My muse has a million eyes and two mouths and cries all the time. Eyes are for crying and mouths are for wailing. But mouths are also for whispering ideas in my head.

I once said, of my muse:

"I am a vessel for this Afflatus. Ideas pushed into me and subsequently pulled out.

I do not understand the meaning of what I create, but I hope by sharing my intimate creations that I may gain some clarity.

My muse has infinite love for me. I know no other feeling,[sic]"

The strings that reach down from my muse are seeds that grow into ideas. Some are higher than others because I do not yet possess the skill set necessary to bring these ideas into fruition.

I let my hand be guided by my muse so that I could see my muse's form

I let my hand be guided by my muse so that I could see my muse's form

I let my hand be guided by my muse so that I could see my muse's form

Here is a comic about me drawing that picture

This piece had more thought put into it. Here, I am being puppeteered by my muse so that I may create once again.

Here, I am being puppeteered by my muse so that I may create once again.

The Muse feeds me ideas, with an unknown purpose, and I need to create things as they are intended to be made or it will disrupt whatever that purpose is. If I change things, I am corrupting the intention, which is why I prefer to plan as little as possible before I start working. It will come to me as I work. I have my own work, which is all me, of course.

But when the phrase "You Have The Rotten" enters my head with seemingly no origin, or I have a fully formed image or story, it is My Muse whispering into my ear, rubbing my brain with its appendages.