... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Thursday, May 10, 2012

591: Hello...? Calliope? Thalia? ...you there?

Strange (it's strange) how sometimes it just seems impossible to write anything. Imagine having to stand before a crowd every day and improvise a performance. Imagine having to do it while cooking your tea, changing a nappy (which I have never done so here the imagination has to kick in), or sitting on the sofa and staring at your toes. Look at that bit of wall up there. Up in the corner above the door. It's weird. I've never noticed that before. That observation is fictional, and so is the bit of wall. There probably is a bit of wall above the door but I have not observed it, was not just observing it then, and have noticed nothing "weird" about it. Hang on a moment; let me just check.

Nope. Nothing weird. There is a small non-specific black dot, and a hint of some stain. Probably damp. I daren't even turn around and look at the mould above the window. The ceiling is too high to reach to clean myself and I don't want the landlords to do it cos they are messy, clumsy, sweary and loud. Some of this blog post is true, some is fictional, but all of it is so mundane and uninspired I don't know if it's possible to tell what is what. You know when you kiss someone, or are otherwise messing about with... physically, and your stubble scratches them. On the face, or wherever. And they say ow, because being scratched with beard stubble is apparently extremely painful. Just a thought, but do you think it would be possible to kill someone using only beard stubble as the murder weapon? Answers to be supplied with colourful diagrams created on Microsoft Paint.

It's no wonder really that the ancients believed in the concept of Muses. Euterpe, the muse of song. Calliope, the muse of epic poetry and long-term blogging projects. Thalia, the muse of comedy. Terpsichore, dance; Erato, love poetry; Urania, astronomy; Melpomene, tragedy; Polyhymnia, hymns; and Clio, history. I listed the Muses. From wikipedia. It does seem sometime like creativity comes from another place separate from, what we would know think of as, the conscious mind. Another place or plane, gifted from on high, created spontaneously independent from hard work. Creativity is only hard when the Muses have abandoned you. When they are with you they are doing all the work while you are just coasting by comfortably. It's not an original observation, hence the very idea of Muses, but they have abandoned me for a day or two. Boo hoo. They had better be back soon, because I need to work on my wedding speech.

Afterthought:  the Muses all represent creative forms firmly routed in the time of Ancient Greece.  Could we come up with some new ones to represent modern/contemporary expressions of creativity?  Quantum physics; beatboxing; professional wrestling; etcetera, etc, &c.

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