I coined a new phrase tonight – artist’s insomnia. It’s what happens when, usually after a period of immense blockage, all of the juiciest thoughts and ideas and epiphanies and inspiration come flooding in… at the ripe time of 1:11am. Nights like these remind me that time is just a training wheels protocol keeping our psyches from breaking down. Like trying to load up Facebook on a flip phone. Unfortunately, artist’s insomnia doesn’t follow a circadian rhythm. If time is just a concept, then an artist transcends it, no more training wheels. Because what is an artist if not an inconvenient human vessel for all the universe’s most precious truths?
