To all those with lonely hearts
rebellious minds but reserved parts,
Forget solace, forget peace-
the jittery souls with endless needs.
Take a breather, beer or wine;
Ah! The taste of the Divine
Take a glass, two cubes of ice,
& a starry night will, too, suffice.
You know what makes you write? It isn’t inspiration. It’s this dire need to get something out of you. The escapist in you comes alive when you write.
Now don’t think of “escapist” as a negative word. No. Escapism is a feeling. A feeling of either escaping, heart and soul, into the place that you’re at; or escaping away from it. And I assure you, the latter is a most terrible feeling!
Do you know what home feels like? Secure. Free. Even if you’re lost, you know you have people and places around you that will make you feel found again.
Do you know how feeling the totally opposite of that is like?Like you’re trapped in the ruins of an ancient monument. And this monument resides in a civilised, alive, inhabited land. There are places and people that just might make you feel at home. Except, you are still lost. Lost like you’ll never be found again. Like this new land with ruins of a monument has no outwardly connections to the world that you have known growing up.
And you can hear voices, that tell you that all of this will go away. That you’ll find home again. But you just can’t seem to agree with it.
Incidentally, it is also night time and the Moon is full. Yellow. Like it’s almost slyly telling you that it has finally owned all of the light it ever borrowed from the sun. And now the sun is exhausted. The night will never see the day. Nothing will be the same.
And this leads to escapisim out of a given place. The escapism you can do anything for.