Thursday, April 3, 2008


Sometimes certain things trigger a flicker of creative energy within me.

It happens. For some it’s a line from a poem (In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo.) For others an image: Caravaggio, perhaps Ingres.

For others still maybe a scent, a nostalgic stir of events as an aroma wafts its way into your thoughts: maybe cotton candy and a carnival, or bourbon and a well-placed electrical cord across your ass.

I once wrote a love sonnet for a girlfriend. People asked if it was a poem, an image, or a scent that inspired me. I told them that it was that one time I was at the zoo when a rogue gorilla attempted to rape a slippery dolphin.

But really, creative energy can be extracted from anything. Things I’ve written in the past often liven up my thoughts, as does standing on my porch a bit drunk, watching the city lights and having a cigarette while pissing onto the barren lot next door.

Lately, though, I’ve been tapping my good friend’s description of his music: “riding a train along a coast on a cloudy day, a night time drive through new york city, a walk through desolate snowed out woods.” I love scenery and he does a good job of describing what his music evokes in someone. aíme, good stuff.

I’d like to say it’s what inspired this entry, but that was the work of my greatest muse, and she’s currently being processed by my liver.

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