The poet

I love writing and thinking to good music, as the poetry seems to flow easier. Now I could not tell you if this was on account of some brain function or process that relaxes or stimulates part of my thinking. Perhaps it is that sweet melodies interact with part of my creativity that I do not usually access. Music as they say, calms the savage beast, but my savage beast is no over abundance of testosterone... My savage beast consists of inner voices in opposition, who all claim to be correct.

And while usually I will give them an audience, and allow them to sway my opinions in one way or another, the voice of the poet inside me is often quelled into submission. As if they say "beauty can serve no purpose, descriptions must be absolute" without passion for meter or grace. And while certainly I love the standards for critical thinking... They leave a mind hungering for nourishment it cannot ingest from such methodical systems of prose.

It is the poet inside me now who speaks, and while I have nothing important to say, because my passion at the moment is only of whimsy and grammatical gaiety... it feels quite wonderous to let my poet have the stage.

Music