MY MUSE SAYS, “GET FUCKED”

My muse and I were talking about you, just now, back and forth as you do, a bit of a gossip sess, I admit and, well, I think you might like to know what he said.

It was a simple conversation, a sweet conversation, a nothing much of a conversation, really, except he DID have some rather unsavoury and untoward things to say. About you. And the short version? Well –

I have a message to pass on to you from him.

(Side note: Yes, he is a he and a rather hot one at that in case you’re wondering).

But anyway, the message:

Get fucked.

I KNOW, how RUDE, especially from a genius, an artistic wunder no less!

You do know, I trust, this? — for those of us who are (ahem) GIFTED … it’s actually not US, just s’y’knw. I mean yes … we are FABULOUS. Clearly. In a multiple of WAYS. Clearly. Goes without SAYING.

CLEARLY.

But no … sorry! … it’s not you or I who is gifted. It’s the muse the message the God within the GENIUS.

What was I saying?

Oh yes. That you should get fucked.

I don’t mean it in a LITERAL sense (and neither does he, although one has to wonder at times!) … but then again I bet it wouldn’t HURT, but no I didn’t actually mean S.E.X.

I’m talking about your message honey.

Your ART.

The HEART of you which you SAY you’re gonna show reveal give us BARE to us and yet never DO.

Take it.

Take all of it.

And get FUCKED with it.

Because really?

And please –

I’d greatly appreciate it if as I say this you imagine my muse and I, reclined, as we do, on a pair of couches, wine in hand, other hand resting atop our respective foreheads, weary with the trouble of having to bother explaining it to you at all, passing one another grapes from time to time as we shake our heads in woe –

– were you actually planning on doing anything with it anyway?

This gift this genius this OMG I can’t live without getting it out of me this art your HEART –

Were you actually intending to use that old thing at some point?

It’s looking kind of …

{{screws up nose and turn away … HIM, not me!}}}

SHRIVELLED.

WASTED.

DRIED UP BABY.

And just in case you don’t know? The whole dried up thing?

Not SUPER appealing.

In fact it’s KIND OF DISGUSTING.

We don’t LIKE it.

We don’t want to SEE it.

We are certainly NOT turned on by it, creatively or in ANY other way, and frankly?

We’re kind of sick of you talking about it. FLOUTING IT AROUND like you think it has some value and we should give a fuck because you SAY it does.

Wanna know what has some value?

The message you let on OUT of you.

The art you CREATE.

The MESS you THROW at the world.

But THIS??? This … THING??? Which you TALK about …?

We don’t even know what the fuck you’re on about.

WE NEVER KNEW YOU.

(And we kind of don’t want to; ’cause we roll with the CREATORS … and when we say CREATORS we mean the ones who create. Not the ones who SAY they’re gonna shoulda woulda coulda one day will)

We never knew you.

And we don’t BELIEVE you.

So …

When we talk about you … when you somehow wriggle your way into the conversation … jumping up and down like a too-old Bieber-fan trying to be cool enough to mosh with the Hot Young Blondes … we kind of LOOK at you … and we think:

Yeah …

Nah.

Not one of us.

SAYS she wants to!

SAYS he’s going to!

SWEARS it’s nearly time.

Does fuck the fuck fucking all about it.

Not today and not EVER.

Has in fact PROVEN, over and over again no less, that she’ll do ANYFUCKINGTHING BUT THE ACTUAL THING.

So …

Yeah …

Get fucked. With the POLITEST of intent, you understand!

In the way one turns away –

At a party –

Or a gathering –

Or a conference –

When somebody is just that LITTLE bit too eager –

PESKY –

And kind of … GRATING.

“Oh no thank you!”, we say, on the offer of a drink –

“I really couldn’t!”

“I have … um … a THING. Yes. A thing. But thank you SO much for asking!”

So polite.

So gracious.

Get fucked.

Go away.

Leave.

I don’t FEEL you because I don’t SEE you and if I can’t FEEL you I certainly don’t want to TOUCH you.

Inside.

Or out.

And actually …?

You bore me.

With your … well. Nothingness. But hey! You talk a good talk. And I’m sure that will get you … somewhere?

I don’t know.

I forgot what I was saying about you.

I forgot you.

I never knew you.

You never showed me you.

How COULD I know you?

How could I care?

Why would I GIVE a fuck?

Of course you need not pay any mind to what I say nor to HIM.

You need not pay any mind to ANYONE; you know that! Go on with your bad self and do WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO DO ALL DAY LONG AND TWICE AS MUCH ON SUNDAYS.

I suppose the only PROBLEM is … (and trust me this is him talking not ME …!) …

At some point you MIGHT WANNA GO DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT.

One day never comes BABY.

So …

Get fucked.

With your talk.

And your BIG notin’

And your ONE daying.

And your I WILL when I’m READY and I have TIME and it IS time.

Get fucked.

With your message.

Which you never share.

Which nobody knows about.

And so it doesn’t matter.

And get the fuck FUCKED.

With your I WISH IT CAME AS NATURAL FOR ME AS FOR YOU.

And your it’s not that EASY for me Kat.

And I have this THING Kat.

And I just don’t KNOW yet Kat.

You say you were born for magic, and to change the fucking world; you say you’re a leader, an artist, a creator, a visionary, and that GOLD runs through your veins! You say you always KNEW and you’ve always KNOWN and you were fucking BORN for it and you’re a star! You say NOTHING will stop you and you’ll do what it takes and it’s your TIME. You say you don’t CARE what you have to face and you’ll fight and you’ll go INTO the fray and you WILL prevail and when you fall down you’ll get back UP! You’ll say you’ll go on … and on … and ON and that YOU CAME TO LEAD AND RULE!

You say it ALL and oh BOY do you say it well, and what HE says is GET FUCKED WITH YOUR BULLSHIT but here is what I say:

Yes.

I hear you.

I just have one question?

WHEN the fuck do you think that might be?

This life or were you hoping for another?

REMEMBER bitch:

Life is Now. Press Play.

Kat

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