i am at a loss. i’m not sure where my creative juices have flown off to recently. possibly into my work... but it is more likely that they have simply evaporated into thin air, like sweat.
if i could watch the process very closely through a microscope, i would be able to see the crystals left behind on my skin as the small beads of creativity precipitate through the skin and glitter upon the surface before they shimmer away into the air.
if i licked my skin, it would taste like an idea, and flow across my tongue with energy and focus. the nerve endings below the capillaries would transcribe the message with their chemical binary charges and send it on the first train to my brain, which would reverberate the signal among the lesser avenues and boulevards to the low rent district where the artist nerves dwell.
and there would be a commotion. there would be a buzz of excitement as lights came on and voices assembled. one by one, a consensus would be reached about a direction and a message would be built to travel down to the arm and hand and fingers.
it would be a sort of symphony. there would be pages of dictation. there would be volumes of carefully orchestrated patterns of contractions and relaxions that would allow each muscle fibre to follow the plan... each fiber, each tendon, would be standing by, eager to sightread the directions at first opportunity... instruments tuned... synapses bristling.
and then it would happen... the first instructions would arrive... the dance would begin, with every instrument carefully measuring every motion, giving feedback to the composers up top with every fraction of resistance and friction.
and so it would go for as long as it needed to... those low rent tenants up top would organize and speak their mind, for all the world to hear.
