Have you ever felt the internal pressure
Inherent in the creative process?
When the urge to write/draw/paint/craft
Just fills you...
To the bursting point
And you will just not-so-spontaneously combust
If the pressure isn't released...
Sometimes the creative process is full of pain and sorrow. It feels like, at times, that not only am I working the crazy out, but that I am intentionally poking the crazy with a stick. It feels dangerous and generally unwise. I felt the same way when I took shrooms, once upon a time, but the path of creating takes me on darker, more frightening paths than the magical mushrooms ever did, and ever could.
And I go along those paths with my eyes wide open...
Full near to bursting and never to know
The end result of the creative flow
Bursting forth like water from a dam
Or better yet, giving birth to a piece with its own life,
It's own influence,
It's own soul...
Internal pressure, the drive to immortality.
Crying out for release, to make my stain
A cumstain on humanity's collective memory
Remember me
Remember me
Hoping to echo through the ages
Probably to end up fading into a whisper
Like so many other whispers
Voices fading into white noise
At one with the echo of the Big Bang
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