Inspiration Deprived

Okay, I'm really angry right now, so I'm just gonna type what I feel, type away my woes and worries and get myself inspired again through the tried and true method of self-motivation. Wish me luck, and beware that this blog post probably won't be very readable by the time it's finished, for I don't intend to slow down or edit it to make it beautiful. No, this particular piece of prose is going to be written and submitted in the rawest format ever inspired by the boy who went fishing off of the moon, what a loon!

I want to be inspired, but I don't know how to get myself inspired. I've tried websites, movies, interviews, blogs, and all of the other methods of consuming a product created for the sole purpose of dipping some form of value into someone's think fluid, but hardly any of them has even given me a single drop of the need to create, so I am resorting to the most selfish and probably failing way imaginable, typing my inspiration on some stupid blog that no one reads.

It really pisses me off how hard it is to get my thoughts into words when I know that I was able to do it very very well just a few months ago. I feel like I'm slipping into dumbness, like all my mind wants to do is get stupider and stupider, and nothing I've tried has gotten it out of this mode of running. I need to shift it up somehow, but I don't know the way; however, I am a very stubborn person, so I don't intend to ever give up searching for it. I suppose you could call this post, a method or a medium as I like to call them, of searching.

Inspiration comes when you grab it, right? No, not exactly, not to me.

About a year ago, no, more than a year ago, I felt extremely uninspired about writing, like I was always destined to fail and that it could never be a fun activity when I had to do it, but something changed me, and that something was my writing teacher. What made him stand out from all the other teachers was that he actually did the writing with us. When he was teaching the class how to write a paragraph, he didn't just explain what a paragraph was; he explained that there are different kinds of paragraphs then he wrote an example paragraph on the board by using their suggestions. He also gave them a system for writing essays on any subject, a foolproof one that was incredibly easy to apply, made writing fun, and, when I tested it in another class, got me constant A's.

But it wasn't just that he taught me writing, for he also taught me how interesting writing could be. He had us do several readings throughout the semester, as per the usual for a writing class, but the way that he explained them after we read made them incredibly engaging. I had no idea that you could dig so deep into a bunch of words and actually find relevant and interesting concepts. The way he explained what metaphor's were and how often we used them in normal life and the way he explained how sad, depressed, lonely, and pitiful J. Alfred Prufrock was were only a few of the many, zillions it seems when looked back upon, of subjects that he dove me into.

I feel totally uninspired to continue writing about that. Do you want to know why? Probably not, but I'm gonna give you the answer anyways. I feel ashamed of how bad my writing is right now, and if I give credit to my writing teacher or to any amazing teachers I've learned under, I want to do it in the most readable understandable way possible, so that they don't seem like a bunch of random saps some random kid on the internet wrote about for no particular reason. In other words, they mean to much for me to write about them illegibly.

One of my writing teacher's favorite sayings was "everything's an argument," and I think it applies nicely in this context. If I write with bad grammar about how good my writing teacher was at teaching grammar, I become an instant hypocrite, or something like that. I want to write well, yah! I do; I do; I do; I do!

I really really really do! I need to get the words out of my brain and onto the screen, so I can put them back into my brain in the right order by looking at them from an insider's outsider's perspective. My brain is so muddled up right now, that that sentence made perfect sense to me. Does that make me crazy, or stupid? Is there a difference?

When one is crazy, it usually connotes that he or she is obsessed with something and can't rest for even a second not thinking about it, while when one is stupid, it usually connotes that he or she is.... AM I REALLY THAT BRAIN MUDDLED? AHHHH! COME ON! Of course there's a difference between crazy and stupid. A crazy person thinks too much, while a stupid person doesn't think at all! That's got to be the biggest difference ever, yet I coulnd't recognize it! Man, I must really be going insane! Or am I just becoming stupid? Gah, not again! Let me break free. I want to break free; freedom, come to me. Oh, there's something to talk about.

Freedom can't come to me, because freedom is not something one can possess. Freedom is merely an idea, a forging within the mind, so it lacks the ability to take any sort of physical form. You could say, therefore, that it's also a state of the mind, since it is a thought, or an idea, a concept, a flying flower planted inside the soil of the mind! It can only be associated with or attached to persons, places, and things; it can never become said items. That is why I'm tired of writing about it. Because it's just as stupid idea and my mind doesn't want to think about it right now, but I am in control of my mind, so I'm going to jolly well think about it; I know that I want to, now, and there's no stopping me from thinking about it at all. (please forgive me if I get repetitive; I'm exercising my brain through expressions)

What is freedom? How can one find it? I already said that it's an idea, but lets suppose that it's a physical, touchable object, what then? Supposing truth were a woman, what then? Supposing Nietzsche were a Religion, what then? Would that not make him a suicidal ol' fool? He spent his life looking at things and comparing them to other things, but the vast majority of things he looked at were letters, so how within real life is he really? I need to know this in order to argue against him, which I seem not capable of without looking stupid, for I don't even know how to interpret half of what he says. He is German, after all, and that's a language I have absolutely no brain containment of. (ha, you thought I was gonna say something else, didn't you?)

Oh, if I could only break free of this contempt of not being able to write. I think it's some sort of spiral that I have to jump out of, or maybe I have to be pulled out of it by someone else. Hey, there's a thought! And it fits perfectly in with that thing I said about my teacher like, ummm, lets see, forever ago! I was in a spiral of depression, or uninspiration, rather, and my writing teacher pulled me out of it. And right now (by the way I keep typing write when I want to say right; does that mean I'm losing it [whatever it is]?) I am in that sort of spiral and I need a helping hand to pull me out, an outside source of inspirational grip. Yes! By heaven! Oh most pernicious idea! Villain, smiling, Damned Villain! My tables meet; it is, I set it down, that one may smile and smile and be a villain! At least I'm sure it may be so in my mind! (cause shakespeare quotes are ftw, amirite?)

Now this is the end of the first of maybe many blog posts that suck the time from your life; oh, but time is not really an object it is a happening, so in theory, it can't really be taken away from anyone because no one owns it. It's really energy that you own, and you're deceiving yourself if you say that that's not the case. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Goodbye and I hope you got something out of this. I know I sort of did and didn't at the same time, so yeah! Happy interneting!