Monday Evening Post: 10.24.22

I suppose the concern is about the potential desperation. And the fear that it is already here. Perhaps been around for a while, and only the ability to be oblivious be my shield.

Yet, I don’t believe that to be the case.

Mostly because I find it hard to believe that everything, or even anything is so definite. Sure, there are probabilities at play, but I’d reckon there is far more playability with this life business. Of course, chaos lingers heavy within those probabilities, but there exists potential space on either side.

See, I’ve been pondering upon creativity. And while certainly doomed to see such acts through myself and my perspective, might be that you can relate.

I know the process grows, but I wonder whether the changes I have made are anything more than fragile masks. Or whether any changes were for the betterment or otherwise. Has the march gone too far down a road littered with nothing more than antique ideas, rusted and rot out? Only to wash out and up on shore, bloated and festered?

But, I don’t think that is the case, either.

All that, and I still confess that my own creative mind has at best lost its stride. Thankfully, I’ve got myself a life where I can induce a coma to that side of the mind. Engage lightly in a few ordeals, just to keep the oil flowing. And regularly encountering and consuming the art of those others I know keeps the feed bag just full enough.

Yet there hasn’t been that fire. A desperation of its own, but some how vindicated by persuasion. Not much but embers for what correctly seems for years. Ambition not executed grander than to have local yokels bear witness, or putz out in ones and zeroes only to be lost amidst an infinite and infantile cosmos of content. Woe is me, a man of written word in the age of the seven second talking picture.

With that, another idea floats back to the forefront of my mind. A decent one, at that. All it needs is enough attention and effort. Perhaps a bit of organization. And there she floats away, as I cower away my younger days on fare most superficial. And as specters wailing against some wicked soul, several more ideas that I’ve had jump to my mind.

I suppose the trick is making them more than ideas. Duh.

But more specifically, these ideas need to begin to accumulate substance. They need to go from wispy and whispering dreams, to hardwired projects. Something that I certainly hold in my capability. Just because my creativity is in low drive, doesn’t mean it non-existent. It has never stopped, I’ve just been minding the fuel consumption.

I’ll be off then, perhaps to keep some promise. To myself, or someone else.

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