Sometimes you meditate on Philip Glass/Beck remix. You wake up at five and stare into the eternal darkness waiting for the sun to grow up. It's a different type of darkness than the one at eleven at night. Ruled by the moon, that darkness is made of secrets, romance, and insecurities. I like a taste of both, but because five is so rare, I appreciate it for its lack. Lack in Awareness
Unfortunately, I find it difficult to write a love story at 5AM in the morning. 11PM, preferably with smoke and with whiskey and preferably with me not intaking either but surrounded by those substances is much easier. What with all this talk of discipline and focus, inspiration gained from a particular ambiance is hard to come by. I'm not sure how to cater to both the disciplined, OCD freak and the occasional artist. Are those things inherently contradictory? Must we do mushrooms, drown ourselves in music all the fucking time, smoke, have a messy room in order to perform as normal artists?
Maybe. Now that I'm such a functional adult with meticulous goal setting schemes and reading books about management, occasionally I miss my thoroughly unabashed emotional self. I'm experimenting with how to reconcile both of these identities, so that the one feeds off the other. To be inspired, always by words, and to persevere through discipline, goal setting, timelines.
Lack in Heart
The worst feeling is to feel embarrassed by what you've written. I might be the last person who keeps a blog, but I will always be a diarist who "puts things out there in the void." Through writing do I organize thoughts and condense them to a sense of direction, to instill meaning in a present moment that would otherwise mean nothing. Problem is, the heart doesn't wake up until sunset, and at 5AM, the mind takes over with its point and lines. It is systematic. It is goal driven. It is a new day. It is perspiration without inspiration. The heart doesn't catch on until late.
Unfortunately I really don't want to switch my schedule to the night owl.
Ugh.