A Year Lost

March 9, 2015

The artistry has disappeared, long dead beyond that frozen space. I’ve lived an ordinary life for a year now. Still full, but somehow bland. No great artistic revery (peripheral artistry at best), no overarching melancholic masterpieces. No marauding dreams, sandal-clad and beckoning me to the camel lands. No science fiction rapture, like the great nights of old-somewhere inside of me that desperate adventure feeling reeling away my equilibrium. No starfish wading through those low tide-pools of vitreous humor there within my eyes. No anything, really. Just an ordinary life.

Well now it’s time to wake me up. To drag out the old toolbox and get those old dreams humming along again. There is so much value in art. There are hardly any better ways to live than as an artist. And I’ve always liked to call myself an artist but somewhere I got a little lost a little while ago. And now I’ve lived a quarter of a century a single man. And now I am to marry. Let that be beautiful enough to ignite the inner fires, burn me down inside until I’m raging with stories and songs. It’s been a year lost. It’s time to wake me up.