I can’t overthink things.
Thoughts need to flow, organic.
I cannot design things as contrived.
I work best last-ditch, seat-of-the-pants, circumstancial.
No plan, never never a rough draft.
Simmering down of every thought, idea, dream, lyric, punctum, crashing together in momentous inspiration.
Hard to market.
But visible, once it’s in front of me.
When I open my eyes to see it.
Lucid.
Lucid, my pet.
Know you’re creating.
Awake.
Alive, and in the moment.
Not planned, contrived, no, but carefully constructed of something pure. Impatient, careless, but passionate. Can it all be?
Want to keep this mindset, the one that pushes me forward, spurs me on. Though theoretically. What of action? Oh please God, can the two work together? Let my mind set itself up to be motivated while it produces, to wax poetic while it works, to philosophize while it brings its questions and emotions to tangible fruition. Let it ignore the fabricated negativity of the ‘other’ that strangles its unborn ideas with their own umbilical cord. Let it ignore the real negativity that may come when those idea-children are carried to term and thrown coldly into the world to be consumed.
There is no you, there is only me.
There is no fucking you, there is only me.
In my art. Of course there is only me. Gather inspiration, gather techniques, gather conceptual seeds but never be buried by the creation of others. Plant your own tree in that soil.
Even now, belittling your creation with thoughts of reaction, of profit, of criticism. Fame, fortune, rejection, failure – cannot be sole motivating or hindering factors. By-products, nothing more. Know this, feel this, move far beyond it.
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU IN THIS FOR?
You’re diving in, headfirst. In the deepest end. You’ve already made that decision, you already know you’ll never settle for less. Now, why, really, ask yourself, why why why?
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