Void

The white page in front of me tells me so many stories. It tells me the story of the unborn inspiration, the story of the unavoidable and undesireable blank start and the one of the lack of my muse. Erato is somewhere out of my reach, somewhere only she can hide and only she knows till when. I refuse to invoke her as she’d only wound my flesh with the thorns of her roses, make my ears bleed with the song of her lyre and impale my soul with her arrow.

Instead of waiting for her, I unwillingly accept the prescription given by an amateur charlatan. My mouth takes in the bitter taste of the pill, and rather than swallowing it, I chew and suck on the compacted flat cylinder-shaped powder. The taste is so sharp that it injures the whole oral cavity, blinding all the tasting buds, cracking the palate and decaying all teeth. Is this medicine or poison? Will this make my muse come back, or scare her away? Will this toughen the cover of the soul, or make it even more fragile and exposed? At the moment (as it is written on the prescription that it’s best to ‘seize the moment’) the answers to these questions have no importance. The void moved in, and there are no reasons to care for all these things like: finding muses, survival of common sense, or understanding what this whole thing is about. Seizing the moment has nothing to do with understanding, taking care, paying attention, looking behind your shoulder or further than your most outstanding limb. So I seize the moment and enjoy the pleasures of the seconds that flow like the melted pill down my throat, into my stomach, waiting to be evacuated out of the system. I sit back, and watch rotting every single thing that was important just a second ago. Now that there are no priorities, everything and everybody is flushed down the toilet without resentments. Down the drain goes my self-conscience too, letting itself carried around in deep, fast and troubled dirt. It floats like an orphaned fetus, rejected by an infected womb, letting itself drowned by the mischievous river of human dirt, while Erato sits as a dumb witness on a deserted bank. She shrugs. The charlatan was so mislead.