When I write, I often start by listening to music. It lets my mind drift off to the far unknown reaches of my subconscious. Music does this thing in my brain, mind you, it's almost like it flips on a projector. And oftentimes, it plays out like scenes from a movie in my head. Sometimes, it's horrible. Earlier today, I imagined the transgendered Bob Dylan that is Cate Blanchett singing "I Wanna Be Your Lover, Baby" to a man. (And it wasn't sensational, it was Shakespeare, mannnn...) And sometimes, it's scenes from a movie on some alternate planet.
I used to aid this with the help of a tasty beverage- usually Jameson, cola and lime. I call it a Boston Rush (all the trainspotters in my life know why). I don't do this as much as I used to. Empty bottles of Canadian Club and Segrams strewn about your workspace only works for so long. But I always enjoyed the process of throwing monkey wrenches into the mental process and seeing what sort of darwinistic germs rose to the surface. The pure, the true ideas, I figured would float to the surface and present themselves cause if ever they were gonna make a jailbreak, this was it.
I don't use these methodologies like I used to. Work and life and relationships don't allow it. Time is at a premium and until I get paid to do this for a living, it's going to continue to be this way. I won't lie. Some nights, I really miss it.
But know that tonight, I am blasted and obliviously dancing away on some crappy underground dancefloor in Berlin somewhere where the dj is playing crappy American lo-fi techno- even if only in my head.
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