touched (innapropriately) by the muse

I recently told someone that I am quite regularly falling in and out of love with poetry. Or maybe it’s just my poetry. Or maybe just “being a poet” whatever that entails. I’m always in love with the work I publish with dancing girl, and always in love with reading poetry itself. I think my occasional lapses have to do with my own work, or how I see my own work. And granted, I get distracted by shinier objects than writing—art projects, crafty things, old music videos on youtube, personal drama, randomness. Last weekend, I was spring cleaning my apartment and listening to a lot of my older CD’s from the 90’s, mostly chick bands and girls with guitars, and I may have gotten some of my mojo back that was sadly missing the last couple of months. Suddenly I’m writing again and it’s easier (or it seems easier, though that might be deceptive) I am less steady at producing work than I was a few years ago, but tend to work in spurts, and seem to be in the midst of another one. I’ve never been that big of a music person. Heck, I haven’t bought a CD or even downloaded a song to my dusty cheap MP3 player in a few years (I’m actually not sure where it is at the moment). If I want music, I will usually just play stuff off my little online player (down to your right) or search that site for songs when I’m online. (and most of that is 90’s music, or sometimes old country songs). Commutes, I’m either daydreaming or reading and don’t really like not being fully aware of what’s going on in my surroundings. But music has always been something that inspires me, along with visual art, and maybe I just need more of it in my life.