Insomniac

Everywhere you look these days, drug use is rampant.
Pharmaceuticals seem to be taking over the lives of all and sundry like some sort of plague. The Zombie Apocalypse™ that all the Pacific Northwesterners are so obsessed with? This is it. Pill Zombies roam thick in the streets!

Me? I prefer the natural stuff. Not the plants. Good old fashioned insomnia. Lack of sleep works wonders for one's mindstate... that is, if one is of a creative bent.
4 days and nights without sleep, and the average painter can create her greatest masterpiece, and maybe even write a symphony with no knowledge of music whatsoever. Mind you, all the while she may see albino spiders in the corners of her vision and have hour-long conversations with long-dead relatives, but, all things considered, that's a small price to pay for such rushes of brilliance.
I prefer to go for a solid five night stint, surviving on an empty stomach full of coffee and earphones full of anarchy-soaked punk cranked at ear-split level.
That's when I do my best work. I bleed multicolored love onto a soulless white page of nothing and make beautiful nonsense.

They say that there's a thin line between genius and insanity. I like to think that when I am tweaking in the valleys of sugar-frosted java hell, I don't just simply erase that line, I piss on it, sprinkle a handfull of industrial strength cleanser into the puddle and scrub that bitch into oblivion with a long-handled brush!

I've now been awake for about 4 days, approaching my 5th with ramming speed.
I think I'm gonna go learn to play the bass.