Mat+A’s+OpEd+Article


 * "THE SILENT MUSE" **
 * By Mathew A. **



media type="file" key="mata-muckraker-0910.mp3"

This is perplexing, irritating: for the life of me, I cannot conjure a topic in which I can passionately discuss. It’s not so much that I am uncreative; I am, quite frankly (in a caustic, cynical way), or the fact that I am unintelligent; it’s the fact that my muse has left me. Bound, gagged, mute and god knows where. Hmm, maybe I should write about that; that infuriating little muse who, in your dire moment of needs, is silently twiddling his fingers in a corner, a taunting smile plastered over his face.

Wait, there he is right now, staring at me with those beady eyes, cockily smirking at me. The bastard.

I hate that annoying pixy. Always absent when you need him and present after the fact.

Where were you when I was writing that trivial synthesis essay? Oh! I was absently picking my nose, he says. Where were you when I was writing my DBQ? Oh! I was happily enjoying my extended vacation, he says. Where were you when I needed a clever comeback? Oh! I was enjoying the entertainment at your expense, he says. And where were you when I was writing those blogs? Hell if I know, I think I was hungover. Lies. You were just being lazy.

He’s still smirking.

Damn that pixy.

I am sure you know what I am talking about: the frustration, the hair pulling, the expelling of mediocre BS out of your ass. Yeah, we’ve all had that time; sending desperate pleas to that silent muse only to receive a sadistic grin in return. You know the bastard knows something but you just can’t quite coax it out him…

He’s still smirking.

Stop that! I am trying to produce a relatively decent work of literature and your smirks are distracting me... You wanna say something...? Just tell me for god sakes! No? Fine! Stay in that corner, see if I care…

God damn it...

Pardon me, what was I saying? Oh yes, the desperate pleas. It won’t do you any good, furtively then frantically looking over your shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to get that smiling pixy to talk. Don’t worry, you’ll survive and weather the storm, that uncomfortable, mind tingling storm and when it’s all over, he’ll still be smiling there, silent and taunting. Or worse; he’ll actually talk.

Yeah, I have those problems and at times, I think it’s worse than others.

Maybe I am being too harsh. It’s justified…for the most part. Still, I do have to concede that my silent muse isn’t that all too silent. Okay, he doesn’t talk at all but hey, we just have that connection. When the clouds part, the angels sings and before that perfect moment of intellectual or artistic nirvana is achieved he’s there, smiling but not smirking, and with a single nod of acknowledgement, a wave of epiphany hits me. He’ll smirk afterwards but he won’t be alone. I’ll be smirking too.

Oh wow, this is actually pretty damn good.

He’s laughing at me now. Bastard knew the whole time.

I should’ve known. That damn inspiration was just right behind me. Hmm, I guess that’s what really matters; he may not speak but at least you’ll know he’ll be there and, if you try hard enough, you might understand that unspoken message, that silent epiphany behind those all-knowing smirks.