The muse is an empty bottle of Prozac.

We are all addicted to so very many, many, many drugs.

The low dose of prozac makes life liveable, but it slaughters and degrades the muse. The natural inclination of humans prior to the past 30 years has been to create to release the pain of living. And when this is artificially anestitized the motivation to create is lost. We are so bombarded by drugs, a technology we've evolved to produce more irristable instant gratifiation, that we abandon the long, slow processes of dealing with living that has produced our greatest works (or greatest tragedies). And the drug itself, long associated with the Muse, may be a tool that some have used to attain a "creative" state. But for the rest of it, drugs are just a metaphor for our natural state of mind. We don't need any more, we were born high. And it's a bitch when you're really high and you can never come down. The constant, grinding adjitation. The mental yoga and constant self-reassurance needed to keep yourself together. Maybe running out of prozac is a blessing. Being forced out of soma holiday land forces me back to the work of processing my life the doctors have been so merciful and kind in sparing me.