The muse is a clever mistress. It gives him just what he wants. Something to pen down. And he does as his mistress commands. He pens it down into a clear discernable something. Something something something. Something so inexplicable that it’s purpose of existence is only clear to him and him alone and even though he is a slave of the muse, he can’t explain why this something exists and why only through him it could have existed. And through this confused experience of his, the muse laughs in the background. The muse is a cruel mistress. Very much so.