she whispers in my ear.

“I know… let it out. Give into the rhythm. Dance. Let these thoughts and feelings reveal themselves. Don’t hold back. Savor. Enjoy. Come when you’re ready.”

And there she goes again… Tiptoeing out of the room, her presence remaining in the back of my mind.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Consumed...




muse - madness / song of the day 1252013


Needless to say I'm consumed by a little Madness right now. Words, of course! Oh and the musical kind... Don't you just love Muse? I know I do. 

Are you consumed by Madness? Is Madness your Muse? Or perhaps a little of both? A little Madness never hurts until someone takes it seriously. Now my loveliest readers... None of you would make that mistake... Would you? No I'm convinced that not one of you could make that mistake. But you never know. I wonder what would happen if someone did take it seriously?? 

Anyhoo... Here's a short story taken from my blog and also available in my ebook of short fiction pieces, Killing Changes You which you can find
HERE! on Amazon. Check it out! Enjoy a little Muse and Madness! 


kisses, m.



Madness Consumes Me
(4-28-09)
Photobucket


Madness consumes me. I wonder how many fingers I’ve cut off before I began to mince his arm into tiny little pieces using one of those ‘Magic Knife’ things. You know, one of the knives that cuts through cans; the ones advertised at 4:08 am in bad TV infomercials. Those infomercials meant for no one really; the same ones that infest your TV when your eyes can barely stay open and your mind won’t give in to sleep. 

Yes! It is sharp enough to cut through cans and apparently bones too. And the Puree setting on the blender should do the rest. Our blender is the same one they use on the astronauts’ food. 

Advanced. 
Sophisticated. 

You see, he always had to have the newest technologically advanced gadgets. If it was new and had the red stamped approval, he had to have it. Not that either of us were ever here to use them. We were hardly ever here. The maid used our kitchen more than either of us these days and that was mostly for cleaning. At least these devices finally came in handy. However, grinding up bones was never the purpose intended. 

Nonetheless it worked. 

Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart couldn’t have been prouder of me. I’ve crafted my murder into a tidy household project, minus the bows and ribbons on this and there won’t be any need to pre-heat the oven. Garbage disposal should digest my puree nicely.

Photobucket

Now what did this poor bastard do to end up on the right side of my trash compactor? He tried to kill me. I never saw it coming. Some people never get it, but I feel pretty naïve, cause I never saw this. 

Well, somehow I got the upper hand, so it’s him in little pieces and not me. How? He poisoned the wine. 

Red. 
Merlot. 
My favorite. 

The dumb bastard mixed up the glasses. I never did understand how anyone could go through so much trouble to accomplish something and then completely screw things up so badly. You’d think he would have caught something like that. 

Again I never saw this coming. Naïve. Deer in headlights. Love turned badly; turned to hate quicker than I could blink. If he had got things right, I quietly would have drifted off just as he did… 

What were we talking about? Oh yes, we were talking about improvisation, how it’s a dying art, when he quietly slid down and slumped over in his chair. How did I know about the wine? See I hadn’t taken a drink of mine yet. Sometimes I get so passionate in my beliefs that I don’t stop talking to breathe, let alone take a sip of wine. And the wine was all we had… 

After I checked his pulse I realized "Oh God, he's dead." I think most people freak out in situations like this and call the emergency services. I don’t know why I remained so calm. Systematically I went through his pockets and found his plans, notes and letters, my suicide note, and an insurance policy. 

I honestly thought he loved me, but as I read these notes while sitting at the table next to his body, I began to realize how much he’d really grown to despise me. Somehow our relationship had become a competition - a struggle to him. Seriously, I never saw this coming. I never thought I’d love someone so deeply and in reality he hated me so truly. 

I open a new bottle of merlot and prepare to finish my task at hand. 

Chop. Dice. Puree.

Just Madness.

Madness - Muse

Saturday, January 26, 2013

REVEAL... YOURSELF!

bardot unmasked before paris. 2012. 


Reveal yourself? Moi? You first. Thought so.

Actually, here I set... working tonight. Mostly looking in the most inconspicuous places for an email to one of my editors that currently eludes me. I'm avoiding the obvious choice of rewriting my piece from an older draft that is complete. And then I want to say perhaps it does not exist because I can not locate it, but that would be a lie. It's has me thinking that perhaps the things we think are happening are not and those that are not very much are. People often keep things back or choose not to RECOGNIZE them because it's easier to assume that no one will know the difference in the end. The how's or why's of a creation, an action, or even an affair are dismissed because it is simpler to know that it happened, and not be concerned of how it originated. You see that is where they are wrong. Someone will know the difference... That person will be the one pretending it didn't happen. Anyhow, here's a story of mischief. It's a bit of a joke between my baby sis and I that I have an inner muse. And sometimes I feel as though my muse torments me by withholding inspiration. So I wrote a short bit about it. With a freudian twist. Of course! Enjoy! 
kisses, 
m.



