Good morning all. This is your Morning Briefing for January 24, 2012.
There’s something going on that has me wondering more than a little bit this morning. That is, of course, if you don’t count the fact that I’m dancing in my living room at 5:30 in the morning, to Joe Cocker’s “Feelin’ Alright,” with an ethereal apparition of incredible beauty, who is positively radiant, even at this hour. And, guess what, I don’t care what anybody else thinks, but I am positively radiant too…even at this hour.
How do muses do it?
I don’t know where all of this with these morning things is coming from, or where its going, but you are either witness to the creation of something special, magical and mystical, or, you have a front row seat to the absolute, total destruction and disintegration of another human being. Think of it in nuclear terms. Now, if any of you know what the hell I just wrote, or what it means, please feel free to let me know, because I have no freakin’ idea.
My house can get crowded. Suzanne, two Siamese and me is capacity right now.
However, yesterday afternoon, while I was doing yoga, another one showed up. Muse, I mean. A male muse at that. (There’s gotta be a joke in there somewhere.) At first, I thought he had the wrong address, and was looking for someone else. Muses can be confused at times, just like us. I thought maybe he had lost his iPhone or Blackberry and came to the wrong house. Then I figured out he was some sort of far eastern muse,(different union than the Greeks) because, as I was trying to get into one of those positions that are difficult for me right now, due mainly to the fact I haven’t done them for a long time, I heard this voice whisper in my ear, “Grasshopper…relax body. No force. Open mind. Open body. It comes.”
Oriental muses are noted for their use of cryptic two word sentences. Evidently they think it gives them an aura of knowing what the hell they’re talking about. Almost like they think they can get on Ellen Degeneres, or Oprah’s network and pimp a book/DVD deal.
He seemed ready to speak again, but I stopped him right then, and said, “What the hell? Who are you, and how’d you get in here?” He just sat there and looked at me, startled. Before he could answer, I said, “Look, the last thing I need is some Pat Morita wannabe barging into my house, calling me “Grasshopper” and telling me to relax. I’ve got one muse in my life right now and she’s about all I can handle at this time.”
He started to say something, but I signaled to him to put a sock in it, and in a relatively quiet voice said. “Look my inscrutable, little oriental buddy…. piss off!”
He looked at me, somewhat surprised and bewildered, shrugged his shoulders, looked at Suzanne, got up and left. Walked right through the door, too.
How do they do that?
Gotta be a muse thing.
Suzanne just sat there, holding that cigar of hers, sipping tea, and smiling, not saying a word. God, muses can be confounding at times.
After he left, I wondered if there wasn’t some sort of muse network, like maybe, “Muse Need Work.com,” or something like that, where word gets out that there might be some work for an unemployed muse, and he grabbed the first thing that came along. I know jobs are tight right now, but I guess I assumed muses always had work, given the business they’re in. Which, I might add, seems to be that of driving a somewhat, normal, average kind of guy to the edge of madness.
On the other hand, they do give me a glimpse into the land of enchantment.
So maybe it’s worth the hassle.
That’s your morning update. You know what to do.
Take care, be well and keep in touch.