2009.03.22 Muse Wars - A Lame Hope
I had an idea, and it danced and flashed in my mind, so I quickly started pressing it through the membranes of my mind and out into reality - in the form of a story. It didn't quite work, but it was not finished yet, and besides, it was fun to play with.
But then I ran out of time. I had to put it down, and focus on more pressing things. Or, perhaps more honest, my mind was occluded with more dire thoughts. Thoughts of principle stresses and fatigue strength marched across my neurons, conquering my attention. But that grim dictatorship has been deposed, I hope, now. My time, or more of it anyway, has been liberated temporarily. Free to pick up again the pursuits of whimsy I have neglected.
So I try to roust out the amusing and entertaining thoughts from their hiding spots in the attics and cellers of my mind, where they have been hiding from the occupying forces of my work thoughts. They come stumbling out, weak and malnourished. They do not dance. They have no flash.
Perhaps it is a matter of resolve? I collect the relevant entertaining thoughts, and corral them in a concentration camp, and force them to go through the motions of carrying on the delightfully entertaining story I still remember but have not yet finished summoning. They wearily comply, but they stagnate in tired dialogue and stilted motions. The plot point I eagerly await never actually arrives; instead I'm stuck contemplating What Happens Next, Why Would It Say That, and Is It Even The Same Voice?
What bitter treachery is this? Rebel scum.
Don't make me watch television at you, because I will. See how the imaginative bits just stare at me, not caring. Like defeated, broken thoughts who do not hope. Maybe I should soak them in caffeine with a twist of sleep deprivation? Sprinkle a dash of adrenalin into the mix?
Screw it; it's time for lunch.