the ARTIST desires A muse NOT A spouse

the ARTIST desires A muse NOT A spouse

Genuine muses remain dreams eternally but for the artists that bond them to probing drudgery, A muse is nothing more than that of a reflection, distilled in mirrored monitors of the artist’s wishes, nervous ticks, thoughts and wants. Habitually the Muse will not act in response to straight and rational and consistent desires. She should be enticed with the lighthearted and good-natured moments that you have together.

Many artists, writers, poets and musicians have said that an individual whom they refer to as their muse has inspired their creative work. A muse is someone who has such a great influence on another that he or she becomes the focus and inspiration for that person's creative work and point of interest in living. Men to describe the women that they have been in love with and made the subject of their work have historically used the term, but may be married or in a “relationship” with another. George Harrison and Eric Clapton had the same muse at one point.

A muse is more powerful than Jesus, God, Mohamed, any religious figure, if the muse loves a man, then the man's worries instantly disappear. The artist whom is loved by a muse is considering being more sacred than a holy person.

Without muses Picasso would seize to exist, John Lennon’s solo career would have been nothing without Yoko. Gathering of that powerful energy when around that specific person can possibly mean that it is your muse, if inspiration is not wrecked, it’s with everything you have done or plan to do, if she is a CATALYST FOR CHANGE, she is a muse.

Commonly the muse flourishes with worship to impose pain, as she is born in pain, and it is the artist’s primary job to care for her, the muse, to nurture her because losing her means to go under an enormous arrangement. As an artist with a muse you are either connecting with your muse, or dealing with your demons, so remember that she only shoots you with insight, if you are suspecting so.

Let her have the mornings, it’s a muses favorite time, because in the moonlight when all the stars are sparkling in still moments of desire, but you have not passion or energy to write or paint or play guitar, brushing your teeth getting ready for bed, she speaks in a vent to you, even if she is unhappy, her words are like a kiss fueled with passionate energy, that inspires you to stay awake until the sunrises, she is a CATALYST FOR CHANGE, she is a muse.

Mike Ahuja

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SHINING MY SHOES WITH HER ONE WORD

The sunshine peaks through the cracks of the open windows, glaring down upon our dimly lit faces only to expose the precious moments, of our awakening from our SWEET SLEEP DREAMS, and the feelings we develop from living and leaving the escapism of sin. Sometimes emotions can rapidly change in alterating states with just one word, from being in the thought process of sorrow and anger, to hearing just one sweet word dance off the tip of her sweet tongue gracing the soft nuture of her tasty lips, and the sound bouncing off of her cute little nose, just one word has altered the prose of this passage.

thanks...

Noticing the solitude of hookers and whores, germans and japs, jews and muslims, americans and canadians, and all others that stroll through the confines of the smoke filled casinos filled with an excess of positivity filled dreams of hope to win big, to hit the jackpot special of never having to work again for the remainder of ones life. It's kind of sickening to notice so much dreams of positivity soaked in a greed filled stench of human fucking nature, kind of makes me want to become a negative bastard.

The thing is though, like with her one word, there is so much beauty in this atmosphere, so much beauty when you sit and actually pay attention, yes the uglyness is a no brainner and any moron could point out the greed aspect of starving money hungry people, but there is so much more.

Sometimes when we our straightforward with for example our muses, or when we strive to gain and gather attention from them, and we get absolutely no response, we jump higher and strive for even more attention to point of coming off as simply, plainly clothed crazed little boys, but the wierd thing is sometimes when the situation is thrown into reverse gear, we make a full on effort to avoid the attention she gives, to not want to hear the words roll off the tip of her sweet tongue gracing the soft nuture of her tasty lips, and the sound bouncing off of her cute little nose, we may sometimes just want to zip her lips shut, cut her tongue, and plug her nose, in confining all possible attention. (these times are usually very rare i would imagine from my personal situations but whom doesn't get a little crazy sometimes)

The important thing is to try and make at least an attempt to take notice of your surroundings, your actions, and your atmosphere, whether it be the sounds of the clinging around your heart to the birds chirping in your dream state, it can happen to you or me it's finally hard to describe it, but the beauty in a situation.

The beauty of this situation, is that like in life like so ever present in a casino is the philosophy of gambling, this philosophy is such a beautiful situation, that beauty when two souls press lips for the first time, who couldn't like it, and if you don't, it really doesn't matter...turn your lights on to the idea of what feels so right, and not so wrong!!!!

