creativity

......happiness and the problems that arise when we try to pin things down or group things into categories or describe things. the many different ways we have accounted for the absurdities and uncertainties of the natural and human world. Inventions, things (ideas, substances, visuals, smells) that we ingest, are always changing, maybe because of our insatiable need to create. People often talk of creative geniuses as these esoteric individuals who pull creativity from somewhere out in the void or who have been somehow "blessed" with a "creative" gene. Which is a load of crap. Creativity is about discipline. Which is why so many people are NOT creative; because truly creative things appear as though they came out of the void and so, in attempting to emulate the Greats, the others mistakeingly try to recreate the experience of traveling into the void (hence the drugs, drinking, jackson pollocky stuff) instead of disciplining themselves to a point at which they can be creative doing whatever it is they are doing. really the only two necessary ingredients appear to be willingness and time. and really there is no secret. just discipline. which is why it's cool to actually listen to people talk about their art; because a dot on the wall can be just a dot or it could be the product of some really deep meditation. an inspired dot vs an uninspired dot.

empty
listen
express
delete
empty
listen
express
delete
show others

until you die. or until your creation is what you want it to be; until it's "authentic." i guess authentic, then, means something intentional, well thought out, inspired because you were disciplined enough to remove yourself from the creative act, disciplined enough to shut up and listen, and disciplined enough to weed out what didn't fit.


 

body

my shoulders sag, rhythmically. one step, two step, slow and lumbering; an eternity seems to pass as I slump decrepitly across the maplewood floor. i'm old and ailing. halfway there I perk up and jump 6 times, jerking my elbows and fingers from right angles to straight lines in rapid succession. my knees touch my ribcage as it expands and contracts on each ascent and descent into space, respectively. i'm young and excited. i settle into a relaxed pace and slowly turn to gaze down at my right arm as it twitches furiously every which way. I'm wise and content with life's often apoplectic uncertainties. you enter and we settle into an intertwining dance of submission and resistance, tailored to the call and response of our exhales and inhales. it's parlously vulnerable and directionless.   

words often seem like those trendy new feathers that everyone strings in their hair. the body can tell so many stories. 

dreams

The winds are sweeping in now. It’s hot, but cold under the red sycamore tree where orchids are growing out of every other branch. I pick one and hand it to my teammate. She eats it and we dance, erotically. Our whirling sends colors splashing across the field and, ironically, (because we started out in hopes of inspiring rain), the rainbow we’ve created slowly dehydrates everything around us. We watch from a distance as the Frisbee flies left and right, secretly plotting how best to sneak into the game and use it for the starcraft transporter that it really is.

I’m dreaming, but I know it. Fully awake and able to manipulate reality, constructing absurd scenarios and directing events from atop my velvety sheets, yet titillated by the spontaneity of my actions. Still and active; an observer and a participant; a desert rose in winter. I send myself off with a kiss and watch as my body floats into a creamy wonderland of mystique and vigor. Like a ghost, but human.

 It’s absurd to think that fairytales and fate can lie within your grasp, but only if you submit to the rigidity of absurdity. Me, I’ve learned how to adapt. Like a rubber ball, acknowledging the obstacles, but using them to rebound into a life of eternal spontaneous response. Jettisoning into the ebb and flow of unpredictability with the audacity of a thousand kamikaze soldiers. If I can dream it I can become it. Follow your dreams; they’ll lead you to your destiny. Keep your dreams alive. As it turns out, all of those worldy anecdotes and aphorisms that we’ve been prescribed as children are true, but the people who say them usually have no clue what they mean and the people who know they're true feel strange vocalizing them because they are truly doing them no justice. They’re usually just dreaming…