Snatch back your brain

When I was younger (I start a lot of posts that way, don't I?),  I used to keep a notebook by the side of my bed.

At this young age, I still believed in the magic of poetry and that just writing made you accomplished.  At that point, you believe you can be anything, not because you've been told, but because you still imagine.  You imagine you'd be anything.

At this point?  A poet/songwriter (at the height of goth rock, they were one in the same).

Round about midnight, maybe later, something... well I'd describe it then as electrifying, but now it seems more... tepid.  Like water.  Water you're going to submerge yeast in before you'd bake bread.

It was the base of something more... something consumable... but before... it was just tepid water.

The next day, whilst I was supposed to be studying and "finding myself" at high school, I'd formulate a poem from those bits and pieces... or sometimes, you could let it stand alone.  It's poetry, you can get away with that shit.

Jewel did.

That's the dream.

You play like you want someone to read it and identify that segment of themselves in your work, but really, you just want money and fame.

Someone to buy thousands of copies in your books and treasure them for two days until they realize that you're full of it.  And you got their money.  Then they'll sell it on Amazon for a penny plus shipping.  That's what it was worth to them.  A penny and shipping.

It stopped for a while.  Years in fact.  It was like sleeping and not dreaming.  

A lack of inspiration.

And yet, last night.  It happened again.  But it was different this time.

It was music.  A song I'd never heard before.  A choral piece, I think, but I'm not sure.   I don't remember.

I didn't have a fucking music staff to write on.  

...Not that I would have been able to...