Inspiration, Where Art Thou?

I wake up to my alarm clock, like walking into a club, mid-way through a song. A truly awful song at that. I slam it off with the palm of my right hand; contact on the first swing. It’s a talent. Sunday morning, and my blinds work way too well. Or does it? Not really. In fact, it didn’t have to work at all. Winter in Alberta has its pros and cons, and this is definitely a con, there is no sunshine. I take a deep breath, which took a bit of effort as I lay sloppily on my chest. So I turn myself over to face my plain beige ceiling. Indeed, this morning is not meant for an artist.



I’m moody. I blame it on what’s laying next to me on my queen size bed. Now, now. Don’t get too excited. It’s a paperback novel called The Road By Cormack McCarthy. Many of you may have seen the trailer for the motion picture of it in-between whatever reality show is most popular these days, running around with all the other junk ads. The book was a downer, as you can tell. I stare at it as it laid there like a used up hooker, pages spread, the bindings warped and curled to meet my viewing needs. (not that I know what a used up hooker looks like, although there was that one time but that’s another story.) My favorite bookmark sits not far, waiting to be pressed between more literature. I kick the novel off my bed, fearing that the story of a man protecting his helpless, and at times annoying, young boy in a post-apocalyptic world, filled with born-again savages who kidnap and eat anything they can find, would leak into my life and cause endless depression.



None the less, McCarthy supplied great dialogue and a realistic approached to a topic that I use to think was so cool. I mean, imagine surviving an event that destroys the majority of humans on Earth. I use to think that as a survivor, my life would be focus on looting all the great electronics and cars, screaming “hello?” and not getting a response everywhere I go, and repopulating an endangered species, and I ain’t talkin’ about no pandas, naw-im-sayin’ naw-im-sayin’?. Cue porno music…..now! Ohhhhhh yeah. But, thanks to good old Cormack here, I probably wouldn’t be able to get it up, on the account of all the cannibalism going on around me, even if I was with the last woman on earth. (ha ha, if you didn’t get my cleverness there, please get off my blog now! Don’t even read another word. I said stop! Stop it! Go!) I mean human meat in someone’s mouth can be a turn on, but not in this context. At least since I’m small, I would be less desired, prolonging my survival, no? Har Har…Shut up! I’m talking about in regards to food to a cannibal you sickos.
So the disappointment here doesn’t lay in the book at all. In fact, I do a lazy roll over the edge of my bed to pick up the book, give it a dust off, and place it gently on my nightstand. I just didn’t find the inspiration I so desperately needed as a self-proclaimed artist. I give a deep sigh/stretch/yawn and return to a vegetable-type state under my warm level 4 Ikea duvet I purchased a week ago. It still smelt of new, that’s inspiring right? I try to motivate myself. With my left hand I reach for my ribs, tracing a tattoo I had gotten years ago. I’m reminded of the man in the novel. At first, I figured the man had a duty to protect his off spring, out of love. However, as I read on I realized it was more than that. It is apparent that his reason for living IS his boy. In a world so poisoned with the need to survive, this boy represented innocence and pure goodness. The boy reminded the man of a day when he too processed this innocence and goodness. The boy was his inspiration. Somewhere in those pages I remember the boy asking the man, “Why are we the good guys?” and the man said, “Because we carry the fire.” I took it pretty literally at first because they did have a lighter, which in those times was gold, FYI. So keep those lighters somewhere safe you worry warts! In hindsight, I’m pretty sure he’s referring to the boy’s innocence. With this thought I recite the words on my ribs out loud.

A Breathe of Divinity
A Moment of Insight
An Action of Intuition
Bolt from the Blue

The four definition of Inspiration. None of which to be had this gloomy morning. Or is there? I guess there’s nowhere on my ribs that says “only found in the happiest of places.” Inspiration can be found on a gray, cold, ugly, Alberta Sunday morning, just like it can be found in a little boy, in a dark dark world. Hmmmm that sounded pedophile-ish, but I’m too lazy to edit. Point is, I’ve written this far, so I found something, didn’t I? Find yours. Because We Carry The Fire! How's that for inspiration?

*note, upon completing this blog, I take back all negative statements I made regarding the book The Road. All kidding aside, it was a great read.