So. Yes. I have been gone awhile. Wrapped up in the complicated medial tasks of whatever it is that we all do in our lives. I simply do not like to write when I don’t feel creative. I don’t think creativity should be forced. If it’s real it just happens. You have to be in the right state of mind to be creative. I used to be a person whose life was nourished by creativity, art, freedom, music, warm summer nights, not the kind that end at ten p.m.- You know the real nights. The nights that start at 2 am.
Maybe I’m bored. And for those of you that know me please don’t scold me for saying that. Me. I am bored. I need to get back to who I am. I sound freaky. But I’m serious. I used to just hear melodies in my head for songs I used to write. Words for songs used to pop into my head in complete thoughts. It used to be careless, unfiltered and free-flowing. When I used to hang out at the art studio I followed something I heard the Hopi indians used to do- I used to get a block of clay and asked it in my mind what it wanted to be. And inevitably amazing,beautiful and unique ideas would spring forth from my hands. I used to hear someone play a piano, or strum a guitar and would almost instantly hear a secondary melody, not yet written but making its presence known, dangling in the sounds between the sounds.
And now. Well. Now.
Once upon a time I was an artist. Untouched by the skewed crapola (yes its a word tonight) of the warped world. Somewhere along the way the world changed me. When I am in the silence of my thoughts I wonder am I the only one that feels this way? I don’t want to lose who I am. Does that make sense? Youth truly is wasted on the young. Or whatever that saying is. Now I am sounding like some old granny rocking on the front porch with gray hair pulled in a bun, knitting another blanket for whomever wants it.
We all should have an opportunity to start over, reinvent ourselves. Or maybe what I am saying is we should all have an opportunity to go back to keep ourselves. Keep the good stuff, throw out the bad stuff. Sometimes I think how in the hell did I get here. How did I, an artist, end up here? Have I turned into one of them? How do I stop this process? I simply do not want to be one of them. I do not want life to wear me down. Bash my dreams. Define who I am. So if someone knows where to find me, please tell me. Or better yet if you find me please tell her I am looking for her.