"He was reborn in Germany! Think about that!" - Geoffery Tennant
Hmmm. A week. I generally update this when a week has passed. Not that there's much to say right now.
So, I went to the graduation last weekend. It was nice seeing everybody again, including some people that I weren't expecting. Then aside from a nice lunch on Sunday and a Wakefieldian adventure on Monday, I haven't been out all that much. Hopefully I'll be seeing Pirates 3 with my mom this weekend, but we'll see how that works out as my mother has a even greater loathing of the general public than I do (I know that's hard to believe anyone could loathe the public more than me, but she does). In fact, tonight I took an hour-long walk in the cemetery just to get out of the house. I'm going to become one of those creepy cemetery-walkers, aren't I?
I had some odd thoughts whle I was there though, enough to make into a story. I hope I can keep those thoughts in my head until I get to Florida because I have absolutely no artistic inspiration to write when I'm at home, even when I so desperately want to. The muse is a bitch, as always. I am at this point referring to "the muse" in a Classical sense, because when I refer to my muse it could be many things - the Classical definition, a subject or theme that invades my head, a specific writer or work that influences me ("Hi there, Bill Shakey!"), or a specific person in my life who temporarily takes a muse-like role. I've wondered if what I need lately is another one of the "real" muses, in the sense of an actual person in my life who fuels me to write. I've never had one for very long, and I don't think anyone has ever realized that I have them, so unless I finally get a long-term muse I hope these past muses never realize they ever were one, especially given my creative approach. When people think of being someone's muse, it's always that romantic Moulin Rougue notion of the beautiful woman that the starving male artist puts on a pedistle and either wishes or actually does have sex with her. Needless to say, my muses so do not function like that at all. It'd be nice if someday I could find one that inspires me to write in a functional, sensical way, in a way quite unlike how my two strongest muses inspired me (one inspired a sonnet cycle from me, and while it wasn't bad, poetry is not something I do well nor particularly want to do more of, and the other was really more of an 'anti-muse', inspiring rather negative pieces of work). Or even better, perhaps eventually I'll come to a point where I won't need such a muse. Heck, I've written plenty of things that have come entirely from within myself and had little external influence, but I think right now a flesh-and-blood muse would help push me out of this slump I've been in. Such a shame you just can't go buy one from a store.
Wow, this all came out rather stream-of-consciously and out of nowhere. And here I thought I wouldn't have much to say and while this is something I've thought about in the past few weeks, it wasn't on my mind at all today until now. Of course, most of you probably care very little about the insanity that is my so-called "art" or rather, the lack of it in my life right now. But hey, this is my journal, so there!
(P.S. the man in my new icon is Geoffery Tennant, as played by Paul Gross in my all-time favorite live-action TV show Slings & Arrows. I have come to the realization that this man is my soulmate and was immediately depressed when I remembered that he is a ficitonal character. Such is the state of my life.)
So, I went to the graduation last weekend. It was nice seeing everybody again, including some people that I weren't expecting. Then aside from a nice lunch on Sunday and a Wakefieldian adventure on Monday, I haven't been out all that much. Hopefully I'll be seeing Pirates 3 with my mom this weekend, but we'll see how that works out as my mother has a even greater loathing of the general public than I do (I know that's hard to believe anyone could loathe the public more than me, but she does). In fact, tonight I took an hour-long walk in the cemetery just to get out of the house. I'm going to become one of those creepy cemetery-walkers, aren't I?
I had some odd thoughts whle I was there though, enough to make into a story. I hope I can keep those thoughts in my head until I get to Florida because I have absolutely no artistic inspiration to write when I'm at home, even when I so desperately want to. The muse is a bitch, as always. I am at this point referring to "the muse" in a Classical sense, because when I refer to my muse it could be many things - the Classical definition, a subject or theme that invades my head, a specific writer or work that influences me ("Hi there, Bill Shakey!"), or a specific person in my life who temporarily takes a muse-like role. I've wondered if what I need lately is another one of the "real" muses, in the sense of an actual person in my life who fuels me to write. I've never had one for very long, and I don't think anyone has ever realized that I have them, so unless I finally get a long-term muse I hope these past muses never realize they ever were one, especially given my creative approach. When people think of being someone's muse, it's always that romantic Moulin Rougue notion of the beautiful woman that the starving male artist puts on a pedistle and either wishes or actually does have sex with her. Needless to say, my muses so do not function like that at all. It'd be nice if someday I could find one that inspires me to write in a functional, sensical way, in a way quite unlike how my two strongest muses inspired me (one inspired a sonnet cycle from me, and while it wasn't bad, poetry is not something I do well nor particularly want to do more of, and the other was really more of an 'anti-muse', inspiring rather negative pieces of work). Or even better, perhaps eventually I'll come to a point where I won't need such a muse. Heck, I've written plenty of things that have come entirely from within myself and had little external influence, but I think right now a flesh-and-blood muse would help push me out of this slump I've been in. Such a shame you just can't go buy one from a store.
Wow, this all came out rather stream-of-consciously and out of nowhere. And here I thought I wouldn't have much to say and while this is something I've thought about in the past few weeks, it wasn't on my mind at all today until now. Of course, most of you probably care very little about the insanity that is my so-called "art" or rather, the lack of it in my life right now. But hey, this is my journal, so there!
(P.S. the man in my new icon is Geoffery Tennant, as played by Paul Gross in my all-time favorite live-action TV show Slings & Arrows. I have come to the realization that this man is my soulmate and was immediately depressed when I remembered that he is a ficitonal character. Such is the state of my life.)