I'm ready to give up
Beauty
Ravish the ugly whore
Life

Truth holds no more tragedies
We're all to blame
Weep not for your heroes
They're all fucked

Damnit, if I write anymore of this tripe, I'm liable to start slitting wrists/throats. Not necessarily my own either.

What do you do when your muse has abandoned you? When your inspiration has dried up. I almost cried as I recalled the beauty of imagination:

As Every tells the story of Evermor: "When he was a child, Dr. Evermor witnessed a massive electrical storm with his father, a Presbyterian minister. Asked where lightning came from, his father told Evermor that such awesome power could come only from God. From that day on, Evermor dedicated his life to constructing an antigravity machine and spacecraft that would catapult him from the phoniness of this world to the ultimate truth and power of the next.

"Dr. Evermor believes that if he can ever figure out a way to combine magnetic force and electrical energy, he can propel himself through the heavens on a magnetic lightning force beam," Every said. "That glass ball inside the copper egg is his space ship. There's also an antigravity machine (made from an early X-ray machine), a teahouse for Queen Victoria and Prince Albert to observe the event, a telescope for bystanders to watch as Evermor flies off to his meeting with God, and a listening machine that will transmit Evermor's message back to Earth when he arrives at his ultimate destination."

I cannot invoke the muse anymore to write of things such as that. The everyday brings fleeting glimpses to beauty/tragedy yet I cannot bring myself to tap it, use it. I feel abandoned, alone.

How do you bring back inspiration? I've starved mine for far too long. I shall pretend this is a want ad in the newspaper.

Wanted: Muse. Old/New. Must be able to inspire broken spirit, imagination.