Inspirational Purgatory

So I have been sitting here looking at the many pieces on Mister Fine thinking about a piece or two to post in my mind and nothing seems to be gelling. Despite years of cynicism, coffee, bad travel experiences and other such stuff there seems to be no rhyme or reason why I can’t put down fifteen paragraphs or so without sobbing quietly into my pillow at the third and declaring that whatever talent I had is all over and it will never come back.

I can’t seem to shake this sense of foreboding that after working on the full 32 posts (and one dodgy mobile phone photo) that I can’t seem to get the ideas in my head down on paper. And the ideas seem to be there, from inspirational school television influences, crazy american familys with hot air balloons to the excitement of not paying a cent extra for public transport for the next 2 years (the last one apparently was enough to pay for more ticket inspectors.) but the issue seems to be that I get to a good point, then I lose the moment and stop...right...about...now……..



….so the question is that, while wallowing in a mire of inspirational deficient mud, I should be able to step forward and get enough momentum to move on.


And at this point I want to kick start my muse like a motor scooter without the use of hard or soft drugs. Without resorting the methods such as extreme antarctic polo(with seals) or running off to an ancient emo temple to wear lots of black and talk to no one. I need to get the movement going again with a cheap and practical muse for hire, especially if I want to keep Mister Fine moving at some pace.


And I don't seem to be the only one. I know numerous blogs that start out so well with the updates occuring in such a regimented fashion that the Army feels out of step before tailing off with posts occurring yearly, like the school journals of old.


So my real question to everyone, and it has only taken five paragraphs to get to a point, is on the way we get our muses to work. We seem to be dependant on these little spirits of inspiration so much so that without them, our motivation falls like a brick(I prefer a brick to a stone on this occasion). And the point is that why are we so reliant on our muse?

In reality(at least this one) being subservient to a bodily function seems to be akin to reverting to being a toddler. We get to train our bodies to wait for us to eat, sleep, exercise, go to the toilet and even breath(should you be a pearl diver or sewerage worker) but our creative mind gets to be waited upon like Cleopatra until it feelshappy enough to help us out.

So the answer to all this is either in blaming our parents for only toilet training us as a toddler(which is always a good excuse to a board of directors) or to work out exactly what the muse needs (may be alcohol, hard drugs, maths books or monopoly money) and then withold this until you have a better exchange policy. Blackmail always seems to be a good option, right?

Feasible?

I'm out of other inspirations I think I might just blame the parents.

For the love of coffee

It has been commented by many through the years of my life that in the morning my movement and speed is matched only by a pot smoking turtle. I think that the amphibious narcotics community would be severely hurt by that kind of an allegation as I move at pace that is only discernable in a time lapse video. My own and many other peoples reason for this is that the morning does not begin until we’ve mixed some brown powder into some boiling hotwater. Until this appears in our hands we should be classed as the walking dead, moaning occasionally as we lumber through the rising sunlight.

I know that I’m not alone in this legal narcotic addiction. Friends, family, unknown strangers all suffer from this heaving post caffeine haze that can be matched, in pain only, by a hangover from a heavy night of tequilas. These other coffee addicts of the town can be seen lining up on street corners or curled up in a ball on a train to the city.

Since this is such a wonderful drop that has kept me going I won’t listen to a bad word against it. I know it yellows your teeth, can give you heart palpitation and is not recommended by either the doctors on the TV or the Heart Foundation, but I still like it. It’s just so comforting to know that in my hands I carry a substance that can enable me to finish off a gruelling day of work. Some people need chocolate to calm them down but I need coffee to keep me awake.

Needless to say, this city of mine runs on caffeine. They can limit the water in times of drought, food in times of war and electricity in times of those eclectic massage chairs(which are fun) but the whole city will grind to a halt should the caffeine level be stopped. Having an Espresso isn’t just having a drink it’s a way of living. Even on 45 degree days (celcius) people, including me will ask for a cappuccino or mocha in preference over a nice cool milkshake.

And Melbourne loves it as well, with it’s abundance of coffee shops, bars, even Laundromats with espresso machines you can’t escape the smell or pleasure of a cup anywhere. You’d need to hide yourself in a cupboard with eucalyptus stuffed up your nose and chewing gum the whole time.

Now before I do fall asleep at my desk I have to dash to the coffee shop to get my second fix for the afternoon.
Would anyone else like a cup while I’m there?
It’s nice and hot.