What would any soul starving artist do to exist?

Eat raisons, lie naked on the rocks, wait to be invited to the wedding banquet, drink blood, seize inopportune times to create the void, jump inside out, validate the worst and work it into something beautiful; a message to take forth to the masses in their night dreams.  Play all parts; suffer the fool and gain the sage. Somehow all these acts give way to the muse, to taking the invisible forth to the visible, a portal to be found in the likes of a human soul.  There is never a silent night for one starving to create herself on the earth.  Satisfaction doesn’t come at the morning meal to break the evening fast.  Mostly there is just a perpetual need to voice something unknown, once done, the artist orgasm lends to a temporary relaxation until the next build up/pent up need for passion swings forth.

Alchemical, shamanic, Jungian, and muse writings, by Tanis M.

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