29 October 2012

Muse Mondays: The Takeover

A Guest Blog
by Jordan M. Palmer

I don’t get the whole middle initial thing. Maybe it’s because Mason is the stupidest name ever. But anyway…

I guess I’m supposed to apologize first, which I’m not going to do. There’s a difference between accepting responsibility and being sorry. I’m not fucking sorry. She should know better. Was I sorry for seducing an older man? Well, maybe, we’re still working on that I guess.

I’m sorry, I get distracted easily. What were we talking about? Oh, I hadn't even begun to make a point yet. Well then. You may have noticed that there hasn't been anything posted here in months (I like to italicize. It’s good for emphasis). And I guess it’s all my fault, because I’m a selfish asshole. Blah blah blah, what else is new?

So she works, like a lot. It’s really boring. I usually find something else to do, except when there’s inappropriate conversation between coworkers, which is a lot, actually. You’d be surprised. I can help with that sort of thing. Actually, I managed to crack her up while she was on the phone with a customer once. But anyway, so that takes up a lot of time and so if there’s time to write, well then it has to be about me. Sorry, it just does. So once we ran out of blog ideas I wasn't really putting in the effort for new ones.

Do you know what a muse really is? I mean, weren't they like some imaginary bitches in Ancient Greece or something that helped you write poems? (Oh Christ—don’t even get me started, she’s on this Ancient Greece kick right now, like reading all this shit. Because everyone was a fucking pederast back then. And something about math. Pythagoras  I dunno. I stop paying attention when symbolism comes up.) When did teenage boys become muses? I don’t know how I got this gig, really. 

You probably don’t understand how hard it is to be a muse. I mean, it’s like, 24/7. Sometimes I have to hijack her dreams, but mostly that’s just for exploiting memories. But I've got all the responsibility here—my book, obviously, but the blogs, and poems, and whatever else she comes up with. Sometimes I have to tweet, too. It’s like I’m freakin' in charge of everything. I can only focus so much attention on each thing. Maybe I’m a little biased but whatever. I’m running the show.

Do you have any idea how exhausting it is? I have to exist, simultaneously, in every important moment of my life. The character version of myself will always be fifteen, no matter how much time goes by. But if she wants to work on the sequel thingy? Well, then I have to be twenty. We've even gone so far as twenty-nine. You try to be fourteen different ages all at once. And if we’re talking real time? Well then I’m sixteen, almost seventeen. I’m a junior in high school, so I've got a lot of shit to do. Plus I've got the band with my friend Eric (I’m an amazing singer—she didn't tell you? Geez). And I've got like three boyfriends and maybe a girlfriend, too. THEN I’m supposed to help this chick write my life story? Does that sound fair to you?

But anyway, this post is called “The Takeover,” not “Jordan Bitches All Night.” We’re at a turning point. We’re gonna pump some life back into this dead and rotting blog. And I guess the first step is getting my permission. So fine, I guess I won’t hog all of the attention (even though she’s more in love with me than her boyfriend…cough cough…but you didn't hear it from me). We’re even gonna work on a play that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

So we’re gonna try blogging three times a week. Mondays will often be called “Muse Mondays,” usually about inspiration, what sorts of things help with her writing, or just about me in general *grin*. Fridays will also have some fun posts, but I’m not gonna give everything away right now. And then Wednesdays, too. We’re gonna wing it for now and hopefully we won’t run out of steam too quickly. Neither of us is very organized, but we’ll find a way to plan ahead.

So look forward to some action around here. And you never know, I might pop back in now and then. Be afraid!

I’m just kidding. You love me. It’s a gift I have.


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