Are we a-mused?

On August 5, 2010 my muse died - succumbed to cancer. We had an intense relationship from the get go. I met her in the line-up to a concert in 1993. We almost instantly thought of each other as "soul mates." Whatever the hell that means. We had long talks - sparring matches about philosophy, writing, music and we didn't always share the same tastes, but the shared underlying passions were there.

Now for the correction: my friend was inhabited by my muse. I loved her. When she died my muse was adrift and inaccessible. And love drifted slippery like a leech. Don't wince. Leeches are a time-honoured necessity in healing, and improve blood flow.

On Sep 25, 2010 my muse re-entered the picture inhabiting a man. This makes refreshing sense because the muse should be erotically charged. Look at the aloof Lady in the poetry of Machaut et al. The idolator must long to connect physically and mentally. But my former muse could not be erotic because she was a woman and I am gay. She could politely sit astride the pedestal; she could pirouette on the phallus but not cause a shiver. Not to say there wasn't a sensual connection - there was - but it was in limbo.

I'm being slippery with words and archetypes here: muse = god = soul = anima = projection. Although I'm atheistic, narcissistic, nihilistic and solipsistic - all those nervous tics - my relationship with the world is full of metaphors and symbolism. I would say everyone's is cloaked in this muck called language. So, given these limitations a muse, say Erato of lyric poetry, could exist as a kind of placebo god. No less effective for simply appearing to be a fellow human being. A muse is somewhere between a god and a counterpart: a soul projected onto the unknowable "other." New and improved? No. It doesn't work that way.

I wrote earlier that my muse re-entered the picture. This is a carefully chosen phrase. My muse is unusually gifted in visual allegory. The clincher. These visions transport me.

Now, the balancing act is to respect the dignity of the human being while permitting him to be a god. And I can be a god to him as well. We can do these things in this universe.

no laughing dark matter

There is a tragic clash between Truth and the world. Pure undistorted truth burns up the world. -Nikolai Berdyaev

Awad's word of the day included this dreadful quote. I believe it as much as I hate and fear it.

My catastrophic attitude was triggered by a painful crush, which has been going on for about a month or more. I'm one of Pavlov's dogs. He has a fascinating personality... intense and tragic... and he gives me lots of compliments. But most of the time he avoids me just as intensely. It's a wick burning in my mind and groin.

I'm not ready for depression again, but here it is. I'm making a cozy little hole for myself. Meanwhile I shuffle off to a joyless day of work every morning. For me this is bravery. What do I look like to everyone else? A broken marionette? No, that would tug the heartstrings, and most of us don't like to be sad.

I'm very concerned with what others think of me. Do they think of me as I see myself? A wimp, a shirker, a snob, damaged, no fun.

Revelations...

• Gris Clair...Serge Lutens... Oh duh parfum! Hints of stone-washed lavender, Gin and Tonic, the ubiquitous vanilla, and a dry pine copse. Thanks Kemal.

• I've met a remarkable guy, depressed, scatter shot mind organized like an essay. We've got similar souls but he's on a different level, sharing the same space. He's a provocateur, a trickster, and I wished we deserved him as an artist. But he deserves himself as an artist. He feels alienated and compromised in our society of lifeless personas. His self love is brittle. I want to show him he's complete. Even Narcissus chose nature as his mirror, not some shabby intellectual imitation. "Pull down thy vanity" - Ezra Pound "I'll be your mirror" - Lou Reed "Insanity is a placebo" - GRM

• After a year nursing myself back to health on pills, wills, cognitive therapy, walking the talk, generally being Pavlov's dog's body... I'm becoming a productive citizen (as opposed to deductive I suppose). Returning to work after being sick for so long is not so revelatory, but it is surprising how my dread has been replaced by the old familiarity. I just hope this old security blanket of familiarity doesn't breed contempt, or fear, and thoughts of death. What keeps me alive is an enthusiasm for tenderness and pleasure.