"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

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

100 Words: A rock is a rock, unless it's a mountain

Inspired by a post from my friend Zach

It's a beautiful thing to see, and even more beautiful to hold, he discovers, when he picks it up off the ground, a small mushroom cloud of dust erupting in its wake. There isn't much to it - just a round-ish, smooth shape, speckled grey and black. It resembles a misshapen egg, and he decides that this is why he likes it. There's hope that life might spring from this lifeless object, and as he rubs it between his palms, the heat of friction keeps that hope alive. His watch alarm dings twice before he stops it. Break's over. He places it gently back on the ground and dons his work gloves. He grabs the sledgehammer he left leaning against the cement wall nearby. He picks it up by the end of the handle and drops it straight down, smashing that hope to pieces.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Blu & Nottz, God Shit (feat. Aloe Blacc, Co$$, Definite Mass)

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