Why? Why not? Create.

Why must their always be a point every time we string together our words and ideas into some form of composition or another. Is writing itself not enough of an art that it may not be conducted purely for it’s own sake?

Why must we worry ourselves with developing the purpose prior, when the readers are going to derive their own purposes from it anyways? They don’t care about why we wrote it anyhow. Unless they are trying to understand how you wrote it, than what they truly care about is why they’re reading it. Therefore it is better to say something than to waste your time worrying about what it is you might want to say, and why.

That is not to imply premeditated work is bad; but I’ve never found it particularly sensible to premeditate something which is intended to be original. Rather, I find it best to leave the matter up to unconscious forces. By feeding my brain with masses of whatever stimulus it’s calling for, whether it be visual art, literature, music, social interaction, film etc.

What ensues is a sort of melting pot of creativity; a churning mixture of ideas, sounds, visions, quotes, and words. Than when all is finished, my brain begins to inform me, like my microwave beeping to signal that my peach-hibiscus tea is ready.  If I neglect this task of release, it grows louder and harder to ignore. It does not however signal this verbally. It notifies me in the form of a weird sort of anxiety or pressure.

A pulsing and often painful urgency that grows in intensity the longer I try to fight it off. Never ceasing to torment all levels of my consciousness until I eventually take to pen, keyboard, or instrument. It is the same force that compels me away from mundane and fruitless uses of time. The same that haunts me with every minute I spend working in conventional labor.

It’s as a chain or a rope, always leading me towards the act of creation. Always pulling me through endless acquisition of knowledge and skill building. Persistently dragging me up a hill. A tall mountainous hill that is rocky and often steep. The difficulty of the climb is however irrelevant.

Resistance as well as inaction prove futile,  countless attempts at both have shown  no end save for agony and despair.  If one ignores this calling, they may as well be digging their own grave with their bare hands, only to cowardly crawl inside and await in patient sorrow for starvation and the elements to gradually overcome them.

If one answers the call, they may or may not find success. Whether they do or not is irrelevant; what follows after will be identical either way: building upon what they’ve already created, and striving to out due their current and previous accomplishments with something new. A cycle that will persist for the entirety of their existences.

There may be brief moments of self appreciation upon fulfilling tasks, completing projects and reaching milestones, but that is a light refreshment rather than the true reward. The real enjoyment comes from the process of creation in of itself. The reward is the experience. When you listen to a song, you are not listening merely to have heard it, and likewise when you sing a song you are not singing merely to have sung it.

If you have done something a thousand times, is it because you wanted to perfect it? Or is it because you enjoy doing it so much that you are compelled to do it a thousand times? I don’t believe I could will myself to do something a thousand times if I did not enjoy it or the outcome.

This shows us obsession is no less a source of mastery than dedication. After all what is obsession? You could label obsession a negative trait or a defect and perhaps in extreme instances, or those where the obsession involves detriment to others it is.  However in it’s milder, and more benign or controlled forms is a sort of voluntary dedication. That is to say a peculiar type of dedication that does not seem to require effort, and if it does, it does not feel like it does.

For example someone who is obsessed with a particular author may read all of their books back to back and learn everything that author had to teach, something which for others may feel treacherously boring. They may practice an instrument arduously for hours a day and not for a single minute feel that they are obligated to do so.

We are thus propelled both forward and upward, not by financial necessity nor material enticement, but by spiritual necessity and an insatiable lust for the labors of life in and of themselves. We create not to have created or to be creators but simply for the pleasure to create again.

The sun does not rise to give the energy of light that allows our crops to photosynthesize. It rises because of the earth’s tendencies to rotate and revolve around it. Likewise if someone derives enjoyment or utility from something I wrote, as great as that is, would not make it the reason why I wrote it.

It may be the reason why I choose to distribute some of my work, but I was writing long before that. Just as most painters were like busying themselves with brush in hand long before anybody genuinely enjoyed their work. Ergo if one is going to pursue something anyways, they may as well attempt to make the most out of it.

If you take the time to craft or create your going to get better over time. Similarly if you do something consistently, why not put in the effort of doing it well? Arduous practice aside, this may consist of studying the deeper logic behind it,  acquiring related skills and sub skills that directly or indirectly lend support to the primary, and finding new ways to adapt and apply these skills to different areas and patterns of creation in order to manifest innovative ideas and solve new types of problems.

If we take the time to develop a craft which could lend to the entertainment and utility of others, why not distribute it? If your gonna work on something regardless of weather or not it earns you wealth, why not do so in a way that opens up the potential to earn wealth with it?

I  like many creative types, started writing without any purpose beyond feeling a sort of internal need to write. As we continue however, we create new opportunities for additional purposes. In a similar sense you could call this article is a microcosm of that phenomena

Furthermore if you do the right thing for the right reasons, does that permit one the right to expect the right results? Maybe not, but it ought too. To some of you this article may not have said a word. Some of you might be a little more adept at reading between the lines. If a picture tells a thousand words than certainly a thousand words must paint a picture. What kind of picture did this paint for you?





This is it.

Take careful notice of the fifth diamond.

Ignore the rampant bustle which beats like a drum.

Should you leave, forget where you came from.

Rise, proceed.

Where thence were we off to?

To supply an answer would only serve to dull the fun.

Still they’d tread ever so slightly behind.

Our ironically innocent anti-hero. Whom many would fail to mark as evil in the public eye.

Was indeed anti-heroic. Their acts of heroism and selflessness were not uncommon.

Yet perpetually plagued by flaws of character. The type Only a misfit or a nihilist would idealize. For now.

His thought process, especially in terms of ethical evaluations was quite unique.

He had an almost backwards ability of self justification. He always had for every positive moral decision he made, a selfish backup reason.

Almost as if lacking desire to admit he was doing the right thing just too do it.

If everyone believes their own effort to do the right thing, who really is?

How is the right thing any better than the left thing?


I felt that.

Felt what?



No clue. Semi-clue. Artifact.

Noises continually find their way to my perception.

The vision of one is anothers radar.


Don’t auto pilot your poisons.

Perhaps I ought not dictate after being so hostile toward the bottle.