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#CreativeInsomniac

#CreativeInsomniac

Written on 4:54AM

On Wednesday, 

March 4th, 2015
I despise the fact that I’m writing at this moment, not so much the writing aspect of it, however it’s the fact that all my greatest prose projects appear in my head close to the dawn. On occasion, I have woken from a deep slumber in the wee hours of the morning to extract creative juices from my skull. At times I feel stronger than those around me sometimes even arrogant that my ideas can stem beyond my control, beyond sleep- yet it seems I am one of many. How many of you reading this now have felt a dying desire for rest but become plagued with mindless thoughts as your pillow hits your head? I’d like to believe this is the mark of a special type of thinker- a creator. Musicians, writers, and artists alike are understood to be best at their most eccentric, often referred to as a little crazy but ‘not in a bad way’. It seems to me that sometimes insomnia often comes as part of the deal- a blessing and a curse. 

If I recall correctly, half of my writing last month was written on the cusp of exhaustion, and my newest song-writing attempt was hashed out from midnight till five in one long-night’s work. This ability (or curse) to loose sight of your most basic needs for the sake of creativity is an heirloom inherited for the purpose of breaking expectations, setting new goals, and conquering your imagination – passed down by the awe spoken masters of the old world. Dalí confessed his greatest works came to him in the drowned of the morning, staving off sleep for better brush strokes. Though it can hardly be said that insomnia is the mark of a genius, it’s what you will choose to make of it when you stay up that has the final say . As a 23 year old male who loves writing before anyone’s woken up- my solution to other creative insomniacs is to get your thoughts out on paper or canvas, then see if the bed feels softer. For some, however I think we’ll just keep writing. 

~TheLionWriter 

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Posted by on May 26, 2015 in Journal Entries, Readings, Writings

 

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Before the Dawn

My favorite moments

lay close before the dawn,

sheepish hours of yesterday

clinging to the lawns

stillness laughs triumphant

and casts the birdsongs off

purple-lighted murals

enchanted by the stars

cloaked in desperation

longing for moon’s pause

shrouded with light’s gauze

in ever-changing awe.

 
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Posted by on February 23, 2015 in Journal Entries, Readings, Writings

 

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Just Bustadelic Lyrics- *(Plans)*

Behold! EVEN NEWER Lyrics from my psychedelic funk blues rock band, Just Bustadelic. This new song is an older tune we are juster starting to rehash and I decided it only fitting to not only post the new lyrics here but a link to a shoddy video recording demo of a song written by our guitarist, Bill all about THELIONWRITER!

ENJOY!

 *(PLANS)*

You’re tied, to this scene, you’re in

swimming, daydreams, crashing

sour-cherried, secrets, roll in

so keep, your motor, running

_

No More Plans,

Cus they never come to be

And in that moment can we Seize

Who you want to be… (x2)

_

So tired, you can barely swim

thrashin’, in fake, oceans

and clouded, stars, teleporting

to make sure, you’re still, floating

_

And the moss shakes

open leaves to breathe,

and the sun still,

sets to greet the sea

and the bird flies

only on belief,

That life is planned to be

 
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Posted by on February 20, 2015 in Music, Writings

 

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#sevenoclock

There are potholes in my floor

from all my constant pacing,

my pillows, all grown cold

from lack of me there sleeping

incense fills the air

and wavers like the evening

thoughts sputter to my page

to whisper lucid mute things

in ears that do not hear  for

morning work draws ever near…

and my pen begs me to stay there,

seven’ o’clock and my head is all but clear

WRITTEN ON 6:25AM, 2/13/14

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2015 in Journal Entries, Writings

 

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Video

Art and the Subconscious

The deepest parts of yourself can be explored through creation and productivity ~thelionwriter

 

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Writing

Writing
Not an escape,
But a freedom, yes
phrases drip on the page
This, the stain of my brush
Otherworldly thoughts slip from my head
Somewhere up above my art has been shed
Like a light upon me
To train my hands
To teach not only one but all
A crutch for when I do fall
A support to lean on
A dream to cling to
A finite lovely path to explore
Yet ridden with bristles, stickers, and thorns
This new way to live is all I’ve asked for.

 
 

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