I’ve Been Thinking

Which is something that happens on the regular. Not that I ever expect it.

But daybreak, the cat, drool, laptop, morning, and there then the thoughts trip triple, stutter and flow. Sun from the left, and perhaps there are no words the thought comes briefly but no, not so, one and then another are there, find fingers, keys, pixel-lit and spit themselves to distant server farmers, tilling, ringing in the changes. Words without thought, leading the way

Or somesuch times the other ways round. Then, days on days, finally on waking the thought niggles under the mind-skin, a notice-splinter unwilling release or relief until words, my words, that prolix ungent, salve the sting; until precisely chosen those sharper-than-swords pinch, pull, and extract that shard, that needle driven in, the logos in my mind’s eye, and then ahh. Nothing like the feeling. This the thing I could not think other than. This! And it may not be all that. No, once candled before the screen perhaps no more than a blahg post or so. A short, a novella. A spurt of carmine poem.

Hard to know, when that long splinter is still buried. Must needs pull it out, draw its characters on the screen, write with it as a pen. Is that my blood? Perhaps, certainly, what other ink should I use? But the story it tells, ah, yes, perhaps there is something there after all.

Then, yes, I know it is real.

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