My muse is stinky and awfully cute. Not too stinky that you can not tickle her. She doesn’t have a name, or it keeps changing. Once she was a guy sitting on a bench at the roller rink. I did not think she was very sexy that time. My muse is very sexy most the time. Either she is sexy or incredibly something else. But if it’s not sexy, then it must be incredible.
I try to ignore her sometimes, because she gets on my nerves and has a propensity to “keep me in check” which is bullshit. I mean, who (exactly) died and made her a muse?
I used to be more inclined towards her bits and pieces, but lately she has bored me. I have been bored with my muse for awhile. Sometimes she will hide away and then eventually come out, usually from a closet, with some weird messed up shit and then eventually, after scourging me properly, for no apparent reason, seeks short term reconciliation, at least long enough to build my trust and let me kick the shit out of her - she'll say - "that's bullshit you stupid bitch!" is the same as a kicking if you scream it loud enough
My muse likes things just so and is kind of like a fairy. She is bigger than a fairy, but that just might be illusion. I am never sure of such things. My muse is stupid, because she is caught up in ideals and thus is pleasured by mechanics of service. The physical favors of machines. The printing of money and the waking of dead things sometimes.
In the winter, she is really annoying. In the winter her one-tracked mind really kicks in. I am led to believe that she truly believes that what she gives to me is for my benefit, but I tend to assert that it is in fact for her benefit. “Shall I argue or be scourged?” I asked one day as I pled. She has never responded. It must be nice.