Denise R. Weuve

Ink Damage and Other Permanent Stains

Manifesto for a Muse’s Birthday

I’m not allowed my feelings to be verbalized, it makes him horribly uncomfortable. The words solidify what he knows but remains uneasy with the knowledge. I supposed I understand, but I really do not give a damn. But then again, maybe there is too much weight on his shoulders, anyone’s shoulders, to know you are that important to another. And a another who doesn’t require anything from you, except the occasional risky car repair on Pacific Coast Highway. Yes, let’s go with that.

At any rate there is strangeness to how people bulldoze into your life but then turn off the lights as they are reversing out of your life, as if you don’t hear the motor. Yet there are the exceptions that bulldoze, take a wall down, perhaps cause a little damage, and help you rebuild a new wall, a stronger reinforced one. I guess he is that. No, he is that.

So though manifestos have been banned, what is he going to do, rewrite the constitution to deny me free speech? Get a law degree to sue me? Sure.

This is why I want to celebrate his birthday even when he does not want to:
*Without him, I would have never started writing poetry again
*no one would be pushing me to publish
*no one else believes in me or my talent
*he never made me feel bad about UCLA a.m. trips
*running errands with him is more fun than dinner and drinks with anyone else I know.
*I would give up a date with a tantric driven beverly hills trainer/model with the hands of Pygmalion’s sculptor to pick up shoes at JC Penney with him. Oh wait, I did.
*I now know what my own laugh sounds like
*he’s an accidental muse, without being Greek or pretty.
*no one has taken me to more closed restaurants ever.
*he has strong teeth (no seriously) once he squeezed a lime with his teeth. weird
*he’s an optimist on paper and in life
*he answers 85% of my texts. (it’s actually a feat if you can read 85% of my texts-I texts a lot)
*he can sleep anywhere: car, against a microwave, on a desktop
*he will stand in line for over two hours for a grilled cheese sandwich
*he has become my personal copy editor
*work would suck without his daily visits/fly bys
*his explanations are always the best thought out bullshit I have ever heard, and he believes every allegory, every metaphor is working to the point where I want to believe them, and might for a minute.

so how am I not supposed to write a manifesto celebrating his birth? Why isn’t everyone writing a manifesto for him?

In the end he is not what I wanted him to be, but He is everything I needed him to be
that brings me to a prayer wall. . .another time.

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