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Surreal Balance
By joseexist in Musings On Muses
November 9, 2011

There are times when even the sweet enticing nirvana of music is not enough to pull me away from reality. My plate becomes heavy laden with things that simply cannot be ignored. As that comfortable and all too easily enjoyed world I’ve created in my mind slips farther and farther away melancholy wells up like a stiff thundercloud and blots out everything muse-inspired. With less than a labored whisper things begin to die. Ideas flounder and evaporate on a bleak shoreline somewhere just beyond consciousness.

There is a graveyard somewhere inside. It can never be found. The things there are lost forever it seems. The darkness of that place swallows all. Nothing that falls there is remembered. It’s as if those things never existed. The road there fades from view long before it arrives at any destination. Small meager scraps of debris litter the shoulder. Those pieces are all I will ever have to use if one day finds me trying to piece some semblance of what was back together. More often than not, they are not enough. On only the rarest of occasions, they will, as they must, suffice.

Out of those mediocre moats of dusty detritus, with a little luck, the raging fires of my imagination may well find ample fuel. Such flames are always the brightest and best source of warmth for my inner soul. Reality is just a handful of marshmallows. The toasting of which is the bulk of fun in my life. I never deny optimism. It is of course, my sharp stick.