the architecture of imagination...

History, at times, can render magic to the muse or intensify her already ferocious efficacy to inspire, quicken, birth even. I have an original muse of this type, one that I suppose I cannot necessarily be with (in "that" sense of "be") forever or, evidently longer than a little while, but she embodies and defines what I consider to be all holy fervor, in the flesh, salty and sweet. Carmen bent my language better than ten years ago and continues to twist it still, even when under duress or delay. History has been a gamble with us, winning big and losing bigger, alas, but what was kept and remained has been worthwhile, necessary even. Our association is full of empty space, like the World, like the Universal equation, full of intensity, full of love, full of conflict and minor chords of contempt, but in the distilled end she remains the purest and most ebullient creature of sublimity, of creative messianic note. I wrote about her before that she "exists in all of my insecure and nasty places..." explaining why she will always live as an integral part of my psyche as my effective and ideal muse. Her flesh lives far away from the holy ground and her affection possibly further, but I've memorized her voice and it's timber, her face, it's relationship with artificial and natural light, the subtle difference between her language depending on whether she's speaking or writing (and god knows the thoughts that blow amok throughout her gray majesty and matter!), her supine and seductive structures and their magic and intoxicating potential. It was always about the sacrifice and potential with her...her original wonder. My invented repine for her, strong and sober, attacks my love for Los Angeles holy ground everyday. Haunted by my own muse, frightening and everyday and I'd bet Carmen doesn't...forget about it. It's not important. What is is the language, sorcery I conjure when I place any quality of hers at the fore...That is of the highest, most sacrosanct import...those thoughts are meditations on the Immortal and Infinite, on the corrected self, the World.

I see the World right now in her smiling eyes through the architecture of my imagination...