When asked where does my inspiration come from I must say that I don’t always have a ready answer. It is as if I was the medium through which music is sent from somewhere far away only to be converted into something we can understand and actually hear. In other words, to attempt to find out where music comes from is an attempt in futility.
The little insects all around us are completely mesmerizing should we take the time to actually look at them. They are busy doing their daily things, contributing just as much as we are, to life’s struggle. It’s all beautiful to contemplate.
In an attempt to regain who I am, I usually listen to good music. There are countless studies on the benefits of putting yourself in an environment where the senses are not attacked by damaging stimuli. But, like smoking, the studies tell us one thing while we insist on being stubborn and listening to things that can objectively be categorized as garbage. I guess garbage is to some an acquired taste.