I'm bringin' mojo back

I'm listening to one of my favorite albums ever, and it's one of those great three albums that came out in the summer of 2006. Keane's Under the Iron Sea album. SO perfect- and the guy sung perfectly in concert too, everything was perfect, just, wow.

This is the kind of album that channels my creative energy and just puts it all out there. But, right now, it's coming slowly. Thanks to all this mathematical analysis, I pause too frequently to make sure everything's right. I haven't really been able to just put it out there--especially not today at work; today was completely wrong, just wrong--but I think it's getting time that my creative spirit revive for me. And it's doing that, I'm pretty sure.

There was this one day that was just kind of bad at work, a few weeks ago, and for some reason I just broke down. I'm not afraid to admit it. I died, felt horrible, went to sleep, woke up a creative zombie, and I felt everything come back. Piano, I got the lyricism back. DDR, I remembered what's good and what's bad. Frisbee, I knocked down like 5 passes. Math, I got a corollary. But forget math for now. I still don't see how math involves being creative. Being creative is pulling something out of a formless nothing. Doing math is always pulling back from something with a lot of form, too much form. I'm getting sick of it--just in time for a year of no math.

The one thing I don't like about this is that I look in the mirror and I can see these ugly bags in my eyes. What I've been looking for since the end of senior year was a way to be this creative and not have this horrendous feature on my face that seems to indicate I'm not fully alive--to separate sleeplessness from getting shit done and having fun doing it.

That's what I had freshman year, first semester. I know, I know--but not everyone has a good first semester. I did. I don't intend to relive it; but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to have what I'm talking about. Especially during the summer.

Well, work ends in 12 days. Good.

By the way, that makes three friends in about a week talking about going somewhere far away and not coming back (one of them actually did it--though I haven't hung out with him seriously since before high school started). Make sure you know that's fantasy, or at least a fantasy called the unknown, distant future. I shouldn't be talking (junior year ahoy, raise the top-sail), but I guarantee you I'll come back. And I already know I'll miss home. But I knew that before I left for Michigan. I already missed home.

I'll point out something, though--the end of the freewrite below is one of the best things I've seen in a long time... it's in another world, though... be not confused; it's not this one.

And sometimes worlds intersect.