Talking to Myself

Inspiration Comes and Goes

Inspiration flows.

It’s there in the most inconvenient of moments.

When you’re driving your car in silence, down a green highway, a brilliant thought is there and gone with the whoosh of a passing car by the time you pull over and grab a notebook.

When you’re in the shower, in the middle of winter, and there’s just no way you’re getting out. Because it’s the first shower you’ve had in days. Because the bathroom floor is cold and wet. Because the depression got you and you gotta take care of yourself eventually.

When you’re in your doctors office, waiting for them to see you now. They’d think you really were crazy if they came into the room at the exact moment you were scribbling down the idea for a tragedy they’d never deem healthy.

When you’re watching the most beautiful thunder storm in your life, but you’re huddled under a porch, and you forgot your notebook.

When you’re sitting in your room late at night, with only lights on strings and furry things. When you know you should sleep.

Finally, a bit of inspiration. Might as well grab it.

Might as well be inspired by all the fleeting thoughts, even if you’ll never have them again. Might as well remember the feeling of having those thoughts every once in a while.

Inspiration comes from a lot of places. Sometimes, in the worst moments. Sometimes you just have to take them.

Reminder to me: write it down.

Even if it’s ridiculous. At least it’s something.

I remember all those years when the words flowed freely. When I wrote more than I spoke. Where did those days go?

Now I have to learn how to grab those moments again.

Learn to grab those moments again.

Inspiration is special. Creativity is important.

Don’t let the world around you stamp out your love to create. The passion inside you shouldn’t be put out.

This is me. Grabbing a tiny bit of inspiration.

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A Chosen End

6 Friends. 

6 friends and Robin Williams. 

You’d think it might get easier, but it doesn’t. You just understand it more. 

So, I’ll write your name on my heart and put another tic on the chart of life. 

6. It seems like a lot. 

I’d ask why, but I get it. 

Because every day is hard. Sometimes your so deep in your hole, you can’t see the sky, and the walls crumble beneath your fingers and feet everytime you think you’ve found a good grip to hold on, and you and your whole world come crashing back down to the bottom. 

Sometimes the world is a dark place. Full of war and terror and dying children, alone and hungry with no memory of real life or real love. 

Sometimes it seems like everything is going wrong and you can’t get ahead. 24 years playing the game of life, how did I end up here? Or there? Or alone? Or surrounded by all these shitty people?

Why don’t I love the things I used to love? What am I supposed to do with my life? Where am I going? What’s the next step? What is the fucking point? 

Everytime I carve another notch in the bedpost of friends lost, I get to close to not being able to see the light. 

Remembering that living the adventure, feeling the pain, see the shit, loving the unloved. Remember, that is the point. 

The point of this plane is to love and feel pain. Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon. Don’t leave the us behind so quickly.