So driving home last night at 4 a.m. after watching Fear and Loathing, I was in an artistic and introspective mood. And as I struggled to stay awake and on the road, the Current was playing some weird Eurotrash techno that gave way to Beck and I caught myself doing this weird, arsty internal monologue about how I know Beck is a musical genius and all that, but his is the kind of music that leads one to insanity when they're in the altered state of mind that only sleep deprivation can bring on.
And for a minute I thought "Hey, that's pretty fucking eloquent. I should write that down. In fact, I should get back into creative writing. I haven't wirtten anything good for months now. This is the kind of shit I should be doing...you know, like jotting down wry observations of the madness of everyday life"
But then, as always, you wake up in the morning and realize it was just really, really hackneyed crap that every other person vainly trying to make their way in the world of creative work comes up with and it's never entertaining, no matter who writes it.
So I didn't write it down. You can thank me later.