It can be frightening to delve into your thought processes and muck around to see if you can figure out the why’s.

I recently acquired an art piece that is signed by my muse (that doesn’t know I exist). Controversial person but alas I am what I am.
Popeye-esque.

@neilhimself.neilgaiman.com

I keep discovering little nooks and crannies in my soul that I had unknowingly tucked away the parts of me people found too loud, too dramatic, too queerish, far too empathetic. Wiping away the dust is so refreshing and freeing. Me is okay. Sometimes even great.

I go to the river to write and end up getting mesmerized by the water and wishing that it was socially acceptable to just Godiva my way to the water and swim with the sea lions.

Can women have a muse? If not then what are you?
They must because as I sit watching the timber float the Columbia I hear your voice in my head.
Taking the advice I entered the world.
I observed.
I engaged.
Unstuck, I wrote.

With your voice in my head I will make good art.