I have a hard time committing time to things that don't involve music, making money (because a boy's gotta eat) or being with the ones I love. But I had an epiphany today: I am a writer. I write music. I write poems. I write in my journal. I write all the time. But something I don't do is write as a discipline. I just write whenever it "comes to me".
Well, there have been large lulls in those creative times. Many large lulls. So in doing this blog again, I am forcing myself to pull the creativity out instead of hoping that it will come from some other source.
Do I believe in inspiration? Hell yes I do.
Do I think that inspiration only comes from without? I'm beginning to lean towards: no.
My soul is constantly at odds with itself and with the outside world.
I am a guy, and as I'm sure any guy can relate, there are plenty of times in a day that my head is completely void of thought. COMPLETELY. But equally as sure am I that the space in my head is probably more occupied than most mens' spaces.
So don't ever get the urge to call me a "spacey" person. It's false.
I have a lot of friends who you could most certainly consider "spacey" and I enjoy them very much. The lightness of their concern for mundane things is inspiring and pleasing. Sometimes I try to imitate it to avoid my own filled space.
But it's false.
My space is highly occupied, frequently vacated, but quickly filled by new tenants. And most of these tenants are relentless. They stay up 'til all hours of the night and cause quite the ruckus with the neighbors.
Tired of thinking about this analogy?
Me too.
I think too much. About a lot of shit. And it effects all of you. For good and for bad. Thanks for sticking through the bad and I hope you enjoy the good.
This blog is going to be a struggle for me to give some order to all the tenants in my space. (F you Tom for making those two words incite evil thoughts among my generation)