BET BIG, WIN BIG...WITH EVERYTHING IN LIFE...IT FEELS SO WRONG BUT IT FEELS SO RIGHT, IT'S WHAT SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF AND WE ALL OUR LOOKING FOR THEM, SO WHO ARE YOU TO DISAGREE in the idea of going big to win big.

Mike Ahuja

Intimately Conceiving the Child Of Change - "Love Sick Diaries"'s MySpace Blog | lovesickdiaries.com/blog.html

Intimately Conceiving the Child Of Change

By mike Ahuja

I seem to have notice, recently during these golden California sunrises, which seemingly produce tingling rays of a changing day.  These days with so many people recently have been filled with the desire of adapting to a new something, in witnessing the birth of living in the new, and intimately conceiving the child of change only to stop to a halt and focus on wanting to get lost in the fields of our pasts for just one more time.

The fields of our pasts are not all the same, and not always do we accept those fields with the honor that we should, as I haven’t even come to terms with the truth of what fields I have rolled around in like a tumble weed playing chase with its own thorns in farm full of crowded winds, but regardless if you accept or not, your past, we always seem to want just one more time in that field.  Our shadows will always linger over our shoulders, but for most this causes a painful sickness of affection, that we feed with addiction and vices.

But we want to play in that field one more time, for some that field is living in the realm of superficiality, flying around with broken wings like a moth flying into the brightly lit bulb with a burning sensation, sort of like people all around the world floating and flying their eyeballs into the light of the television only to follow the light of the microwave oven cooking their Celeste pizza dinner.  We all have our addictions whether it be boozing, drugs, sex, shopping, eating, exercising, reading, writing, studying, working, painting, music, computers, myspace, facebook, masturbation, porn, procrastination, perfection, argumentation, and everything else in the world when you do something to excess. 

I really don’t know if we have to change, if we have to leave these fields, or if we even have to attempt to intimately conceive the child of change that we are programmed by the mainstream media in believing that we need; a new brightly lit field full of butterflies and rose bushes surrounded with the nice and gentle bees that don’t sting you or my girl.  I can’t enlighten you and I do not wish to try too, you may be obsessed with desiring to feel something else, but I wish not.  Your vices, you wish they are routes to escapism but they will not really bring you to some higher state of being that you might be seeking.  It doesn’t matter how much you meditate or how much you educate yourself, you will not be more than human, your vice is just your field so enjoy that field for what it is. 

My field is when I close my eyes, than my visions of your beautiful smile and piercing eyes seem to make all my worries vanish away into a silent atmosphere.  By closing my eyes from everything I wish to run away from, my visions of you start opening up much more and your voices start running toward me in these fields of intimately conceiving the child of change.

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“Escape Us Sleeping Beauty” (Part 4 of Free Writing Exercise)"

Continued from previous entry

I only saw sleeping beauty, but she was wide awake, her touch lit a rainbow across the snow capped mountains, only to melt the cold away, it was nice, and it is nice.  I’m so hard for her love.  Please.

I don’t believe that I saw sleeping beauty, grasp onto the changing dance moves of the samba in a state of reality, but that doesn’t make me mad at you, but she did samba in my fictional reality.  Sometimes the struggles fight far from the distant realism, from the waves that crash and break onto the plastic beach.  These waves are synthetic waves of love, or are they?

It seems like most of the world is filled with synthetic pleasures, but do we have to ride those waves in our boats, will the undertow grab our mind and suck us in with the current, keep us from seeing the sunlight of sleeping beauty, from her piercing eyes?  The sailboat took off, from the mainland, for a journey and destination out into the open.  She had this gorgeous green glow surrounding her and moving with the curves of her silky soft skin.  I knew these or understood the possibility of these visions being completely synthetic, but I could only hear one thing in my erect mind, although I could see hundreds and hundreds around, but my eardrums had only one focal point, that of sleeping beauty.

The orange sun started to play tricks during these synthetic waves, like I was walking the Las Vegas strip wasted on the hopes of winning the big one.  The boat came back to shore; sleeping beauty had little chimes beeping, all around her smile that kept twinkling like the stars that we all see, we see from all over the world, real or plastic, the stars shine always the same.

