For the past few days, being shortly relieved by the fact that I’m finally through with the first of a series of exams, I’ve been racking my brain for a Muse for a new creation. Tough luck. I never even had the opportunity to meet up with an accidental genius. Darn, I guess there’s famine inside my head now, with the gyri dried up like tuna flakes. No wonder none of the former resident Muses wanted to stay. Everyone of them, I think, have packed up their Louis-Vitton bags and left. A diet consisting of tuna flakes only is not good for the aesthetics.
There were those wonderful times when I thought I’ve finally caught up with something, you know. Earlier today, I was just lying down on my bed, with all my review materials strewn around and one unfortunate Pediatrics book propped up on my tummy. And then, I suddenly told myself, “do you want to know how I died?” Ding! Sounded like a nice little seed of thought I’ve got there. All it needed, perhaps, is a bit of fertilizer. I thought of the research I needed to do for this piece. What happens to our bodies when we die? Is pain the last thought we’ll have when we die? Or is it the waiting for the last Tick-tock that kills us? I thought of putting myself in the dying person’s situation. I tried to suffuse myself with an aura of someone dying.
Suddenly, I had this weird metallic taste in my mouth. Blood. I’ve got to write something about Romanticized Blood. Sounded crazy. But different. Interesting. And so, the idea of writing the mechanisms of death floated away as if it was blown away by a desert wind. I felt, then, a craving for Blood. How do I know the essence of Blood? The taste? The smell? The sound of it?
Then I found myself in a lonely desert filled with blustery wind. Bones and coarse sand everywhere. No oasis where I can drink blood anywhere. Just dried up crusts. So, I laid down the hot dune, looked up at the sun, blasting wave after wave of sticky heat. I imagine I must have died.
“Do you want to know how I died?”
No. I want my Blood. I want my goddamn story.
So there goes the last of my Muses. Now I’m left picking at dessicated tuna flakes. Ugh. Where’s my Blood?
July 27th, 2007 at 23:04
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