Failed…


Wow, I failed to get to my point in my last post about inspiration. Maybe I was frustrated or too drunk to articulate my point effectively. Regardless, I failed at my mission. I mean, it was almost midnight, and I hardly ever stay up that late anymore. Let’s try this again…

For me, inspiration to write does not come from a place of peace. Instead, it comes from pain and struggle. My best work comes when I am agonizing about something. It can be something minor or life changing. Why is that? When everything is good, I concentrate on doing something productive or fun. For me, it’s usually both. I feel worthless if I do nothing all day and have nothing to show for it. So, how is it that I have time to write when I didn’t before? It’s not that I didn’t have the time; it’s the motivation and drive to write isn’t there.

When I am sad, depressed, anxious, and/or nervous, I pull away from people. I become more introspective. In my thoughts, poems, songs, and stories start to take form. Most of these poems, songs, and stories are garbage; however, there are a rare few that their seeds take hold, and I develop them more. If that seed starts to blossom into something greater, I give it more attention. If fruit starts to develop, it does not matter what my mood is. By that time, I’m fully invested into finishing the story.

Would Clapton have created “Tears in Heaven” if it wasn’t from tragedy? Probably not. I’m not Eric Clapton, but I get how negative emotions can turn into something beautiful. Life is shit. Tragic things happen every fucking day. Creativity is a way for me to deal with the bullshit of life and bad decisions.

I still feel incomplete with what I was trying to accomplish, but this is a lot closer than the last post. Fuck it, I’ll let it be for now. If it’s worth revisiting, I will.


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