I hate this period of time. In my writing that is. I'm at that point in my writing wherein something major has happened. It was big, awesome and beautiful. Now I'm stumped concerning how to get to the next major event. It's so annoying and it's the reason why I've been drawing, playing games and listening to music rather than writing. (Alright, I listen to music in an attempt to fuel the writing but still...)
My muse, as previously stated in poetical form, is a tease. She keeps me up late, pleading for her to give me that smidgen of information I need in order to progress, when I should be in bed resting up for pilates. She drives me crazy. She is why I wrote that poem about poetry reading hipsters. She is the reason I accidentally wrote poetry about this sculpture I was looking at today. No really, it was an accident.
I was writing about this beautiful bronze statue of the Hindu goddess Shri Devi for art class. I started writing a about her posture, her figure and her expression. Next thing I know, it is randomly poetic. "Scantily clad goddess/ Clinging clothe etched into her thighs" rot like that. Although the statue was beautiful. She was the picture of fertility (with breasts swollen with milk and her hip popped to the side as though she were holding a child) and also sexuality (said breasts covered at the nipple by a small band, an open and inviting stance and a seductive expression on her face). Seriously, this little statue was amazing. But was it worth my muse possibly exerting all of her energy? NO! At least not as far as I'm concerned.
Anyway, enough about her. I should be off to bed since it is well after 5am. Just to drive my point about my muse home, this is a normal bedtime for me. BLUGH!
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