Decadent-Dreamer

As an artist, what inspires you? When your thoughts seem to slow, and your hands feel heavy with grief, sorrow, or loneliness, what is it that allows you the pick up the pen or brush and express yourself? This is the dilemma I've been fighting with myself over for you years and have yet to find a solid answer. In some ways, it seems like, the Artist in me is a completely different persona from the everyday man I usually am. There are some shared aspects and overlap, but when it all boils down to it, it's a lot like the Bruce Wayne/Batman complex. Bruce Wayne is the public persona, but it's Batman who is the true person. It's a lot like that with my writing, I think. The pen and pad--or I guess nowadays, the laptop and cellphone--are my cloak and cowl. It's only when the words are flowing through me that I feel the most potent and alive. So, when it comes to writer's block, it feels like I am a hostage to myself. It feels like there's a large party thrown a Wayne Manor that's been

I spent my last hours of 2011 sequestered in my "little room below the stairs", alone save for the voices of my aunts and cousin cloistered closely in the room above me. I laid out on my cot, begrudgingly snug in my snuggie as they laughed, talked and watched movies in my aunt's room. From my place, safely ensconced in my self-imposed exile, I could almost hear what it sounded like to be a functional part of my family. I was almost jealous of their ease and comfort as I curled my legs, lazily stretching my limbs like a Jack missing his box. I couldn't get comfortable no matter how I tried. Despite every exaggerated motion, I remained feeling

Yesterday was my birthday... Hello 23! I've been waiting for years, you even know how long, to say that. It wasn't exactly what I expected--to be sure--but I'm not unhappy about it. Overall, the good outweighed to bad, which is a theme I'm trying to focus on nowadays. This was actually the first birthday since I turned thirteen that my ex, Brenda, hasn't called me at the strike of midnight. I wasn't exactly expecting it or anything; however, it was a bit of a trip once I realized it. I spent so much time and emotion carrying a torch for her, comparing others physically and emotionally to her, converting soapboxes into pedestals to place her