I want to get to the place where inspiration flows. It grabs my hand, pulling it across the page as fast as my thoughts can fly and I don’t want to stop it. I want to let it run free and wild like a child introduced to a field, running under the blue sky, the yellow gold sun. All of this, hand aching, to create spur of the moment, forming squiggles that are communication themselves. Saying things, yelling things. Untethered. Isn’t it always about finding freedom? Find that emotion, those notes that bring it wailing to the surface. The guitar, the piano, a single voice, speaking truth, deep truth about life, about death, about how hard it all is, to stop the screams or to start them, to release, to let go for once, to know that you are genuine, human.