Creativity is an intriguing mistress for me, to say the least. She comes in big beautiful waves. I kneel at the mercy of the wind, to blow and for my sails to catch her. In order to ride in that wide open mental space, where time's presence fades, and all earthly cares fall away. A space so pure, so fulfilling, that some men go mad chasing her. Some men wall themselves from the world in fear of losing her beauty, others only know her from a passing encounter. She in all her cruelty is what I lust for. My devotion is selfish and naive, based on pleasure and longing. When she looks into my eyes I feel whole, I feel connected, and alive. I cling to the hope that she is there when I wake and when she is not, that the winds blow her home again.