The third day of my little escape from the mundane has begun. Caught up on some news and a few SG sets that caught my fancy. Already had breakfast and am tempted to interrupt my entry to brush my teeth.
All in all, it has been going well so far.
I can feel my creativity wiggling around inside and kicking. I wish it would just burst out.... I feel like I'm carrying it to term or something. Pregnant with a microcosm of ideas. Once born, I have faith that my little bundle of creation will grow and become a part of the world...
but right now I feel like a sham.
Every attempt to reach out to other artists to help me break through the umbra, to escape my inward facing mind... has failed. And with every failure, I feel like they loose faith in me -- they start to believe I am more talk than I am results. And as I walk down the street, bloated and fat on visions and potential.. I start to believe them. I question who I am and start to think that maybe they're right.
Maybe this is all a miscarriage... conceived in my mind by a Muse, but lacking whatever it is to bring it to life. Wether fear, stress, or doubt -- maybe whatever it is that plays sweet music for me in my mind's theatre will only be there to torture and delight me. Alone.
All in all, it has been going well so far.
I can feel my creativity wiggling around inside and kicking. I wish it would just burst out.... I feel like I'm carrying it to term or something. Pregnant with a microcosm of ideas. Once born, I have faith that my little bundle of creation will grow and become a part of the world...
but right now I feel like a sham.
Every attempt to reach out to other artists to help me break through the umbra, to escape my inward facing mind... has failed. And with every failure, I feel like they loose faith in me -- they start to believe I am more talk than I am results. And as I walk down the street, bloated and fat on visions and potential.. I start to believe them. I question who I am and start to think that maybe they're right.
Maybe this is all a miscarriage... conceived in my mind by a Muse, but lacking whatever it is to bring it to life. Wether fear, stress, or doubt -- maybe whatever it is that plays sweet music for me in my mind's theatre will only be there to torture and delight me. Alone.


