The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Goosing the Leader

"Invalid Entry" 

The movie 'Xanadu' ruined the concept of muses for me. Rollerskating muses? E.L.O? Gene Kelly thought that movie was a good idea? Really?

I don't think about where the inspiration comes from, if it should manage to come at all. I don't envision Greek goddesses presiding over my 'art', if I should be so bold as to call it that, or long-haired, glitter-winged fairies flitting around me, whispering to me in a voice that only my subconscious may hear. Whatever words I am able to put together, whatever colours I can find a way of mixing, they come from me, and me alone.

I am not given to the idea of sprites or wood-nymphs, though I appreciate the beauty in myth. I leave the sirens, mermaids, dryads, sylphs and naiads to those with a penchant for the sleight of hand because I only have so much room for magic in here. I am busting at the seems with the burning need to find proof of an afterlife, the existence of ghosts, conversations with the dead, the head swimming with dying Santas, Easter Bunnies, lop-winged tooth fairies and fading leprechauns. Muses, now? The idea is a pretty one, but for argument's sake, let's just throw that diaphonous doll right on top of the pile in the corner. As I've said, I only have so much room for chimera.

Creativity is situation and influence. It is spirit and education. It is mood and chemical hysteria. I tend to know when I'm feeling it, and I also know when to leave well enough alone. For me it comes by chance, rolls with the tide and forcing it never works. When I feel good about something I've done, I tend to feel 'inspired', as in, everything looks like a poem. I see paint differently, interpret colours as more meaningful than what they actually are. I write something I like, I smell the perfume of a flower, even if there are none in the room. Food tastes better, explodes in the mouth and the touch of naked skin is a lit match to kindling. There is a kind of thrilling violence in expression for me, none of that muddy peace that I covet, but the feeling is so pleasurable, so invigorating that I sometimes think I might actually be one of those born to compose what I'm feeling.

My 'muses' have been red-blooded, warm-fleshed beings. I have gathered little bits of soul from unsuspecting poets and lovers and have secreted them in a safe place, only occasionally taking them out to admire. I have never taken enough to leave a gaping hole, nor have I ever displayed my trophies in some futile display of triumph. It is a carefully conjured recipe employing spices from different corners of the world, hints from the people standing next to me, and sometimes I share.

I have written poems about 'muses', but they have always been real people. The pain of others inspires me, just as their wisdom does. Jubilance seldom does much for me, but that's my problem and no one else's. While sadness and despair is not beautiful to me exactly, it does give me a rush of something which makes me think, makes me reach. I want to reach inside of another who is sinking and know what it is they are feeling without owning the consequences. I don't want to be 'in it', I just want to be able to relate. I always know that pain is personal, and that even if I dare to try to pull someone up, they may not be ready to let me. I just write about it, then.

I greatly treasure strength. It feeds me, fuels me, and I always want to read the words of those I revere who exhibit a determination that is so elusive to the rest of us. I'm always looking for someone to worship. Practicality also impresses me, and I struggle with it everyday. I am not the most practical woman at the best of times. I have a natural affinity for illusions, which is why it's so odd to me that I don't get much out of the concept of muses. I suppose I'm selective with my fantasies.

So, muses? No. They never follow me to parties or come along for coffee and conversation. I'm always looking for meaning in random sentences or in the facial twists of strangers as they march along the street, but it's not always so easy. Almost every feeling I have is nourished by the convictions of other humans and rare, private moments with nature but never have I sat in the dark and prayed for the goddesses to hear me. I've never been that much into mythology; too many names to remember, too many strange blends of beast with biped.

It would be nice if they existed though. Someone else to blame for all the failings, a soul to pin the bankruptcy on.