What turns me on?
Neither light switches nor cute guys with no shirts.
In reality, it’s pursuits of the mind. Art. Poetry, philosophy, literature, and the like. Searching for spirituality at three in the morning while endless-momentum birds dip their inquisitive beaks into glasses of water. Listening to my dad’s vintage Led Zeppelin records as I stare at my ceiling, which morphs into pictures, depending on how long I gaze. This turns me on.
I’ve heard that when one’s senses are compromised, the others are heightened. I understand this to be true. Closing my eyes, sometimes, helps me perceive things that I could not observe otherwise . Being able to circumvent normal human limits. This turns me on.
Writing poetry based on experience, not dogma-directed rhyme schemes. Recurring themes and feelings that, when written stanza by lonely stanza, is therapy for my soul. Because inspiration is derived from classical melodies and lyrical passion. This turns me on.
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