I’m humbly proposing a column proposition with the intention of it coming to fruition, but only with the guidance of an editor wide (mind)eyed enough to listen to my inanities, understanding that inspiration can come from any medium.
I work in the music industry, and I write sometimes in my cubicle when I hear a song so consuming that it’s devoured my mind and spit up an anthology of thoughts that muddle together in what I hear is a jungle gym of interestingly intuitive semantics.
I’m assured that a recurring occurrence of my writing would tickle those who take the time to tap into my thoughts with the same technique I used to initiate inventiveness in this musically induced social experiment. In jargon I’m more likely to vocalize, I begin writing as a stream of consciousness when I feel the “creative genius” (whoever that guy is) coursing through me, music purring in my ears and pawing at my mind. When a single sentence finally sticks, I stop my search, for that genius has found his prey, and I repeat the song it started on, sometimes for an hour. Amongst other factors as any statistician would contend, I like to experiment to see how music influences my train of thought, and find that my writings are a verbal retort to this lyrically induced, actionable meditation.
I write what I think, and what’s more non-fiction than the inner dialogue of an average 25 year old single white female? In reality, my real is really relatable, and I’d adore the ability to share so others could personally piece together the jigsaw puzzle of word play I’ve constructed in each document. Subjectively, my mental capacity is typically limited to a trajectory of within a few hundred words. It is after all the manifestation of a single song, though I appreciate a challenge and am curious to see where a whole album might take me. These indulgences come about daily and I’m quick to crank out thoughts in an hours time or so.
I’m an old soul secreting thoughts much larger than my analytical Virgo self had bargained for at birth. “Lost in thought” was merely where it began, and I’ve been wandering around my mind ever since. I fish for clarity as a survival technique and scout out ideas I can run with to exercise that side of my brain that gets restless if not expressed.
In the literal sense, I plan logistics for traveling artists. Ironically so, as I haven’t even logically planned my own path, but whoever trusts me to do this must have faith that I know the roads less travelled and can steer others in the right direction.
I live in Brooklyn, New York, and my greatest qualification is that I’m me, and no one else, and no one can do me like I do.