Each day I rise and sit at the computer, universes waiting to be born and whirling like dervishes inside my head...
But as the clitter-clatter of keystrokes accumulate, I hear Old Man Time titter in the corner, and realize it's donut makin' time yet again.
I then pile these old bones into the car and drive, rolling up that hill into Scottsdale - one more day - Sysiphus and his rock.
As I drive a song coalesces in my head: a trilling bird's notes morph into melody.
Or words lump together into strange and interesting shapes.
I see the sky, hills, and asphalt with the light shining through - like a fluorescent "mountains of Bush" or "Coors Light" sign in some dusty old bar, backlit and glowing in pearly luminescence...
Is it the face of god I'm seeing? Or maybe the Shinto-esque spirit, the animus, revealing itself.
Or maybe I'm just bug f*ck crazy.
Meanwhile... re: writing - the hard part isn't how to start.
It's how to…
(end the never ending, encapsulate the universe, and seize time - all in a few scribbles...)
(the sound of laughter ensues)