Author Topic: On Writing

On Writing
« on: July 26, 2021 »
I've written elsewhere about my relationship with my muse, my present muse, that is.  He is very young, a drug addict for over half his life.  An he dont take no shit from nobody.  So, how can he inspire me?  Who amongst us is not familiar with the 15th century poet Thomas Rowley?  Dead by his own hand at the age of 17 years, 9 months.

Being the self-destructive soul that I am, but not able to contemplate arsenical poisoning, I find solace in seeking to prevent the self-destruction of others.  I have counselled enough people with mental health problems and suicidal tendencies, both anonymously online and in person, and I am familiar enough with addictions of various kinds, to realise that it really does take one to know one.

My muse and I are in the process of rehabilitation, of cleaning ourselves up, with the full workings of the modern welfare state behind us.  We seldom meet, but it is always in his milieux.  I have been 'mistaken' for an addict myself, either as a junkie or an alky.  But it is not a pretence.  I have been on the skids before.  I find no shame in being an outsider.  After all, what do we see when we look 'inside' the circles of privilege?  A refuge?  Or an asylum?

One of the best books on the subject is Colin Wilson's 1956 extensive treatise The Outsider, never out of print since its initial publication.  It was essential university reading for angst-ridden existential students in my day.  Once we read that, our next book was invariable Hermann Hesse's Steppenwolf.

My muse shall recover, I most likely will not.  But in his salvation is my redemption.