As I suppose is obvious I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about the creative process. I’m interested in how to facilitate it, how to hone it, how to be creative on command as opposed to waiting on the wings of fate for ideas to appear. It’s the mystery of creativity that beguiles me. Even if I accomplish a goal – say, writing a fugue – I have no confidence I’ll be able to repeat it because I’m not sure how it did in the first place. Nothing about creativity is predictable.

In a sense, it’s very similar to sexual relations. You meet a nice girl and think, “I should ask her out.” But then you wonder, “What if we have a few dates and then one evening find ourselves back at her place, about to commence sex? (It would only take a few dates because all women are whores these days.) What if I can’t get it up and she looks at me with puppy dog dissappointment and then tells me it’s best if I leave? Or what if I do get it up and we have sex and I immediately ejaculate? And she says, “Is that it? You better get that thing hard again because I’m NOT SATISFIED!” And I say, “Please, just give me some time… I’m trying,” and she says, “Did you hear me motherfucker!! Get that thing hard or my cholos gon’ come in here and bus’ up your face!! I’m not satisfied!!!! I’m not satisfied!!!,” and “I say, “Please, don’t hurt me… wait, almost there… aw, doggonit,” and she says “Cholos! Cholos! Come in here….!!!!!”

Just to be clear, in that metaphor, the women is the creative force.