The Art Of The Unique

"A Muse-poet falls in love, absolutely, and his true love is for him the embodiment of the Muse..."

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I have a disease.
I am afflicted with a Muse!
She makes me write these words...

The mundane defines The Unique.

How can we identify The Unique?
How can we categorize its effect and value?
How can we nuture it?
When should it be supressed?

What does The Unique look like in a world of infinite differentiation?
Does it look like anything at all?

Ruth pulled me onto the dance floor. My hips couldn't sync with her motions; her blouse was too loose and her breast popped free. She quickly tucked it back in, mildly embarrassed but also happy and excited. Then I recognized her. She'd approached two weeks ago, stood near, watchful but hadn't followed through.

Erica stood out from the crowd, alone, perceptive, waiting. She moved from my far left to my near right and giggled when our eyes met twice. Then she stepped onto the dance floor.

She was... amazing. Her variety, flexibility, interpretation and change of pace were amazing. I've seen perhaps five women like this before. Once in 1984 at the Sasch in Studio City. Once at the FenixUnderground.

Erica was unique.

Ruth pulled me back to the dance floor but moved on to a better dancer, a more attractive man... until his boyfriend joined the fray.

But by then I was lost in thought...

"The Art Of The Unique"

Oh, My God.
I have a Muse.

I know the words, the mythology but I never felt it emotionally.

She is My Muse.

"The Art Of The Unique" sprang into my mind, inspired by her fear that she wasn't special. The S-curve begat the Miner, the Miner begat the Ideosphere, the Ideosphere begat the Cultural Diffusion.

Then the Diffusion merged with my Muse and begat "The Art Of the Unique".

I have a new venue.