Something I can’t live without is inspiration.
Well, I can, but the living is grayer, heavier, less inspiring.
I come alive when I get a visit from the muse
Coursing with energy from the newly lit fuse
I get excited about the ideas and visions about to take shape
Its all I want to talk about until everyone I know wants to escape
I forget to keep track of the time, and I forget I have vices. The work is too important to get side tracked by addictions and habits.
Who needs unhealthy mid-day snacks when their normal purpose is to distract me, and with inspiration come to visit, the last fucking thing I want is to be distracted.
If someone tries to talk to me when I’m inspired this better be important
If someone tries to makes plans with me when I’m inspired they better involve bowling, sex or cheese. And even then I’m gonna say “shh, don’t bother me, I’m working.”
If someone tries to encourage me when I’m inspired it had better be so well timed that your interruption to say something nice to me didn’t interrupt the flow of my delicate, squirrily, fickle creative inspiration.
Because one thing I’ve learned about creativity is that it doesn’t like to be interrupted. It won’t be kept waiting, it will just disappear. And it won’t under any circumstances be told what to do.
Inspiration requires surrender. And though foreign to our culture, the idea of letting go, surrendering, that’s for cowards right, the losers in a bloody war surrender. The smaller kid having his arm twisted on the playground surrenders. But Americans, humans, we don’t surrender. We fight.
But you can’t fight with inspiration. It is the ruler. It is the king. And it’s just as keen to abdicate it’s throne if you don’t pay it some goddamn respect.