Inspiration's Older Sister

If there is a trick to being inspired, I'm not sure I'm not sure I know what it is. I've had moments of unbridled creativity, weeks of feverish invention, and words and images lowed from my head, like a multicolored head-wound.

I was mater of creation, and I was in the groove of all things.

Then....

...there are places in Death Valley that have more life in them, in comparison to how lush my mind wasn't. I was dry, parched, devoid of competent thought or idea, and it was as vast as the Sahara, and equally as comforting.

Nothing took hold. I would sit, often times with a classical blank stare, at my television, as I whiplash channel surfed, for hours...literally. Looking for inspiration, in whatever form I could find it in. I searched on the "web", only to be met with the profound abundance of incredibly bad junk. It's like going to a candy-store. Only this candy store is filled with the cheapest, get anywhere for ten pounds for a penny, candy. All bad for you, and will rot your brain as quickly as soaking your teeth in a one hundred percent sugar solution.

Again...I knock upon inspiration's door, only to be met by her manly, mustachioed older sister Agatha.