the gremlin in my head who moves the lead clouds around is tired and so I have no words to show you
If I could speak with you, the words would fall trippingly from my tongue; the thoughts would be complex and detailed. The words would tumble between us as we explored these topics, laughing and flushed with the joy of teasing out our thoughts into the nearby air. My hands would flash between us as I illustrated something crystal-clear in my mind and you'd leap onto the thought as I finished it and from that we'd springboard onto the slippery fish glint of the next idea-train, exploring where it leads us. [I don't really need you to talk back to me (but it's more fun that way)].
If I cannot speak aloud, I speak inside my head (use your inside voice [as if it were that easy]), but I have found it goes more easily when I imagine you there with me, so I am not silent. I talk inside my head to you and I find the ideas coming more swiftly and the thoughts more complete (still not as good as a conversation in the sunlight, ink-stained fingers pointing to lines on the page but it works well enough, applesauce can substitute for oil sometimes. [I am pleased I discovered this trick; I like it when I can make my brain work for me.]) In my head, I can see my thoughts clinking happily together, points of lightly smoked quartz on chains strung through my mind, shiny against the backdrop of my mullingses.
If I must speak to you with typing, I cannot find where my words have gone. I go reaching for a chain of thoughts, glittering bright, only to find that it is no more: the links have dissolved and the crystal shapes are indistinct. I reach to one of them, my hands pass through a grey mist and cannot grasp anything. Withdrawing my hands I find even the mist is dissipated. I reach for another thought, this one puffs into a cloud and turns into lead. It is too unwieldy to move right now, I will leave it and maybe come back. I turn to another-- it becomes smoke and is no more. There is a glinting gleam next to me but as I make my first move, it winks out, gone. I reach again, grasp something this time! But, oh no, it is a lead brick and I drop it, disappointed (can I not find something better to build my words from?). I reach again and again I get smoke, mist, lead, smoke, smoke, puff and away it goes. I whirl around, desperately clutching for the fading shimmers and shinings and I only ever catch lead and only ever brush through smoke (the mean sister only ever had toads and snakes fall from her mouth and I can't manage even that). Exhausted, I struggle to collect the scattered lead bricks but it takes more than I have to gather them and send them on their way.
And so I sit impotent, my words gone and unmovable, my keyboard silent. With familiar tired rage, I close an empty text file and walk away.
There shall be no writing today.
This entry was originally posted at http://fish-echo.dreamwidth.org/57378.html.
If I cannot speak aloud, I speak inside my head (use your inside voice [as if it were that easy]), but I have found it goes more easily when I imagine you there with me, so I am not silent. I talk inside my head to you and I find the ideas coming more swiftly and the thoughts more complete (still not as good as a conversation in the sunlight, ink-stained fingers pointing to lines on the page but it works well enough, applesauce can substitute for oil sometimes. [I am pleased I discovered this trick; I like it when I can make my brain work for me.]) In my head, I can see my thoughts clinking happily together, points of lightly smoked quartz on chains strung through my mind, shiny against the backdrop of my mullingses.
If I must speak to you with typing, I cannot find where my words have gone. I go reaching for a chain of thoughts, glittering bright, only to find that it is no more: the links have dissolved and the crystal shapes are indistinct. I reach to one of them, my hands pass through a grey mist and cannot grasp anything. Withdrawing my hands I find even the mist is dissipated. I reach for another thought, this one puffs into a cloud and turns into lead. It is too unwieldy to move right now, I will leave it and maybe come back. I turn to another-- it becomes smoke and is no more. There is a glinting gleam next to me but as I make my first move, it winks out, gone. I reach again, grasp something this time! But, oh no, it is a lead brick and I drop it, disappointed (can I not find something better to build my words from?). I reach again and again I get smoke, mist, lead, smoke, smoke, puff and away it goes. I whirl around, desperately clutching for the fading shimmers and shinings and I only ever catch lead and only ever brush through smoke (the mean sister only ever had toads and snakes fall from her mouth and I can't manage even that). Exhausted, I struggle to collect the scattered lead bricks but it takes more than I have to gather them and send them on their way.
And so I sit impotent, my words gone and unmovable, my keyboard silent. With familiar tired rage, I close an empty text file and walk away.
There shall be no writing today.
This entry was originally posted at http://fish-echo.dreamwidth.org/57378.html.