A Conversation With The Muse At A Coffee Shop

(The muse I presume? It’s a pleasure to meet you.)

The cursor blinks at me.
Incessantly.
Expectantly.

Well? Don’t you have something to say? I mean you opened me up and brought me all this way?
The muse, it hasn’t struck me yet.
Well, have you been tending to her?
I think so, but who knows, there is no manual for art.
Yes there is, it’s in your heart.
That’s Disney bullshit, and my heart is clouded.
Pain is a great muse.
So is love, happiness, women, food, traffic, disease, sorrow, famine. Everything is a muse.
Exactly.
You speak in riddles. You’re like a literary Yoda.
Very funny you are.
Thanks. But since you’re a figment of my imagination doesn’t that mean I’m complimenting myself?
Does it?
I’m asking you.
Doesn’t that mean you’re asking yourself a question?
[Sigh] This is usually where people quit huh?
Yes. But this is but one, of a thousand hurdles.
Great.
You didn’t expect it to be easy did you?
I suppose I didn’t.
Good. Now flow…

[Photo: The CoffeeBar in Downtown Los Angeles. Good coffee, great space, super unimaginative name.]

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