someone had the genius idea of a grow operation.. of course I'm down! I'd say, exuberant. Feeling a bright purpose once more. Move crates in through the walk-in closet. Get a dresser for newly homeless clothes.
I could write a story about a person and a grow operation in the first person. Someone who desires something greatly. The money to pay back an estranged relative perhaps. Maybe to buy a father that old car back from the lot. His fathers old pick up that held much meaning with him. Repossessed. Or a tough financial situation. His father is in a tough financial situation.
But I'd rather let my mind wonder a little more expressively. With no specific direction. Something like a stream of consciousness jam session. Fresh thoughts as they occur though a little more structured than simple random ideas. Otherwise I'd be ranting about back pain, bass guitars, space heaters, balcony lights, one look from you and I'm over, a relaxing beat, locked doors and windows... I would quickly lose that structure and enter a primitive state. Something elastic.
It cleanses. I do not have to describe to anyone why. But it is a meditative, calming state to enter prior to rest and allows the wondering mind to recollect potentially important thoughts and feelings and advancements in the story of my life. My human romance, a legendary tale of exploration and trial and error learning, of hard work and shame, of big moments wasted and little moments precious and remembered forever. To make sense of this life while I'm alive. To write the life down in details beyond immediate observation. The details can come from chemical sparks in my brain. Areas light up. Regions flare up and doctors can analyze the processing of my brain through content, context, Freudian word choices and more, whore.
Recording. Hitting record on a mental tape player. Though it bungles the strips and I'm left with a scattered and wild projector shooting seemingly random or violently abrupt images in flashes on flat surfaces in my periphery. Something secondary that you can only barely think to notice. That is the pulsing inspiration available to us all. An infinite inkwell high above the city. Something to draw from forever and ever. Its the abstract thinking that changes worlds.
