Mi Nombre Es Mateo

(via holidaymatinee)

Something I always wonder about when it comes to creativity is the quandary over when to do one’s work. I’ve always found that great work doesn’t necessarily mean hours of forced concentration. Sure, that has it’s place when you’re talking about delivering on a project, but more often than not I find creative pursuits to be more about catching a wave – a right place, right time kind of thing. When is that time for you? Do you fancy yourself an early morning lark, a night owl or just somewhere in between? And why do we always use birds for these metaphors anyways? It’s like either way we just want to tell people we’re fly.

I know I’m not a lark. I detest mornings and can’t understand why I’d need to talk to anyone before 9AM. Hit me up at 1:37AM and that’s cool though. Even if I establish a sleep pattern to be functional in the early morning, it never feels as good as starting the day a bit later. The thing I’ll readily admit is I enjoy aspiring to be a night person. There’s a certain sexiness that follows the label and I love how it feels to create something you believe is brilliant in the late hours. I’m about to sound like I’m just getting high every night, but it’s as if the daytime is gridlocked with interference from everyone going about their business. At night, my mind is free to breathe and use any transmission or channel I’d like. But enough about me. Who do you think is the most productive…creative…awesome?

my idea of love is sitting on a beautiful train in silence

staring and communicating with only blinks and smirks

after a long bout of quiet interaction we break and laugh uncontrollably as we cheers

“to the worlds demise”

with expensive champagne in our hands

“to our demise”

well fix it we say, only we can

right now, the world

well create our perfection out there, at the next stop

it could take years

it could take decades

I could live in a world that’s like a silent movie

shut the fuck up, you’re ruining it

just let us write the score

let us paint the world in our custom hue

let us orchestrate peoples movements

you would all move to well choreographed dance hits

let us dress the world in cloth they can be proud of

then lets escape it all

you and I

there’s no point in living with perfection for long

it’s best to watch something absolutely beautiful fall

and beauty is perspective, our perspective

lets watch it fuck up from afar, it’s ok, it’s ours

someone else will fix it again

well move to deep jungles and build a giant treehouse

well sail around the world

well hear news of the world we created

the dance steps are off, the color is muted, the cloth has torn

well be happy to die knowing it did

nothing lasts

we gave it the best chance we could give

at our end

well sink our boat too, well burn our forest, well rip our clothes

well blast a tacky song as we de-rail the train