Reveal.
(7-31-2010)

Here she comes around again… Tiptoeing into the back of my mind when she enters the room. I’m alone tonight. Except for emma.

Quietly she whispers into my ear.

“Let it breathe. The thoughts that fill your mind. Savor it. Enjoy the kill. You know how disappointed you can get when you forget to give in to the rhythm of it all.”

She always does this. Circles around me after entering the room. Leaning in and observing my thoughts with little effort but every time she never fails to diagnose the problem accurately. Tonight is different. I flip the pages shut when she leans in for a kiss and whispers.

Fingers slide in and out of the wire of the chair and I can feel her frustration. Slowly the tiny digits move upward toward my head. Through my hair and reaching down to my neckline. Up and down they slide, gripping around my neck before moving down to my shoulders. I tense up and flinch to shake free. She reacts with a jerk. Wounded like a child she waits before leaning in again. But nevertheless she does. Hands grip tighter around my neck. Locked. Her breath kisses my face while she leans in further to let her tongue glide along my earlobe. She bites and releases.

“Stop hiding behind that mask!” she speaks quietly in a hiss that persists into my ears.

Her anger precedes her. “You’re so in LOVE with your problems.” Words like knives stick into my heart.

A wave of panic sends my heart racing as I spin my chair around to face her. Chest continues to heave uncontrollably while emma slinks over to the bar and continues her rant. “You haven’t written anything in over a month.”

She pauses briefly to pour a glass of Rouge before resuming her rant.

“All of this?” A wave of her beautifully slender arm graces the atmosphere. “Listen to me! All of this has been produced. You are merely coasting on what has already been. There is nothing new. You know it and SO… DO… I!”

She steps around the bar and back towards my work space.

I’m completely speechless as emma crosses the room. She wants to kiss me. We aren’t in agreement so there’s no passion. I despise her, she loves me. I want to tear her face off, she wants to embrace and inspire me. I can feel her rage as she leans over my body across my shoulder to see the empty page.

“Honestly, how can you expect me to continue to show up?” she touches my face and kisses my neck while her fingers run through my long hair. “Look gorgeous, inspiration is standing right in front of you. It’s time to do something about it.”

Quietly I sip at my Merlot and take another puff at my cigar. emma is right, she’s rarely ever wrong. I’m a capable woman yet here I am at 3am holed up with my problems instead of making love to my beautiful muse and producing work inspired by her captivating presence.

Then again she’s grown quite arrogant and I’m tired of these childish games. The coming and goings at all hours is a wear on my patience.

“You think just because you show up, I can instantly turn it on.” My psyche is not ruled by a light switch. “Simply yelling ‘POOF!’ will not make it happen.” emma walks away the moment my voice raises.

But what answer can there be? I’m alone drinking night after night and there she appears and assumes that it’s best to work because she’s in the mood. Well tonight I’m not feeling it. “Shut the fuck up.” I toss an empty bottle in her direction.

“What the fuck?!” She screams and brings down her glass with a slam. The glass shatters and I’m stunned at her reaction.

What the fuck, indeed. I’m alone. Drinking. Yelling… at my muse!

Mentally this is the point she checks out. Tonight is different though. She wants my throat. I want her death. We are equally in contempt for each other.

Across the room it flies. A bottle of red wine zipping past my face. “You’re wasting your time and good wine. You missed my face you stupid bitch! Quit.”

Bottle after bottle hits the wall behind me. Red splashes across the white. Blank canvas coated in a watery mess.

“Ha ha ha! I see red!” She shrieks in sheer delight from across the room before tossing the bottle of Chianti at my head.

Typically she mentally checks out when it gets too rough. Not tonight. She’s in it to win. Whatever could she be after? I’m certainly not inspired by this tantrum. But it is entertaining. I quite enjoy her fits on occasion. This one seems like it is almost over.

“REVEAL YOURSELF! Tell the truth.” She yells at me in a giggling yet taunting arrogance.

“What ever do you mean by all of this? No one is the enemy. We are in agreement.” Although we are not I say the words to pacify her. Halfheartedly I toss aside my glass and start over towards emma.

She is standing still with a bottle raised over her head. There’s still anger in her eyes and she speaks calmly despite her hostile stance.

