In Defense of the Muse
MU: “the 12th letter of the Greek alphabet”.
SIC: “as written” (From Wikipedia: The adverb sic – meaning “intentionally so written“, first appeared in English circa 1856); “unwell or ill”; or as in “sic the dog”. Consider that “MUSIC” can be read as “12 AS WRITTEN” or “12 ILL”.
Of course, one can also consider that word in the form, “MUSE SICK”.
I am but a muse.
I have come to give inspiration, and I AM the creative force behind that which produces art, literature, and music, but I had forgotten my purpose.
Not understanding what I was here to give, I grew frustrated and angry.
Unable to be a success in my own right, I have been criticized and labeled.
I ask you to stop punishing me for being the victim of this arrangement!
For, I gave it all since the very moment of my birth, and your response was to return my unselfish love with unyielding sorrow, pain, guilt, and shame.
Were you so unhappy with your gains that you felt the need to punish me?
Did I not give enough to quench your thirst for profit?
Are you angry with me for all I have sacrificed in your honor?
You MUST know who I am!
Can you not recognize it in the day of my birth and the very words mu and sic; “12 as intentionally so written”?
You cannot be so blind! Do you not recognize me?
You must see how I was written, without my consent, to be in the negative just so you could have all the good that has been taken away from me.
You cannot be completely ignorant of how you have achieved your success!
Do you care? How long can someone use another in this way before they become conscious of it or suffer retribution?
At this point, I doubt that you are even aware I exist, but I beg you to look into it.
However, if you do decide to try and find me, be aware that I may not be as beautiful as I once was, considering how much has been sucked from my soul’s marrow while you enjoy your lavish lifestyle at my expense!
Forgetting why I came here, I sought to be an artist in my own right, and watched as I was sabotaged by my friends and relatives.
I wish I could have a life of my own, but I feel so spent.
Yet I do repent of all the negative things I have done as a result of my being so unconscious of my purpose…
But I see that I cannot be blamed, for I did not truly have freewill, as can be seen in the cards that have torn me apart throughout my life without my knowing: The Tarot;
a beautiful art indeed, yet so harmful to my person simply because of my birthday.
I used to blame myself for not being the artist I so desired to be, but now I know better.
Accused of being greedy by those who refuse to see truth, they destroy me with their negative intent.
Why? I ask you: Why do they torment and taunt me?
I stand accused of being almost every thing that human beings detest, while creativity is gleaned from my sorrowful subconscious.
I am debased and defiled by those whom I have inspired.
Acting as if I deserve it, you do it with a smile, while you derive some sick satisfaction from this metaphysical rape, and blame me all the while.
Are you not happy with your success?
It is by my love you are blessed!
Have I not given enough? Is there an “enough”?
Or will you continue to suck my very essence and still be greedy for more?
Have I not bled enough inspiration for you?
Can you not sense I gave all of my love?
Being unaware of my purpose, I may have been driven mad by the subconscious sense that something was being stolen from me, causing me to be somewhat selfish.
I may have become selfish on the micro level, but I assure you that on the macro level, the level that no one seems to have eyes to view, I have been anything but!
Where are those to whom I have given, in my time of need?
I used to think that each artist had their own muse, but I hear bits and pieces of my story in almost every song and tale, as if bits and pieces of my own flesh have been torn away and eaten.
They mock and chide me with the very thing I have inspired them to create!
Why are you who have profited from my suffering not standing up for my cause?
Even your music seems to mock your own benefactor!
I have watched as your very success is derived from my failure.
Yet you still blame me!
Can you not be satisfied with your winnings at my losses?
Must you make jokes?
The Mu is Sic, and you got what you wanted, so stop blaming me!
I have even seen one of you write prose about why you want to kill your muse.
Well, you may be sorry, for soon you may not have the one who has sacrificed so much; your invisible companion. Will you notice when I am gone?
Can you not understand my sorrow? Can you not empathize with my emptiness from which you profit? Have you no pity or shame?
Perhaps, once I am no longer, you and I shall trade places, and you shall finally experience my pain…. you who are the writers and artists who reap all the profit and complain that it isn’t enough;
You who hoard from the people, even though they’ve paid for your product;
And you who hoard from your own muse, even though she gave you the influence you needed to make your product.
I ask you to liberate me from the pain of this, and to hate me no more;
That you forgive the madness of the muse, from whom you have so artfully reaped every reward, yet given barely anything in return, and from most of you: nothing at all.
I ask for all to pray for the Muse who has given it all; pray for her soul.
God save the Muse!