quicksand

Borrrrrring day. Nothing is good right now.

I'm looking for some kind of change, something hot and sparkly. Something to make me feel wet, screaming and brand spanking new.

I think a spiritual enema might be just the thing. What does that entrail...I mean: entail? I think, honestly, throwing out the weed and pipe and getting some kind of soberly fertile imagination back. So far, my ideas have been shit. So, it's time to put a stop to the self-pitying drug binge and let my brain go back to being raw rather than the cinammon bun that's forever baking in my skull.

I suffer from an artistic temperment. Not that being an artist is a bad thing, but as cliche as it sounds, being an artist is certainly synonymous, to some extent, with suffering. It doesn't have to be a life of addiction, although that's what many of us make of it. I have fallen into a predictable and age-old trap of enslaving myself to a muse who no longer seeks to inspire.

So, I just flushed my stash, went downstairs, poured out the alcohol, and am going to pray. I'm always so insecure and I ain't feeling like that anymore. It isn't healthy to use drugs as a crutch or a mask. So, I'm gonna get naked and risque without the halo of high and unburden myself with art and writing that I'm scared to death will be bad and I will die ashamed. Is it worth it though? Is it worth it to die sober having honored the creative fire within, even if no one else loves it?

Yes, it is worth it.

Happy Birthday to me.

XOXO,
Quicksand