"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, April 13, 2014

(Un)certain terms

Day Thirteen: Sad but true.

I don't daydream anymore.
My mind craves the blank
spaces between moments
of stress and high-impact
nonsense. My thought
processes feel like a sad
series of arthritic joints,
cartilage worn away - now
just a mess of scar tissue
and bloody forgetfulness.
Something is most certainly
missing. Something I had
once, something I still need,
something fanatical and
fantastic and horribly simple.
And something so easily
retrieved, if I could only
find the time. It would be
as elementary as closing the
rubber-fisted handles of a
pair of bolt-cutters, hearing
the padlock bounce angrily
to the ground and knowing
I'm back where I belong.
If only I could find the time.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Postal Service, Such Great Heights

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