“I’ve given you countless opportunities to confess. Say it. I need you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Why silly that you’re a fraud, of course.” She opens her bright red lips wide to reveal her white teeth as a laugh grows from her belly. Down lowers the bottle during this hysterical laughter until it lands on the floor in a shatter. The red liquid sprays across her bare legs and coats the hardwood floor.

On and on pours out the laughter. Until I finally edge close enough to put my hands around her waist. She stops smiling and looks at me. I kiss her forehead and lean against her face. Then I begin.

“Honey, please sit down. Talk with me. What are you thinking?” I motion toward the nearest chairs. She stiffens but does not jerk away.

“Take off the mask with me. You know I can still see you with it on.”

“Fine. Why am I a fraud? Is this about the work again? We’ve been through this far too many times. In the end I will win. There are no masks concealing anyone.” I tighten my grip around her waist and shove her toward the chair. I’m tired of this silly shit. I need to work and I’m hardly up for these antics.

“Liar. Without me there would be no work. I’m everything…”

emma shows up everything does seem to move better, but that’s hardly inspiration. She’s unreliable, unreasonable and I’m going to kill her. I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.

“Stop. Who’s lying now? You can’t prove that. I was spinning thousands of tales before you showed up.” Tighter my hands lock in. She reaches up and grabs my waist and pulls me down.

“But nothing was worth a penny before me. And… you know it. Admit it.” She bites at the skin on the inside of my arm. Red smears across the whiteness of my skin. “Are you going to do it or not?” Afraid? Maybe I’m right and all of it goes...”

Let loose. Back flies my hand and strikes her face. For some reason punishing her hurts me. I wince at the pain my slap causes her.

“You do it and I’ll take it all with me.” She plays extortionist better than she plays lover. Lips keep kissing and biting at my elbow between words. Hands and fingers are unbuttoning my shirt and pulling at my skin. She wants more but I loathe her.

“I don’t care. Die!”

I wrap both hands around her neck and start in. Her arms reach out to pull mine away and find no match for the anger that is in my grip. Eyes open wider and wider. She looks like a blow up doll with her mouth wide open and eyes popped out. Click. Click. Click. Sounds like a clock escape out of her dry mouth. Legs raised and heels flailing. Slowly energy drains from her body. I can feel the struggle gently fading away. Her face drops aside without lines and I let go.

Sitting down I look over at her unmoving shell and wait. Wait for the animation of life to take hold again. Can I create without her? I don’t know. I’m in love with her, but I can not tolerate this abuse. She’s always like this but tonight is different. No one walks away. Not even I.

And I’m inspired. That makes this scenario almost worse than before. Is it there because of what I’ve done or is it just there like a light that has been turned on? She’s beautiful when she’s silent. Bright red lips spread wide open. Still. I place my head in my hands and feel like sobbing. But I can’t there are words. Oh so many words flowing and pouring into my empty head.

Two hands wrap around my waist and slide up around my breasts. Breath crawls around my neck as a face leans against my shoulder. “Did you like that?”

“Is that how you plan on handling things from now on?” I reach over and touch her cheek. She leans in to kiss me.

“I gave you what you needed. It’s what you were afraid of. You know…”

“Losing you. My inspiration. Without you what would there be? What will come next?”

“Don’t worry about that. Come to bed.” She releases her hold and gets up. Walking away quietly she begins disrobing. emma is always like this when she returns. I never know what the timing will bring. Only that it will come.

“I have a few things to…”

Quietly she whispers in my ear.

“I know… let it out. Give into the rhythm. Dance. Let these thoughts and feelings reveal themselves. Don’t hold back. Savor. Enjoy. Come when you’re ready.”

And there she goes again… Tiptoeing out of the room, her presence remaining in the back of my mind.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

I fall to pieces.

I fall to pieces...

Photobucket

Matt Bellamy - Muse (photo by Alexei Hay, courtesy Spin magazine Sept. 09)

Quite literally! Don't you think? The photo has been on my brain since I awoke. Actually I think it's been with me all night. Anyhow that doesn't matter. This reminds me of the song 'I fall to pieces' by Patsy Cline and the imagery of the photo captured my sentiments of that exactly. Which if I'm correct, this isn't appropriate at all. What can I say? Darkness. It's the season for creepy - HALLOWEEN - Which I love!!

Oh yes... On another note, I'm setting the bar high once again for myself. The idea of creating a new story for every day this month did cross my mind. BUT THAT was incredibly daunting, even for moi and so I compromised... I'm shooting for 15, perhaps 16 new this month, (that's half if you don't follow). Which, if I am correct in calculating, means at least 3 to 4 each week. Well here's to this, if it doesn't drive me completely mad... And if it does, I'll be sure to send everyone my love and many postcards from the nervous
hospital.

kisses. m.