01. Writer
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Jason Kotarski

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02. Theme
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Flow

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Singing Lungs:
Flow

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04. WRITING
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The first song I wrote for my band Singing Lungs is called "Flow". It's about creating space to connect with your depths using the practices of mindfulness and meditation. I don't do that enough but in times like these it seems especially important.

Not too late to look around
Sit there and settle down
There’s something in the absence of sound
Nowhere to go from here
No explosions of light appear
I’m digging below the surface of my fear

And we sit and we wait
And we sit and we wait and know
And we wait and we rest
And we wait and we rest and we grow
Something inside begins to flow

More aware, holding my breath
Making room in the depths
Moving right past the stale taste of death
It’s not a big surprise
That the seed, it has to die
Before something new can rise

And we sit and we wait
And we sit and we wait and know
And we wait and we rest
And we wait and we rest and we grow
Something inside begins to flow

01. Writer
–

Jason Kotarski

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02. Theme
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Almost

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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Descendents:
Myage

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04. WRITING
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I always feel like I’m on the edge of everything. I push hard against the things I want but there is this feeling that those things will never give way or lead to anything substantial. I push and I push and I can feel like I can’t even get any pushback.

In my clearer moments, I can stop and ask questions. Like do I really want what’s on the inside? After all the pushing when I finally get a toe through to the other side, is it really what I hoped for in the first place? I often wonder if I am missing something else out here on the edge. Like maybe the pushing isn’t about getting through to the other side. Maybe the pushing is the thing. Like maybe I’ll be okay out here where I am.

But if I’m honest, if I wasn’t pushing against the things I want, really leaning into these things that drive me despite the lack of progress, I’m not sure I like the alternative. Not pushing sounds a lot like sitting. And sitting sounds a lot like dying or something else maybe a little less dramatic. But really, without the pushing and leaning and trying I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

So I think I’ll keep moving even though I might not make it anywhere. I think I can keep moving without becoming like a shadow of the things I think I want on the inside. Those people I see that in my mind have all the things I want, like youth and significance and strength and confidence, have the things they have and want things they don’t have, too. Maybe the trick is not to put so much stock in the end I’m going after but finding what is special in going after it.

I also wonder if the ones on the inside can hear what I am saying from out here on the edge? I don’t want it to come across like I’ve got everything figured out because I obviously don’t always believe these things I’m telling myself. But I hope they can hear it a little. If not today, maybe one day in their sleep. Maybe one day when they are pounding on the door of a place they want to be my voice will be like a ghost passing through their backyard whispering about the beauty that is on the edge of everything.

01. Writer
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Jason Kotarski

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02. Theme
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Cells

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03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
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The Lillingtons:
Black Hole in My Mind

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04. WRITING
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He sat at the small desk in the the corner of his bedroom surrounded by crumpled wads of paper with a fresh blank page in front of him. The desk was a hand-me-down from his older brother and it felt too small. When he adjusted himself in the chair he banged his knee hard on the underside of the single drawer in the desk. He sighed, rubbed his knee, and then sharpened his pencil. Again.

The young man couldn’t understand why this was so difficult. He could see the entire story in his mind: the wormhole, the spacecraft spinning out of control, the pilot waking up battered and bruised with stubble on his face from a beard that wasn’t there before the event, the cage he was in, a cell among row after row of other cells, the prison planet, the escape.

It was all there but he couldn’t figure out how to get started. The story wasn’t just about the details and events that occurred, it was about the feeling of being trapped but safe. About feeling alone yet curious. It was about being courageous. He tried and tried to write that opening sentence but every attempt ended up discarded on the floor.

He doubted himself. Maybe what he wanted to say wasn’t worth saying. Who would read it anyway? But then again, maybe it wasn’t for the readers anyway. Maybe it was just for himself.

He looked up from the desk and glanced around his room. The walls were covered with posters from his favorite movies; his favorite comic book characters; his favorite bands. These pictures gave him comfort, a stark contrast from the images on his brother’s walls; athletes and swimsuit models. These walls wore his passions like tattooed skin. He felt mostly out of place in the world. But not here in this space he’d created for himself from reclaimed furniture and pages torn from magazines.

He felt safe in his isolation but he knew that maybe there was something else out there for him. If he could just get his story started then maybe they would understand. Maybe he would understand. But how to begin?

With another look around his room for inspiration his eyes landed on the guitar he got for his last birthday. He wadded up the last piece of paper that was sitting on the desk. He tossed it towards the trash can but missed. He moved across the room. He picked up his guitar. He sat down on the bed.

He had an idea for a song.