sleepless statement

I always end up here in spite of my best intention. Walking the hallways whispering to myself in bare feet about the sleep I have missed and the day that will shorten to night. Prophecy is the hypocrisy of the enlightened. He will not see his end draw near. Whatever is the cry of the vapid who sit vacant in their stools thumbing through social media dribbling disguised thought or opinion. Leave me alone, the cry of the co-dependent. Another sleepless night to slide into the day that follows.

What am I doing here? The cry of the existentialist. After forty years on this rock, I'm still not sure. I'm not really sure if the question is valid or answerable. I have learned to stick with the things I am good at and nurture them. I've often been told that you should only do what you know how to do well. It has been many years since I wrote anything on a regular basis, none the less on a nearly daily basis. I was in college creative writing courses where I quickly learned the only reason to be there is for criticism from your peers. All else is exercise, practice and repetition, in other words, things that can all be done on ones own time and dime. As with many things, the daily grind of living life and age tarnish the gleam and glitter of things that were once romantic, shiny, and new. These things get put on a shelf, in many ways, and aren't used or seen in the same way again. As a business owner I still write frequently and my education adds professionalism and confidence to the product I put out. I have also funneled my visual arts into drafting, design, and implementing design. In other words, my skills are still utilized and not lost, but changed, dulled perhaps. I have come to realize over the years that these skills or "gifts" can also be burdens. They are muscles, that when not properly exercised, fall into atrophy and fade. They become a dead weight that blocks the exits for the soul and that soul festers in a cage feeding off it's own madness. I have come to learn these exists must remain cleared for the mind to be at ease and peace. I have kept these exits mostly cleared through music and mad scribblings over the years and occasionally my work clears the debris. It is both melancholic and liberating to think of creatives and creativity in  this manner, but I think most would agree with me. With out producing, with out their work, madness breeds in the soul as if it were a fecund swamp in the spring time. Creativity is a living thing and like all living things feels a procreative imperative. It must produce or die in the process. This brings me to the point of this prattling.
What am I doing here?
Specifically on this blog in this instance. Why would I accept an invitation to a daily dose of self prescribed homework?
I intend to use this blog to exercise the literary muscles with in me that are in a state of atrophy, to clear out the doors, the windows, and the halls. To sharpen the sword. I feel somewhat accomplished by my many years of successfully running a business, but I feel something is missing. I have felt my life drifting back towards the arts as a necessity for my soul. I endeavor to once again do the things I was made to do. This venue will force production, some terrible and unreadable, I have no doubt. I won't begrudge anyone who doesn't read much of what I write here, I may not reread much of it myself. My co author and I have shared a bond through our prose for many years. A bond that is still very strong as was demonstrated to me already in the early stages of this project. I had written something having not read his most recent offering. Upon review there were a lot of similarities. We both referenced a story of a hero and his luck dragon, and seem to be roughly on the same page without having discussed it. I expect that our individual offerings will be serendipitous in many ways and will naturally intentionally and unintentionally intertwine.

I loved the idea of 1000 words or a picture that is worth as many every day. I accept that this task will be difficult at times, especially because of my life long list of technical difficulties that I'm sure will continue to plague me. However, I will do my best to put out 7 items per week, even if they are not put out on time or daily for myself, for my brother in letters, for the project, and perhaps for leaving an occasional timeless fruit for others to enjoy or to inspire.
Some of this will be streams of babble, some stories pushing their way into the world. Some structured and thought out, some not. Some days that link up into weeks, some single expressions. Some good, some bad, some very ugly. I'm not sure what will come of all of this other than habit, exercise, and production, but in these early stages my feelings are already good and my mind brims with ideas.
I'm all in and will do my best J.