Where does the bulk of your inspiration come from? Are you rendered sweet by the colors of the dawn? Vulnerable at the scent of a woman's perfume? Emotional when you think about all the stars that we can't see? Do you get your exigence from religion? Do you inspire yourself, maybe narcissistic, maybe just self-sustainable? What inspires you to feel, to write, to move, to listen, to speak, to sing, to love, and experience?
Hey. I meant to answer this a long time ago, but I never got to it. There’s just so much here to talk about.
I’m going to just take that first question and do my best for you:
The bulk of my inspiration comes from the foolish part(s) of me. It’s really easy to let the world strip you of your dice-roll. I am willing to rabbit-hole with the thought that illogical hope and dreams and love will happen, here. I don’t put money on it, because I’m not rich enough to do that, but I try to write from a place of risk. I try to ask myself “what would it be like if I were all-in on this hand?”
I come up short so often… It feels like… I try, but I fail, a lot. I write safe things instead of scary things, a lot. I don’t say that I think she’s wonderful, enough, and I also tell her more than I probably should because I’m used to having to convince people to stay. I don’t let silence hang and breathe, enough — I try to fill it with things that makes truth less awkward and some times that silence would probably turn into poetry, if I’d let it. I don’t know.
The bulk of my inspiration comes from all the things that I’m convinced will convince people that I’m crazy if I say out loud; the things I’m just too crazy to keep quiet.