inspiration is troublesome. it's interesting how when things are flowing it feels like you have so many ideas that you can't stop, that the possibilities are endless, that your field of vision is so wide and your focus so clear that you could write a song or poem or play about anything, about a leaf on the ground, or a piece of gum under a chair or the tiniest moment of irritation registered on a friend's face that they quickly tried to mask before you saw it. and sometimes when i have a camera in my hand i feel like i could make anything look beautiful, that i could find the exact right framing of a dog turd to make it fascinating, or a crumpled piece of paper, or that guy who looks like a child molestor who's always on the 8:00 F train.
and then just as fast and hard, it stops. nothing is interesting, everything is impossible, and everything produced is shit. i must be manic or something.