Inspiration is just electrical synapses gone crazy.

Deep in the cathedral of my cranium cloistered in endless brain cells... electricla impulses huddle like monks at prayer...while sin naps comatose as they worship the gods of thought. Soon they take communion with each other breaking free of the nucleas of each cell and drinking the drooble wine.. Suddenly sins naps no more and becomes plural as thousands of synapses dance through the convoluted passages of my brain they chant amazing rhymes and sing out their latest inspration from the cerebrum their feet beating out a stacatto of rhythm for my soul to embrace. Vibrations carry the next creation into my ears so that I can translate thought to song. While all around me other temples containing other synapses set loose, also create astounding works not found in the modern music world. And God the master of all hard drives set into our boney skulls smiles at the buzz and the beauty that is formed by a massive coalition of songcrafters.. Nothing is programmed in our brains it is all inspired and wept out in tiny increments to brighten and enlighten t he world full of those who do not have such impulses and strive at other fields of work while listening to our releases from the stained glass windows of our souls. Matthew F. Blowers III

Matthew Frederick Blowers