escort diary® of Louella York: The Muse
The muse isn’t meant to look ‘nice.’ She’s meant to make you feel something—make you feel uneasy.Perhaps art, to you, was always something someone else created, something you admired from a distance, through the glass.To the muse, life itself is the masterpiece—life in motion, never static.And the art is never finished. She makes peace with it and releases it into the world.Art never happens in comfort. She pushes you to the edge of your comfort zone, and as you cling to that edge, you wonder what the point of it all is: growth, destruction, transformation... perhaps there is no difference between them. And with that thought, you take a deep breath and let go.You dive deep into the unknown.
Sometimes, she wishes to be more agreeable, easier to pacify, but the Kali in her rages deep. She burns all that stands untrue before her. The Saraswati in her whispers the most ancient song of sound itself.Her bloodied tongue serves you painful truths, planting thoughts that provoke you to explore growth through discomfort. And though her heart appears messy, it’s a safe place to rest... or is it?At least, it is today. The muse has no interest in tomorrow, for that would be a bore—a never-ending “what’s next” that never arrives.
