Creativity

When you tap into creativity, coffee and cigs become your life blood.
You keep nutrigrain bars and cereal boxes nearby to fend off the caffeine jitters.
It's the one time you hate that you cant smoke in your apartment.

You have a special set of songs on your playlist for just such moments.
You find a song that strikes a chord with your creativity, set it to loop.
You never touch those songs when you're feeling normal. They're sacred.

Your bowels tremble from your surge in poor diet.
Using the bathroom is an inconvenience, an unwelcome intermission.
You hold it as long as you can, to ensure you dont lose your existentialism.

The TV is on, set to a channel you dont pay any attention.
The voices and flicker of light keep you grounded to reality.
The curtains are closed and only a dim light illuminates the room.

The graphite smudges as you furiously place your hand all over your drawing.
The drawing becomes something different than what it started out to be.
An evolution of consciousness and being, reflected on paper.

You lost count of how many cigs were left half a pack ago.
The wind blows your hair as you smoke your cigarette slowly.
You have every thought and no thought, only an urge to get back into your apartment, your sanctuary.

You pick a new song on your playlist, but it only distracts you.
It isnt helping you to tap into the vein of consciousness streaming from mind to hand to paper.
A moment later you go back to the previous song. Relaxation. It's perfectly you.

What sparked this streak? Your dreams the previous night?
Maybe it was styling your hair differently, maybe it was because you finally had a day off.
In the end, you are entranced.

The picture nearly complete. You cant start something new.
You keep fixing the drawing, making it perfect, so you can stay in your thoughts.
Too many smudges on the picture. Erasing those will keep you in No Mind a few minutes longer.

Something entrances you about the instant coffee string hanging from your cup.
Another sip, and you miss, spilling it all over your tattered jeans. Maybe it was your jeans that sparked this feeling.
It's heresy to the creativity gods, but you dont allow it to effect you. Stay focused, dont let the hot coffee against your leg take you from this perfection. No Gods, no masters.

Suddenly, a memory. You had a bike stolen, in another life. A dream life.
Why the hell would you need a bike? Unfortunately that thought hadnt occurred to you in the dream.
You strive for lucidity while asleep, but its unattainable, a breeze on your cig's hot ember.

Bend like bamboo. Become a river. Flex/flow.
These alien concepts, are now being directly experienced.
Turn states into traits.

The previous show ends, another begins.
Sad, I wish I had followed the Soprano's while it was still on.
A rerun you've never seen, and arent paying enough attention to enjoy.
Note to self, torrent all Soprano's seasons.

Another cig. Your downstairs neighbor walks by, smiling at you.
A fake smile returned. Fuck 'em, they're a distraction. Come back when you're feeling creative, cause you're fucking up my chi.

The house is too messy, you should really clean it.
Not now, im busy discovering Oneness.
National Geographic channel yearning for me to care about starving children.
Maybe later. I'm too busy malnourishing myself. Yeah, $5 a day aint much to most, but thats a pack of cigs you wont have the cash to smoke.

A text message, and a phone call, both ignored. I'm busy.
Adding a poster and a man prying open his third eye to the drawing. Buddhist chants on the wall.
Maybe this is a dream, and I am finally lucid dreaming. I wont test it to find out. I'm busy.

You forgot deodorant this morning, and the summer heat is reminding you of your need for it.
Your lip curls as you erase another mistake. No time for mistakes. Your moustache reeks. Did you brush your teeth?
Another trip to the bathroom. Not enough arms to piss, brush your teeth, and put on antiperspirant. Dont wanna hit the seat. Wiping it off would waste time. No time for mistakes.

Minty breath subsides quickly with the constant gulps of coffee.
A minute and thirty seconds for another cup. Makes you wish you had a coffee pot instead of these instant singles.
It gives you just enough time to get grounded to reality.

Good thing you showered earlier. No time for a cleansing rain.
Typing on your keyboard. Graphite under your gnarled fingernails.
You wanna change the song so badly, strike another vein of consciousness, start another picture.
A blog will suffice for now. The hollywood theme from a vampire first-person shooter. It cradles you, and entrances you. Everything and nothing. No Mind, and Every Mind. IBS flaring up. Gotta hold it, keep grounded to the existential, the infinite, the universal...