31 October 2008

a sudden slack in the suck

Sometimes, just as Hope seems a thing which you no longer even have the option of abandoning as it seems increasingly plain that Hope already long ago abandoned you, the shore break of a sea of troubles subsides for a moment and in bobs a corked bottle tossed your way by the Great Uncaring Universe, and inside you find some silly damned note scribbled carelessly in jumbo crayon, and you can only shake your head at the hateful way Dame Inspiration continues to tease and taunt you like that evil hot cheerleader bitch who wears those chartreuse wispy-thin nylon running shorts and always somehow manages to drop her pencil and smile back at you as she bends sloooowly to pick it up right in front of your desk as you are struggling with the final essay on the exam which might yet pull your flatline GPA back to something just barely acceptable.

Oh, and don't even pretend you don't know what I mean, you scabby lying bastards -- you know it only too well.

I am working on some crap and suddenly a metaphoric metamorphic rock flies through the open side window of my mind and a TITLE -- and I mean a really good damned one, the kind so good it makes you laugh and giggle and clap and run around the back yard with your arms out as you make zooming airplane noises perhaps complete with machine gun sounds -- appears before my bleary eyes.

"Oh... My... God...," I moan, shattered by the wonderfulness of the title. "That totally freakin' works."

And I have that flickering demi-moment of totally Naive Joy, and then that sliver of a moment is triple-bitchslapped to the pavement by the sudden impact of Cruel Understanding as I realize how the sheer GREATNESS of this title instantly and inevitably creates an unshakable obligation for me to actually DO something with the title, almost like someone has left a sick kitten on my doorstep.

And instantly the slack has passed and the suck then resumes, full force and extra crunchy.

"Fuuuuuucccckkkkk...."
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.
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B

3 comments:

marcoguarda said...

Greetings, B.

Hunt down that bitch -- the muse, I mean -- with every weapon you've got, and bind her in chains, or she'll disappear like that with that ringing laughter of her, and you'll find yourself once again squatting down in the freezing heart of night, cursing and swearing, waiting endless hours until you make out the little mocking laughter, and resume the exhausting chase.

Good luck.

M.

Thomas Crymes said...

Honor the title. That is all.

Curtis said...

My main man Slaid Cleaves once said that hope is a hard thing to kill. KBO.