A few weekends ago, a buddy of mine had brought me six pack of Stillwater Artisanals’ “of Love & Regret.” He knows I love a good Belgian saison. The heather, chamomile, lavender, and dandelion team that makes this Baltimore Belgium-inspired beer dynamic, and the 7% ABV is nothing to turn your shoulder at.
Aside the picture on the carrier immediately capturing my eye, what written upon the side still makes me smile:
We writers try to create and paint a picture without acrylics or watercolors or oils or sprays or any other form paint can come in. We have our own voices, but we are intrigued and inspired by others; taking this into consideration, it’s about creating our own dynamic work that can inform and entertain. Inspiration is never intended, but hoped. When you write to inspire, the piece loses flavor. It’s the improv artist, trying to be funny instead of organically creating a piece of artistry that has naturally has flavor. It’s similar to adding salt to your food before you taste it. And speaking of palates, oftentimes we try to create something tasteful from something distasteful without losing that saucy sarcasm.
And, damn, it is difficult. How can this difficulty and challenge not be loved? It’s strongly favored that if you can’t embrace these challenge, perhaps you shouldn’t be writing.
This time last year, I was hellbent on writing everyday for this blog. Not once, with the exception for this piece, have I written or updated this month. Then, again, the opportunities and outlets, the hats that I’m wearing, were not available this time last year. It’s a significant improvement, but it should not be an excuse to let this baby of mine go neglected.
The post-Syracuse New Times (The Inevitable Coffee Ring) pieces haven’t been produced in a long while, which adds up to a couple weeks. In “blog time” this is a long time. On the business side of things with Kinani Blue, posts are becoming more and more frequent. So, midst these outlets, come November, I’m going to embark on the daily post mission again.
Hold me to it, hold it against me. It’s game time. Not sure how it’s going to work out, but it has to work.
The only thing that will prevent me from updating in “No Hold Back” November, is the circumstance of my consideration about moving. Yes, I said it: moving. It’s not definitive, but the opportunities and challenges are not here. We can pretend everything is going smoothly, but the small city that is Syracuse has plenty of wait time. Just like construction and road projects, everything takes longer than it should. And if there isn’t a business that will provide that ideal “funding” (income) for me; well, it’s time to put on the big boy pants and take a giant leap.
There is a lot of inspiration in Central New York. A lot of people don’t look for it, but I personally keep my eyes peeled much of the time, and a pen and paper are within an arm’s length. It’s probably why my Thursday Espresso Shot posts are so intentionally strange. There is a desire to not look at the world with the same eyes as the average Joe/Jo Blow. And the average Joe or Josephine Blow wants to make a name for themselves here, and they grow impatient with being themselves.
There are those individuals who wait for something to happen to jump on the bandwagon with. In one case, a matter I’ve touched on before, the duplicitous mind does what it needs to when wanting to get ahead. In this case, the egoist stumbles upon and takes the original material or an opportunity, sees the vitality of the notion, latches upon it, sucks some blood out of it, boasts the exchange of some saliva and bodily fluid, and the leech can go full-blown parasite on its host. From a hashtag, an obvious and call-the-kettle-black intention is created, and the leech is gluttonous for newly acquired attention. The leech then takes other ideas around itself and banks off of other ideas to step ahead, and this includes materials, social media, images and video, names, and slogans. However, as a reminder, this mentality resides within the disheveled and indolent body.
Hence, the leech; it just sits there and sucks. And when the parasite actually makes a public appearance, the cuff of the pant is rolled up to reveal its feasting, the slime ball looks as if it rolled over and out of bed.
There is nothing I or anyone can do, but just wait. Just in regard to everything else.
And love — Oh, love! Those matters of the heart pertaining towards those, those who make our hearts flutter and our guts wrench with adoration?
Well, that’s another story. And one must tread lightly, because the Muse is relatively unpredictable. She will sneak up behind you, and sometimes hand-in-hand with “The One.”