valentine letter to my muse
Pictou County Blues .
There’s a moment of magic there when I awake, right between the seizing panic of consternation and the dull acceptance of fate which was most probably dealt by my own hand.
Sometimes I scream, sometimes I want to ditch my human form and crawl deep underground, but usually I want to get the apologies out of the way and be alone till I can hit the bootleggers.
The magic flash-bang Illumination so pure, so cleansing shows itself only momentarily, like the winking of a ghostly third eye or a slight glimpse under god’s curtain, and then it’s gone, only to distract and piss me off all day.
To witness this event, I have to drink all night, pick fights with the loved ones, wrestle with my dog, and puke in the brook. Paying homage to the Deities by singing hillbilly laments on an icon of life and death, my tractor, also helps bring the magic closer.
My wild screams and curses to the heavens, although frowned upon by the rest of my clan, helps clarify to the gods exactly what I want.
And that is inspiration to keep loving you.