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So you talk to yourself, and what do you know.
I haven't posted in a while. For those who still read this, I'm sorry.
Wandering around malls does odd things to one brain. You’re alone yet not. There’s so much noise surrounding you, so much noise that melts and flows into each other, it’s almost a perfect level of white noise. Sure, you can catch bits of it here or there, mostly when you enter stores and their sound system is finally brought to the forefront of your attention. But, if you catch the mall at just the right time, it’s a perfect place to wander and to think.
And my thoughts wandered back to an interview with Quentin Tarantino, media whore savant, that was in the previous Rolling Stone. I didn’t pay attention to all of it, as he tends to annoy me, and is the main reason I end the day with such a bad taste in my mouths for his movies. The director has damaged his movies reputations by being an inglorious bastard (reference to his “war” movie intended.)
But, he mentioned something in there, or more importantly the journalist did, that actually grabbed my attention. Uma Thurman is apparently Quentin’s muse. A muse. It’s not often you hear people still say they know what a muse is, much less they HAVE one. Or maybe they do, but I haven’t heard it lately. That’s why when you see the two together, the man has stars in his eyes and can’t finish sentences about her. He doesn’t want to risk running the chance of ruining his inspiration.
And I know it all sounds hokey and reads like pablum to those not of the art world. You probably don’t need a muse to figure out the taxes for someone. The traffic cop probably doesn’t need a muse to write that ticket.
But artist, there ideas come and go...from somewhere. You don’t know where. I don’t where. They just strike suddenly, and if you don’t write it down, or act on it, they also disappear just as suddenly. A muse, it turns out, just helps ideas come easier.
And, for the first time in my pathetic life, I realize that feelings I’ve had for previous people, that I thought were merely crushes may in fact be these people acting as my muse. They help me get ideas out and support them, never afraid to tell me when an idea is slowing down. They listen to my rambling as if it makes sense. And, because of this, I start to harbor these energies and feelings for them. It’s rare an artist finds someone that supports them in their venture one hundred percent.
I finally see why when they do they “fall in like” with the person. Someone’s finally listening to what they have to say. I now understand the stars in Quentin Tarantino’s eyes when he speaks of Uma Thurman. He’s enamored. He sees her and he sees not just the beauty that everyone else sees, but a manifestation of the magical place ideas spring from.
So thank you, for once in your life Quentin, for doing something that was pretentious in the right way.
And thank you mystery muses, my own, who shall remain a mystery to those who wonder your name.
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