 Having been an artist for as long as I can remember, I never seemed to have a problem finding inspiration for my creations. Whole worlds of unending diversity and vastness seemed to flow from my mind as effortlessly as breathing. So you can imagine my discomfort the morning I woke up and drew a blank. I didn't really notice it at first, but as I peered at the remaining milk in the bottom of my cereal bowl, it dawned on me that I had made it through an entire serving of Lucky Charms without pausing to jot down an idea or two in my sketchbook. As the day continued, so did the empty feeling within me. I couldn't believe it--I had lost all inspiration. Never being content to accept an ill hand of fate, I decided the rememdy for my dilema would be to travel the world. Certainly amidst the vast wonders of our planet I could find something that would kick my creative juices back into high gear. So off I went. My journey took me through the lush jungles of South America and across the icy plains of the Antarctic. Skirting past the fiords of New Zealand and over the barren outback of Australia. Continuing north, I jumped from New Ginuea to Malaysia, and then pushed my way through the bustling cities of Japan. Crossing the Yellow Sea I found myself in mainland China, but still without anything to stir my muse. From there I zig-zagged my way across Russia to Europe where I spent my time exploring ancient castles and quaint little towns. Then down through the ruins of Egypt towards Cape Horn. I thought I had found it on the coast of Africa, but it was only a grain of sand from the Sahara caught in my eye. It wasn't until I wandered between the villages of Tibet that I came any closer to achieving my goal. Yet here, amogst flocks of goats on the plateau of the world did I hear rumors of a wise old man living deep within the Himalayas. So I tightened the straps on my pack and followed word of mouth into the depths of the frozen landscape. After weeks of searching through rocky crevices and the mists of hidden valleys did I finally find him. High upon a snow shrouded precipice laid a small encampment under the protection of an ominous cavern. Cautiously advancing into the darkness that laid before me, I noticed a small man sitting alone by a dwindling fire. As I came into the light, his head slowly reared upward as a raspy voice pierced the silence. "Why have you sought me out, stranger? What question to you wish to ask of me?" "I have travelled far and long in search of inspiration. The well of my creativity has dried up, and I long to find a spring to refill it," I thought that sounded fairly philosophical. "What the hell are you talking about boy? Can't you speak plain english?" "Oh...well, yeah," and I told him the tale of my travels. There was a long pause as the old man contemplated his response. As I watched the reflections from the fire's sparks dance off his unblinking eyes, I knew a solution to my problem was at hand. "Stupid boy! True inspiration comes from within. There is a place inside each of us that holds the answer to your quest. At the core of every great idea, every beautiful image, and every video game that ever rocked your world, lies a Twisted Matrix." -End- The
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