[this poem (for lack of a better word) was written a while ago. i feel that it still holds true to everything that is still going on, still percolating if you will. i've recently found myself inspired in a different way at the end of the work week. drunkish, tired and for some reason still sleep-deprived. let's just say it's a new way of thinking. like playing crossword puzzles on my smartphone.]
always seething, always roiling beneath the surface is inspiration.
inspiration found in long nights and even longer days.
cigarette ash burning away the blues.
inspiration from the one sleeping on the couch next to me.
this beauty, this monument.
it is through the perspective of someone else sharing your situation that you can get the greatest inspiration.
that's why people read, write, create.
that's why bands can rip off the ramones and still carry the torch dutifully.
perhaps lack of productivity isn't a lacking of any sort.
perhaps its a way to catalog the little idiosyncrasies that make up the fiber of who we are.
the days spent apart, the manic pace of a grocery run.
hating everybody while being completely in love with each other.
this is what we thrive on.
the ferocity of misanthropy, the bravado of living for something or someone else.
we are a combination of both. the irony can be crippling.