In a simple musing,

I'm not inspired, per se
I don't get inspired easily.
And usually, when I write
it's some measly
little rhyming thing
that never satisfies.

But to satisfy and appetite that's mental
I guess that's work for the muses.

But what is a muse?
And what is it's use?

Often portrayed as a gree-esque lady.
Can't you just picture them all?

All toga-ed up,
Gathered somewhere in the clouds,
Boasting of all their triumphs out loud,

"Ever heard of a little thing called Beethoven's 9th?
All me, honey."
"No shit? Well, I pride myself most on that darling little Mona-girl.
Oh, you know, the painting?"

But women such as this,
couldn't be that deep.
I have a feeling that people in general a very shallow.

But, none-the-less, I have a theory.

A muse is in a musing.
A moment that some great energy passes through the mind,
like when you're hit in the head with a big rubber ball?
You seem to lose all thought for a time.
And you feel something that isn't quite unconciousness,
and yet, you don't feel awake.

The in-between is the ticket.
Like, you're in two seperate worlds simultaneously.
Or, just another world all together.
Not another Earth,
or an alternate,
but simply a state of being.

Just being.
Floating in your own mind.
Not confined to the heaviness of your body.

Inspiration.
It's got to come from somewhere.
Not that we'll ever know.
Believe you me,
we'll come up with some excuse like religion or a higher being,
And discredit ourselves, and our own abilities.

Such is life.
Stuff and non-sense.
Bits and pieces.

Unfinished.
Unwritten.
Unsatisfying.