When the boat docked it was like a kiss good bye, but not a kiss to get away, but rather to sail further into the South American Sea.  As we had nothing left to play for, the plastic beach was completely color less, not even the Irish would occupy it, so sleeping beauty decided to make her new resting place in a new place, a place full of color and lots of lights, you could see the lights high in the sky on a jet plane.

To Be Continued….

“Escape Us Sleeping Beauty” (Part 3 of Free Writing Exercise) - "Love Sick Diaries"'s MySpace Blog | lovesickdiaries.com/blog.html

“Escape Us Sleeping Beauty” (Part 3 of Free Writing Exercise)

Continued from previous entry

She sleeps so calmly, lying there in quiet passion with her back exposed showing her freshly sun made bronze tan, her long hair blowing slightly with the ocean breeze, her red beaded necklace drapes her skin sensuously. She really can be calm when the atmosphere is calm around her.

Cleaning up, picking up, and packing up objects of affection together can be a time of rejoice and rejuvenation, collecting our awaken dreams. A little time away from an awake sleeping beauty, has only one obstacle, an obstacle of forgiving any apologetic sorrows, an obstacle of forgetting the pain, and an obstacle of relief.

She spoke to me in warm tones of rainbow colors that unleashed the energy once again; today I felt all aspects of sleeping beauty’s persona. In her arrival, her smile hit my soul and it was touching.

At one point during the cycle of the moon and stars, she asked me to protect her. To protect her from bites and pains of the devils clinching jaws, and I hope I tried my best. I so much hate to see her in distress; it brings tears into my heart.

You can be anywhere in the world, where languages of confusion play games with your mind but you always seem to manifest and think about one person. That person is usually your drive. Sleeping beauty is and has been for time after time.

What the fuck is passion fruit? Does it bring passion? Jail time brings me more passion, but what is this fruit. The great aspect of traveling into a world of the unknown is that you have no safety net, you have nothing, and you just jump head first into a salty sea with waves breaking violently upon your faces. But through those violent waves you come to realize, what travels are about, that is the importance.

Her smile, the way she turns, the way she sways her hips, it all just gives me energy to keep on tackling these new adventures. Drinking and laughing with one another in an open field, full of daisies, is such a perfect moment of togetherness, even if millions floated in the flowers.

To Be Continued….

“Escape Us Sleeping Beauty” (Part 2 of Free Writing Exercise)

“Escape Us Sleeping Beauty” (Part 2 of Free Writing Exercise)

Continued from previous entry

It came to me, during a bout of what was meant to be the conclude of a festive finish, but lightening struck down upon my soul, thinking the rain possibly pouring down, losing all sense of living in a first world society. I was afraid.

Fearing only the worst, why do our minds, seem to only manifest the worst, but when in most scenarios the worst rarely ever occurs. But like the norm, I reacted in the worst, dropping to the floor of the urine soaked thrash littered pavement that filled and drove the sin throughout the south American streets, what was done, was without the sun.

I felt like a lost dog, scrounging for a bone, lost from home, looking for my bone. Eventually I gave up my search in despair, being taken in, sleeping beauty woke up, to me shining a bright light of joy, her smile was like the sun, shining brightly, keeping me sane, she knew exactly what I was feeling, she came down from the sky, she said all the right things, she made it all go away.

It seems though, just as the breeze cleared, the pulse of sleeping beauty dropped as well, although my mind of fear has vanished because of sleeping beauty, now I sense some sort of distance of a cold shoulder as if a glacier starts to melt instantaneously, out of no where, she floods quietly, my mind with subtle stances of hatred. It becomes all so confusing in these times, not sure what it’s all about.

Attempting neutral chats of unimportant conversation, seems to only work in momentary fashion, a fashion that we seem to both agree is quickly going out of style, so I am not sure why I continue to push an effort, the result just equates the same.

Maybe my efforts, based on the fact or concepts of a dream, dreaming that I would never meet someone like you, in a world like this. I can have these wicked dreams, with my eyes wide open, while sleeping beauty sits in a blank gaze starting at the crowded streets, cars honking vicariously through our veins.

Out efforts with whatever it is we do, can only be kept going with failure or success, by our drive and determination, we all have our own; mine is sleeping beauty. Symbols of mixed meanings can cause someone to go crazy, but maybe that crazy is what I seek from sleeping beauty.

She sleeps so calmly, lying there in quiet passion with her back exposed showing her freshly sun made bronze tan…

TO BE CONTINUED