"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

21 January 2012


The three muses decided to pop by my place the other night. They've slept off benders in my parlor. I set one of them up on a blind date with Mara once, though she's not bitter.

To be fair, one met me at the train station and walked me home amongst the snow and queer comfortable temperature of an after storm evening. Her hair was the color of spun and polished copper. Her eyes were like that of hardened amber. She had frozen suspended spiders for pupils.

As we walked, she listened to me meditate and rant in the High Speech of demons, not trusting myself to speak in the clumsy tongues of the half-bald monkeys that call themselves Man. Like my a sage, some years before, she made comment that the things I come up with when sober can be far more impressive, if not frightening than what coalesces in my skull when under the influence of an intoxicant, thus proving not all great works are done by drunks and drug addicts. She said I saw things and that it sometimes rattled the gods.

Her two sisters were waiting at the door. They wanted cocktails, but I was only offering tea. I was none too keen on sharing the bottle of wine I planned on having a glass with come dinner, there was sake for an occasion I had yet to designate, and touch my whiskey without my consent could result in pulling back a bloody stump if I was feeling gentle. Needless to say, the other two muses, ink black and ice white hair, ruby and sapphire eyes, were disappointed. Perhaps even a little bored.

I had my dinner with a glass of wine. Read comic books and listened to music whilst having tea. The muses watched. Two of them wanting to seek there pleasures elsewhere, because I was not in the mood for their reindeer games. The other one, the one who walked me home, was watching me intently. Were I an arrogant man, I'd say she might have been nursing a bit of a crush. After all, I did catch the whiff of pheromones.

Finally, they left. Mister Excitement, who lived three doors down, with a first name of either Juan or Etzer, was throwing a party. Exciting, of course. Far more entertaining than the creature reading comic books and sipping tea to the soothing stylings of Alice in Chains and Andrew Bird. The bored sisters left without a backward glance, the one who walked me home lingered for just a moment longer.

"You walk between worlds and through dreams," she whispered to me.

"I've heard that line before," I said. "A lot of things have been said about me. Both true and false, good and bad, from both gods and men. It's always been this way."

"You see and know things," she said. "And the gods find you most terrifying when you have a moment of clarity that you whisper into the dark."

"Ain't that the way?" I pointed to the door. "Go now. See to your sisters. Someone more worthy than me can benefit from ya'll's mojo."

"Someone can," she agreed. "But that's because you don't need us."

With that, I walked her to the door. I was raised with manners. She blew a kiss to the spot where the third eye is located and I bowed respectfully. No further words passed between us. I watched her walk three doors down to go hang out with Mister Excitement.


  1. (Everybody needs a fan base.) Very well-told story. I loved every word, especially that truth at the end. "But that's because you don't need us."
    And now I'm in the mood for some fiddle plucking Andrew Bird.
    (Doesn't that sound like a curse word? Fiddle Plucker? I'm going to start using that from now on.)

    1. Thank you. And that is the most amazing curse-word-that's-not ever.

  2. "And the gods find you most terrifying when you have a moment of clarity that you whisper into the dark."

    You can truly turn a phrase. The gods should be terrified.

    1. Oh, Mademoiselle, how you do go on. Thank you.

  3. This was a really beautiful read. I love the way you write. It always inspires me. Unfortunately, right now, I'm inspired during homework, so it will probably leave me before I get a chance to really sit down and write something.

    Pieces like this are why I follow your blog.

    1. Thank you. Luck on keeping some inspiration for after you finish your homework.