There I was, in the library again

And there she was, ignoring me

It’s not cool or sexy to be reading books

but I started doing it in 2010.

Searching for a big idea,

is a lot like believing in a big idea.

Time runs out, if you’re not careful

and then you’re left with nothing

like all of that hourglass sand,

sifting through your fingers.

You type with those spindly things

and bleed into the paper,

but if there’s nothing there

when you’re done

all that blood

that kept you alive

is wasted.

It’s a transfusion

from your body

to the paper,

and you pray it doesn’t go all over the floor

like a bleeding heart.

Why does a man like me write from his guts?

Because, it’s the gamble I want to take.

So many of us

climb the careful ladders

to nowhere.

We are shaky in our position.

There isn’t much difference between success and failure,

when you’re up there

because

we don’t have our feet rooted in meaning

on the ground.

We stand on wooden stilts

and wonder why

it feels like

we’re off balance.

The female motivates men

to become.

She already is.

And often, it takes decades

to do anything original

and by then, he has figured-out her mystery

and found deeper riddles

elsewhere.

An act of creativity

is an arrow shot in the dark

at an unknown enemy.

It’s a battle

with hidden foes.

It’s a labor of futility, like sandcastles

smothered by the tides.

It might be

the only thing worth doing.

It doesn’t produce anything.

It’s like a path through the forest

that isn’t a path. An artist follows it

like fireflies in the dark.

It’s the sound of music

that only he can hear.

At first, it leads him nowhere

and then

he just enjoys the sound of music.