Inspiration comes in mad surges. Sometimes it runs so fast you can’t grab it by the balls, the brain overloads and your legs fall off. You sit there shaking like the last leaf hanging on in a storm.
Then there are days, weeks, months when you shut down. You panic that your muse has left, packed up and moved to the other side of the galaxy. Sometimes you rock back and forth on the patio wondering if you buried it there in a drunken rage. But no, the shovel looks innocent and your hands are clean.
Muse, creation, inspiration and brain farts come when they want to, not when you need it the most. Panic and frustration is part of the process, you can’t have yin without yang, as much as you can’t have toast without marmalade or jam (or marmite if you are a real freak)
And I have no idea how to end this.
Brain fart over and out.