Experiment in Love

It happened in November, not one of my favourites months. I prefer October because of the falling leaves. I guess that my heart is French, though my mind has been ravaged by the words of the Bard. Shakespeare seems to rule my brain, and I’m afraid, both hemispheres. I may need a third. But my muse is the Queen, and the King if I add everything else that she does. O muse, you doth me the blues. My blue soul is in love with your red heart.

You see, my dear readers and perhaps new friends, I’m in love with a muse who lives on the Moon, but she may be moving soon and not to blue Earth. I can’t even type it. Please, wait! She may be moving to red Mars. I always hated Mars. Come on, Elon Musk! Let’s create a red moon, both for my muse and any red addict. Earth is blue, the most beautiful colour there is in the universe. Had Earth been red, I would surely have been dead, and my muse knows it very well. But she’s a red creature, though she likes a blue one. Go figure! A muse is a muse.

I sometimes wonder if my life has become an experiment in very long-distance love. Earth and the Moon in love, unable to let go of each other. It seems that blue and red are attracted hues. They are in love. And if you add white, their teeth when they open their mouths to seal a long kiss, till the end of time, you get several flags, including the French. It may be the reason why my muse prefers French. She says that it lives in her heart. But like me, English and the Bard have occupied a significant section of her mind. Perhaps it’s the reason why she became my muse, since besides love, we also share the words through which love whirls like any satellite and planet in the mind-boggling universe.

Maybe one of you can fall in love with someone very far, even on a faraway sphere or a light-years-away galaxy, or to get back to Earth, next door, next town, beyond any pond, and above any mountain, even Everest. Love can penetrate any wall, any storm, any boundary. Believe me, I know. I’m in love with a muse who lives on the Moon.

Your Detailed Experiment

First, select a direction. You have six. North, south, east, west, up, and down. I always look up since I’m already on the ground.

Second, try to put a face on the direction you choose. North can look like a warrior princess in search of a mate, or an ailing warrior looking for a muse. South can look like a belle, or a beau who doesn’t know. East can wear a cap on her hair, or be bold like a politician. West can exude the Sun, or climb a tree to escape the fire. Up is everything like the copious buffets in Las Vegas. Down only means through Earth to the other side. So if, for example, you’re standing (or lying) in Christchurch, New Zealand, you may look for your long-distance love in Coruna, Spain, the antipode for your still unrequited love.

That’s it, future experimenter, the ball is in or on your court.

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New Muse Blues: I Prefer the Moon

Thanks for nothing

Mr. Elon Musk

I know that my muse

caught a ride

on your SpaceX stick craft

to freaking Mars

Mars?

What a waste of time

and space

Humans need blue

not freaking red

We have enough of it

in our hearts

and our thinning veins

Where’s the sharp knife

this one is too blunt

There was an accident

on the trip to Mars

as I always suspected would occur

in such a witless outing

Two astronauts survived

they are stuck in a fast-moving

coffin that looks like a bullet

But my muse

my life

is lost in space