It’s funny because I think there’s a very strange (actually incredibly obvious) relationship between intelligent people and incapacity. You have a bunch of ideas that come to you intuitively that you see coming into fruition years later and you think to yourself ‘i thought of this years ago’, like it’s just some random memory of the day you were pouring salt on a slug in your grandpa’s garden.

I think what fascinates me, though, is this weird fragmentation between the inner and outer world and how individuals can live within this incredibly rich inner world while their outer world is absolutely mundane. I’m not saying that it exists for all people. I think there’s enough proof out there with the likes of Bowie, Madonna, Dali, etc., that you can generate something creative and bring it into manifestation relatively quickly to create this gloriously artistic and quasi-metaphorical life – but that seems like such a minuscule % in real life.

Like, I’m not saying everyone is destined for greatness because even empirically that’s not possible. We’re not all here to experience some creative Shangri-La and trip balls while painting our fucking ancestors from 5,000 years ago. BUT, why do so many people not attempt a creative feat in the first place? Why do so many great ideas wither and die? Or are these just collective ideas that swirl in our communal juices until someone picks one up and tries it out?

I know there are a ton of factors, proof, and even scientific-based evidence to say ‘blabla it’s your nervous system’ and ‘blablabla my inner child thinks I’m a loser’ and whatever. I believe in this research completely; I just find it really pathetic when it’s used as justification. Anyway, I get that our life experiences can sink us into the sand, but then, why does the artistic brain continue to flourish even when everything is meaningless around them? Why do the ideas and inspiration and poetry of life’s experiences still continue to haunt us? How can you be so stuck in your body but so free in your mind?

This actually was the whole fucking misunderstanding of the ‘tortured artist’. I think Žižek said something about Van Gogh being happy when he painted and that this craft was a form of relief for him, away from his absolutely miserable daily life. It’s correct. Creativity should be a form of abandonment of our bodies and minds, and we should allow ourselves to live in a faux world where all our dreams come true; where we become successful and loved, and maybe even happy for the first time in our lives. But why do we remain there? Why do we get stuck there? Why do we not bring these ideas into reality? At least Van Gogh did something with himself.

The relationship with intelligence, art, and the ability to live in disillusionment is really rather astounding. We can convince ourselves of absolutely anything. He’s good for me. This job will work out. I’ll make my money back, yada-yada-yada. NO. WRONG. You are lying to yourself – the ultimate betrayal. It’s so easy to live in that world though. I wanna tell people that they’re –stupid for doing it, but that would be potentially the most hypocritical thing i did in my life.

I don’t know. I think creative ruts are normal. We’re do function like the seasons and sometimes the heart must experience its winter. We all know this. But when spring comes and the flowers bloom and the clouds part and we’re ready to venture back outside, do we prefer to continue living a continual summer in our heads, and forget to welcome back the flowers.