I’ve been told a lot of things over the years. A homeless man once advised me “don’t be so hard on yourself”, true story. He was playing in a Trad band I’d gone with a friend to listen to, and well, he wasn’t homeless anymore but he had been. I’ve been told, “You’re creative and you’ll do well at being creative, but it’ll be harder for you than others. And, it’ll take you longer than everyone else. That’s the curse of the gift you have.”
And that gift I have can paint pictures in the sky, pull a cloud down from the canvas and unveil the sunshine. I’m creative alright but the rest remains undiscovered to be seen. And maybe I won’t ever be, for you see, due to a fear of lack of security I settled my wild eyes on desk jobs that I knew would be there tomorrow, and admired other people chasing their dreams, because that one’s beyond me. In a fit of fear I turned my back on all I considered to be good for my heart and decided on it being useless to everything else. So these pages here are my only offering now that I’ve come to my senses again. Sometimes I feel fucking useless, when people tell you ‘chin up’ then go about their day and I blame myself for troubling them. I’m jealous of your sunny disposition, and those who have a gift in seeing the light, I wish I had the bravery to follow the wind and fly.
I’d love to hear my words being used for comfort by someone who’s having a bad day. It’s OK to write off today, heat the kettle, shut the lights off and let your thoughts run riot in your head. I ask that people remember the good times because I often forget them myself. I like to sing happy songs in to the midnight’s cold, cold glare so that I can chase away the daylight’s blinding worry, hit on your feelings and lay down with your mind.
Carry a notebook with you, if just to document the beauty in a cup of tea. It’s just a lot of spewing words about the sun rise hoping to find a pretty sentence to describe the sunbeams that lighten up the dark thoughts and take my brain out of pressure. I like to mix my sleeps with dancing, and I’d call it balance if I was brave enough to stand tall in the first place without cutting my feet from under me.
A phone call woke me from a slumber dreaming of summer afternoons with dead friends in courtyards drinking nothing but Club Lemon in our best suits; and I keep their voices inside my brain so I can keep walking fearless. Now my legs are tapping off a wooden table, and the more ink I spill I waterfall a wordflow, and I find it funny how that just happens. I can be hidden in the corner bent over myself and at the same time being the bee making honey in a tea shop with headphones on, beating pens off the table. That’s when I know my soul’s come to join me for the ride that day. Coming to life around sleepy people and I’m loving feeling music in the morning. Give me another three or four of these minutes with my head in the clouds. Banging, and I’m walking to work because my drive is broken; but my mouth is laughing – because it can, and I’m trying to convince myself I’m stronger than my head lets me think – man.
Last night I was watching the world from the sky, I could see the winter giving way and Spring appearing behind the high skies. Back on ground zero and the sky is hidden behind that high rise – there’s a twinkle in the morning to tell me of a surprise, surprise, summer’s gonna find you when she arrives, and I hope I’ll be greeting that day with a smile and a some nice words to describe.
I’ve gone from lifting liquid to lifting iron and riding bikes just trying to clear my mind, but there always seems to be something new bubbling away, some story or some wondering whisking my mind away. I tried to supress it and I know if I spilled my guts, about five people are going to read that post. I’ve got to be feeling something and what my heart feels warm about don’t make money, or at least I don’t think I’m up to enough to be one of the good ones; so I consider all those businessmen lucky. I promise I’m not always morbid, but the creative goes with his feeling of the moment and uses the platform given for expression…
That’s my struggle of creative…