"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Sunday, August 29, 2010


This is the beginning of something new I'm going to try: picture prompts. The way I figure it, I have zero time during the week to develop and work out stories right now (until I shift locales to get closer to work), so I'm going to take the first word that pops into my head, image search it and use the first picture that catches my eye. Here's the first one: Wire.

The city seemed to grow from all around me, keeping me awake where I stood like tiny pricks of the finger. I'd been here for years, but the miracle of human growth never ceased to underwhelm me. She pawed at my left hand, faint prodding in an attempt to move me to action - to move me at all.

"I've already seen everything," I told her. "This place holds no mysteries for me anymore - not in the daytime, not in the nighttime, not underground, not on the rooftops."

I left her and stepped further into the shopping bag-congested aura of life that flooded my sidewalk. My sidewalk. I'd laid claim to something I had never really even wanted. But this affront to my property offended me nonetheless. I was furious.

I felt her softness again, tickling persistence on the back of my neck and rubbing my shoulder.

"You can't control it all," I admitted to her. "That was my first mistake. I need to let it go."

Then my neck played wrecking machine, twisting my head in all directions as I sought my release. My physical cacophony settled high above my head, high above the rooftops, so high above my sidewalk.

I lowered my eyes and let them reach and rest on hers. She stared plaintively, eyes warbling interest - her need to know overriding her usual emotional sensibility.

"Just trust me," I told her. "It won't be a moment."

* * * * *

The city seemed to curl up from the edge of the earth, lulling me to sleep as it waved and wobbled to and fro, a silent plague that slowly crept from its focal point out into everything, stopping only to squabble briefly with tectonics. I heard her call to me, her sounds as cottony as her touch, urgent and calming, trying to keep me still.

"From here I know new boundaries," I spoke quietly to her. "This is what I've been pleading with myself to find for so long."

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Block Episode, Masta Ace (featuring Punch N Words)

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