...quiet, about a lot of things...
Monday, August 21, 2006
Will the real MUSE, Please stand up?!!
Mine is a person. Both the memory and impression of a specific person. He is a male. He is a past lover. He reappeared last year. At first, I did not know what I wanted from him. I knew he wanted nothing from me. I wondered if I was going thru a mid life crisis. I wanted to tell him things. Little things. Time had passed and I wanted him to look through me like an art book. Beautiful. Thoughtful. Well Printed on rich paper. I wanted him to DESIRE me. For it to be hard for him to put me back on the shelf.
Sounds dangerous...huh? I told you. I thought I was going insane. I told my husband all about it...and noted this weird feeling..of unfinished business. God BLESS my husband. He lives with crazy 24/7. I told him, though I wanted this "muse" to hang on my words, I didn't want to have an affair...or anything as simple as that.The Muse had found love...I had found love. It wasn't that.
I even told the Muse, I thought he may be the "MUZE". Of course I misspelled it...and of course in his REAL LIFE my muse is an editor big Chief WHO HA HA..blah blah..blah..(have I mentioned that Jealousy is a GREAT creative PROVOCATEUR!!!)
I actually told a HUMAN MAN, with a biggish size ego, that he may be my muse. OH MY GOD... WHAT made me do that. His answer was simple...He'd think of his muse as Sharon Stone type..in that Albert Brooks Film... and he'd want to sleep with her. Men are pretty dull sometimes. Dull but honest. I think I said something alluding to "that it was that same powerful feeling...just...north in my body...not between my legs but between my ears."
Conversation has stopped, one on one, between us. But nothing has changed. He is my muse. I write to him. I write to prove myself. I write out of jealousy, because he is an author, a professor, a BIG IMPORTANT MAN. I write to the boy he was, the only boy I ever introduced to my father. I write to his judgemental mother, who never thought I was good enough for him. I write to his secrets and my secrets, but I write to him. He is a good muse to me, giving no approval. He pokes at my back and shoots at my feet..and when he says dance, I dance.
Who's your Muse??...Leave directions and I'll come and check it out.....