I have just found my muse, I believe…

What I am experiencing at this minute, as I type these words, is exquisite - it is of satisfaction still unachieved but oh, so near, and it is of accelerating beauty and of a divine nature. I cannot quite tell what it is, there are no words befitting this sensation.

A little less than a month ago I decided to follow my bliss, as Campbell put it. I stayed up until all night was consumed, listening to Campbell talk of love and divinity and great myths - truly phenomenal. A gift from overseas sent by a person I have never met ,as token of a friendship that has grown and grown, this gift had me stay up all night, one summer’s night, and it urged me to focus on what really matters to me - my bliss.

Then as I have always known, the pre-hero has to die to the world as it knows him, to be resurrected as a true hero. All in the name of bliss and in all great myths alike. I am no heroine, my life is not a myth, but I am hunting for my bliss. Of course, I could be a heroine, this could be a myth, but there would still be bliss to be sought after.

Sometimes when I am inspired I lose my touch with the physical world, even words do not come to me. I float, dip, dive in a state of absolute ecstasy and only this can help me to that sublime level. In this very instance I am fighting an undeniable urge to pour out my stream of consciousness, as I trust nobody would understand my stream of consciousness and I disliked The Portrait of The Artist As a Young Man.

Beh. Very few understand this.

I am going downtown this evening to roam the streets and look for antiques. I intend to spend money on things useless in every aspect but in appealing to me, that is their prime function. My room is Japanese akasen meets style-lacking minimalism, and that has got to change. I am most inspired by a certain someone’s flat and I plan on indulging in this moment’s fantasy that maybe I can turn my room into something remotely alluding to that flat, in spirit not style.

I am staying up late at night to write. Last night I wrote two passages only after juicing my brain for two hours - quite distressing. This is promising though, two passages are better than none…but really, I am not an optimist supreme. Quite frankly I do not write out of optimism, my statement is not all too positive, I daresay it is not even real.

Do not ask what that means - I think the stream is flowing.

This morning as I watched Tsuki-san lick himself, I wondered with what face would I meet a certain someone who has given me two novels written by an Italian Jew to read, well over four months ago. I have not touched the two books…They lurk in my drawer virgin, what am I going to say this time? That I was too busy? That I had no mood to read? That I was busy deciding how to follow my bliss? I can picture the dissatisfied look on his face, and I cannot convince it away.

I ended up buying myself Sophie’s World after all two days ago, but it must wait for now. I am engaged to Plato, although he is not entirely my type of fellow. I do fancy his dialogues, however, but is that ever enough? It’s page 42, out of 368 pages, that I am frozen at. What with the construction of argument, and the various points of view, and the messages I keep getting on my cell phone, and my own arguments with Plato; I am frozen at page 42.

When I am inspired certain music does not agree with me. Sometimes the slightest sound does not agree with me, sometimes just some songs by a certain singer don’t agree with me. This is how illusive and demanding my muse is, my mother once thought it a devil.

Now I just want an old radio.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, September 2nd, 2006 at 4:49 pm and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.