The Next

There are days when the creative swell is so juicy, there is nothing left but to put Seven Nation Army on loud and head bang words until they bleed from fingertips.

This is the thing about depression, about the roller coaster months, that cannot be underestimated. If a little blue pill could take away the highs and lows, replacing them with an even stroll, that pill would get flushed every time, without hesitation.

When the moment hits, when sparks click the time and place to produce something of tangible value, there is no price point that can measure it; there are no sacrifices deep enough to deny its allure. I am a willing soldier against the lukewarm masses. Those tragic days stack higher than bliss, and this is understood, it’s the nature of the beast. If one great sentence comes at the cost of a hundred duds, then one great life comes at the cost of daily psychological warfare. Our march on the status quo can only be as strong as our willingness to endure uncertainty.

Today is a church bell. It rings out against odds, it lifts and makes promises, it sings in the universal voice of a faith we hold in high regard…not religious faith, but the faith of artists in the next stroke, the next word, the next.

Long live despair and the hope it affords us, from comedians to philosophers. How else could we pay for days like these?