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The Resurrection of My Literary Muse

Val enjoys turning his thoughts into a form of an article or a rhyme, while not necessarily keeping in mind reader's possible taste.

It's even one single welcoming hand that often gives an excuse for writing. With the owner(s) of such hand I share this article.

It's even one single welcoming hand that often gives an excuse for writing. With the owner(s) of such hand I share this article.

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside.

-- Maya Angelou

Something in Us Just Refuses to Die

It may have been a month, or was it longer, since I demonstratively buried my literary Muse with a bunch of good reasons engraved onto its tombstone.

They are as valid today as they were then, but with my peripatetic, rather call it unpredictable mentality, I am not in a need for anything like a reason to exhume her and with a few resurrecting smacks wake her up.

O.K., my reappearance on this site maybe didn't really call for such a morbid announcement, but then again, nor it was begging for a welcoming brass music with some fanfares.

Now, for sake of my already familiar "brute honesty", I haven't been missing Hub Pages per se, but it's all about my selfish need to literary express my thoughts -- one that evidently comes in some waves. Goes without saying, I like the idea of meeting those same fine people, but they are too busy expressing their own thoughts and emotions as to be seen as an incentive for my writing.

By that same degree of "brute honesty", it ultimately makes no damn difference to any of them whether I close my account at Hub Pages few times, or I stick to a lifelong writing marathon.

So here I am these days with a whole bunch of thoughts that want to be expressed, and I can always repeat those few smacks on my Muse if it shows any signs of postmortem laziness.

Just kidding, she loves me, and no acts of such violence will be necessary. You just watch how great masterpieces I am about to create, lol.

Here, I am even going poetic with this rhyme that follows.

Are we really visible even when we are present, or their minds tell others what to see?

Are we really visible even when we are present, or their minds tell others what to see?

Now You See Me, Now You Don't

Now you see me, now you don't

I must have made it quite a fact

for I may come and go as I want

in this magic of disappearing act.


Just can't make my indifference more graphic

as I'm losing some earnings each time I leave

and not really caring about all that lost traffic

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with nothing there that leaving could achieve.


And yet, it's a fun that only I may understand

feeling so free from all that imaginary gain

never counting on an empathetic friend

and not knowing when I'll do it again.


For nothing in my life is carved in stone

nothing is too high not to become low

as once it's a part of my comfort zone

so oftentimes it's bound to simply go.


For there is no creation in replaying the same

that sameness always spelling a stagnation

with life demanding a change of the game

even if looking like writer's ego-deflation.


One thing ought to be singled out here -- and it's the simple truth that my pleasure of literary expressing myself comes before any concern about how it may be interpreted by the parameters of so many possible tastes out there.

I can always live with this risk of making it look like nothing more but an act of an intellectual masturbation. What helps is knowing that every writer is in that same position -- whether they are realizing it or not.

When politicians can affect even our vacation plans, those theories about fascism start making some sense.

When politicians can affect even our vacation plans, those theories about fascism start making some sense.

So, What's New in My Life?

Nothing particularly worth bragging about -- albeit I can always try. But that would probably take us too deep into the rabbit hole of my self-advancing daily practices, so I'd better just mention those nice things where I am living a life of a normal human.

Hey, maybe I could impress you with my recent, but long postponed, brake job on my littler Toyota. I also kept buying flowers for my darling wifie, like I always do without any special date serving as a prompt. Well, didn't I tell you that I don't need reasons to do things -- as well as to undo them.

We planned to visit our native Croatia this summer, but our politico-medical authorities kept their insisting on all air travelers being fully vaccinated -- so we saved all that money while mumbling something about their incredible stupidity.

Like, inventing all kind of conspiracy theories, just to mention that one about our Prime Minister probably being married to the Big Pharma with a lavish "wedding present" received from them.

Well, maybe it's just too much to expect people in power to act rationally, let's say, to look around the globe a little and realize how many countries have already dropped all those draconic restrictions.

As if following some self-designed religion, we never get really pissed by politics, but just the same, politicians are definitely not our favorite kind of people.

As I must have mentioned it many times in my previous political comments, I am a notorious political cynic, meaning that I don't trust ANY politician, seeing them all as power hungry careerists, not as some benefactors of the nation. And I see democracy merely as a tranquilizer-ideology, where politicians only need us for voting, while giving us a false sense of participating in governing.

With this kind of thoughts am I being amused by the ongoing Trump's political soap opera.

Never claiming to know much about what's really going on politically -- since I don't trust the media either -- I am just basing my views on a terrible, but easily observable lack of any logic there.

Without being a democrat, or as we call them "liberals" here in Canada, I'd like to ask those millions of Trump's supporters a couple of simple questions.

Like, why is it that Trump is the only republican in the political history of the US getting this "witch hunt" treatment by those "socialist" democrats? Really, why they never "invented" reasons to twice impeach any of the past republican presidents, plus "invented" all this accusing material that's bound to keep him a defendant for the rest of his life?

How come that presidency went smoothly from one party to another, without ever producing a claim about a "stolen election" -- while it's a known fact that one party is never happy about the other one winning?

You see what I mean?

There is no logic in all those claims that Trump has been making -- but if you think I am picking on him because I don't particularly like him as a personality, you are right. The dude is an evident textbook narcissist, playing a victim card and not forgiving the democrats for depriving his inflated ego of his most precious trophy of personal power.

History has this nasty habit of repeating itself, with our choices always being between just two evils -- while Biden was only another one of those two being offered.

But O.K., wasn't I talking about what was going on in my life these days? Politics just happens to be a little part of those things that amuse me, without really adding anything of some quality to my life. Let's say, like watching those sitcoms, or playing cards with my friends, or chatting with my neighbors in the elevator about little stuff.

Now, the politicians were not the only to thwart that planned holiday, but also the alleged heat wave in Europe this summer -- which must have felt more like a heat-tsunami -- didn't make it much of an attractive destination anyway, so we postponed.

A Word of Epilog

And finally, here I am with my usual themes and with a style which only didn't respect my usual quota of words like "ass", "crap", and some alike pearls of linguistic esthetics.

I am planning to continue with my satirizing politics, religion, and medico-pharmaceutical establishment -- which in many cases will mean just paraphrasing many of my previous articles.

I will also try to inspire with some words of wisdom which is not necessarily my own, but collected from a shitload of books that I have read on the theme of human nature.

And of course, how could I leave out my rhymes, which never claimed to be much of a poetical accomplishment, but are dear to me as they are. What else can I say but -- if I could write some real poetry, none of it would appear on Hub Pages, where practically anything goes.

But that certainly makes it a platform which allows for a free expression, since there are no qualified critics there to put some of its facets of imperfection down -- although some may feel like they are.

Look, I could even say it in rhymes, and for every reader who doesn't see it as poetry, there probably is one who may like it as such.

Since I'm not expected to excel

I can write freely without concern

and there is no one out there to tell

what I should improve, or even learn.


With these words remotely resembling poetry, I greet all of you who cared to read this article beyond its title. Well, there are those few, some of them real, some just imaginary, who have read it all, and to them I keep expressing myself -- while never really taking them for granted.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

-- Ernest Hemingway

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.

-- Anais Nin

© 2022 Val Karas

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