I’m sure poets and writers over the centuries have expressed that idea both more beautifully and poetically than I. But, in all honesty, the dark days and nights, the hangover of the shit-storm that hit the world over the past few years and the thought that we may never actually see the sunshine again, is enough to make me simply stop doing anything other than existing. That the month is over is true, I suppose; we are after all now in February, at least so my calendar tells me, but passion and drive and enthusiasm is in dire need of a refill.
Val has just posted about a (her) green comet and her own creative demon never stops. It’s The Terminator of artistic muses. A curse and a blessing, at the same time. I envy her the constant flow of ideas yet I also like the peace that I get from not being driven by a devil on my shoulder, to actually do anything resembling not-work.
Yet it will come, I promise. I have writings on sandwiches and a clay kitchen god to finish after all…
