Inspiration Is A Funny Fucker

I haven’t felt much like writing
It hasn’t been much much much
It hasn’t been a lack of inspiration
There’s been plenty seen/done
But it was nowness
Nowness is lost in the conversion to was-ness
In trying to save the firefly in the jar
The air is removed
The flame is extinguished
Is becomes was
Best left to the touching of eyes
So I just let it pass on

Which is okay
My bulky frame kept getting caught in view
Which forced the realization that
Sometimes you have to set yourself aside
And move on unencumbered
Leave yourself in a train station locker
And forget
I’ve been feeling

I don’t know
I don’t want to, really
This is not a thing worth naming
Or understanding
But it isn’t bad either
I Can’t Put My Finger On It
Keeps ringing through
The closest it comes in these lulls
The word most in mind
While not being the right word
Would have to be waiting

I’m waiting
On something
An unknown
But coming
The vibration of distance
Humming below the horizon
The hoping of striking
Re-entry into the blood
The fraying and the frenzy
Of unraveling momentarily
To find some language of soul
An art; to define the now
To capture with sound
Or paint
Or some-such
To be spontaneous
To be inspired
And brave enough
To pass on the beauty
However tragic
To another

I wrote this after some really good conversations I had this weekend. One of which led to re-listening to and listening to some new music. Which you should really give a listen to, too.


About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook:
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