Bean Cobain said it on her Twitter I saw once, that she puts into quotes that which is not hers. I stole these passed 2 titles for posts from Gucci Mane. Which seems fitting, funny actually, stealing from Gucci Mane—Project Pat, the robber robbing the robber. I've stole before for this blog too,—only titles to posts of course—from Bob Marley.
But anyway, it's as simple as that. A lyric in a song gives all the inspiration I need. And how many lyrics are there? I am constantly listening to music.
I have been a bit blocked lately, with regards to writing. I've been trying to give little lessons in what I write. If I'm even so qualified—which I'm not. Who am I to give advice?
With a blog, to be read, you must provide some value, I've read and read. And I think of myself. The only blogs I really read inform me in some way of something. So I've been trying in these posts to drop little nuggets of wisdom,—if I can be so base, I know—all I have really to offer. I see Ryan Holiday posting on his Twitter some quotes from Seneca and Marcus Aurelius. And I'm like, well yeah. I just wrote about that little bit of wisdom, here. And then I'll read my post where I did write of it. The wisdom is there—if again I can be so base—but it's just not right still, the post, my writing. I've been forcing it. This informative way—really it's been—in which I've been writing, it's not natural.
All I provide is my writing. Anymore anyway, that's all I provide is my writing—a promise. I'm observant, all my life. I've dragged myself through the mud. I found little diamonds along the way. But I've no idea how to give them back, now that I've dug them from the Earth. So I'll stop forcing it. And I'll just write. If I leave little droppings along the way, then good. If not, well at least I write well, look. An example of good writing you read at least. So your time in not entirely wasted. And maybe I will drop something wise here and there—if it falls out my pockets on accident—if I've indeed got any wisdom at all, that is.
But when I drop that restriction, that I must sound like a sage or something, or a preacher, I feel so free again. And look, only a little lyric from a song can set me off. And off I go, tumbling and bumbling like a bee, stinging whomever I will along the way—in the end only doing the most damage to myself, my stinger spent.
And I can steal inspiration from anything. It's especially easy to steal from other artists, to stand on their backs and then jump-off to wherever you'll go. Maybe a picture is my spring board. Mostly a song is. Art influences art. Birds attract other birds. Bums attract other bums. Be free, and jump. The carpet is lava.