Why deadlines are necessary
It's the combination of misery and willingness to cave to that creative urge in place of proper production. Why do I say cave? As though it were a fault. Create on demand; be inspired, inspiring on a timeline. Fill out the form, sign your name etcetera. Meanwhile horrors enact themselves on paper and I don't have time to read about the ones that happen in my backyard and an avalanche of meaningless dances will soon be over and I'll have no excuse not to start.
There's a different magic to what I certainly won't call depression. pure voices demand hours of simple listening, the smallest details are holy and humanity in its mass becomes alien. Not so much that nothing, but instead everything, matters and matters equally and intensely. And conversations with strangers become the touchstone of a mood immersed in the earth. And I wish we wrote history like this, maybe we do, do I know? Probably not. Things seem so small when you can glide, but there's still the fall, waiting. I've missed this, like I miss you when I know I don't want to see you, reading things to remind me but having no desire to make real contact. That fabrication in my head and history combined. Situational, though, this feeling, not a resting point for me. I'm too rational, or too determined to be successfully emotional, I dream things and they're nearly possible. Nearly. You know that? nearly possible.
and I won't be that person. I won't live miserable, I won't delude myself into thinking I can be something I will never be.
It doesn't mean what I think it means. And even if it does it doesn't exist.
I can imagine living a life within one's head until forced to do otherwise, but I can't sympathize. I won't.