inspiration mining

I’ve been having a hard time understanding my own stream of consciousness. 

It’s like the only time I ever really tap into to that shit is when im in the shower.

Its like, the water pouring over me gives me that boost of external stimulation. 

just the right amount for my brain to function in an exponential way. 

Is that sad? 

I have this idea that the Ginsbergs and the Dylans had blank studio apartment walls and drab deli counters or automats to work off of. and look and what that inspiration led them to.

I have every corner of the world to witness and Ive never once spent an afternoon to craft my first turn of phrase.

I feel like in my mind everybody who writes sits in a quiet room and thoughts just come to them, idk why I’ve been trying to make that method work for me. 

that actually doesnt make sense does it. 

have experiences, jot it down in a notebook for later, then sit down to extrapolate.

have drugs.  

meditate on the idiosyncracies, oddities and the complete bullshit.

thats how its done?

I’m not really sure what im expecting of myself. 

to sit at the typewriter and sway back and forth white the lines flow out like I was born to have great and beautiful ideas?

but I was born for that. wasn’t i?

im finding my voice people.

at this point my goal is just to make sense.

I guess I can lay off the drugs.