The Tragedy of the Muse By: Cam
A woman once told me that I am nothing more than anthropomorphic. Somehow I was not amused.
“We are daft and true, and fill our bodies with food. There is nothing else for us to do, you however are a hapless muse.” Spoken by delighted people, vigilant on sea wearing passage. The vessel we all sail on is only in turmoil when we are away from home on a hundred year voyage.
To the creatures and beasts who spew malice drudgery and fill the thoughts of our culture,
like a bucket on a rainy day. Enslaving with each drop, continuously overflowing until the rain stops.
Over-consumption becomes normality, I ask where are the hand cuffs?
Perhaps we can find something more to give life too and continue growing.
isn’t it true that all must need to consume? But how much consuming do we need to consume.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could make our own food? Much like photosynthesis for the Superman.
No more killing of animals, those that appear anthropomorphic much like myself.
Baaa! The sheep whimpers. May the people on the vessel echo the words eternally so that we will not forget the beauty of the sound when the sheep goes to the ground.
The artist is being eaten away,
and the muses are crying.