Occasionally I try to give some attention to random ideas and imagery. The thought that I've become only the promise, hope, or desire to find, get, or achieve something concrete, can be a real downer to the creative spirit. So a little while ago I closed my eyes and thought about whatever thoughts or images came into my mind and I tried to remember them without opening my eyes to write anything down.
I first found myself trudging through a dark swamp with my arms and legs fighting to get free of this sticky black goo which covered everything. It stuck to my body as I moved forward and it reminded me of when you pull chewed gum apart with your fingers to see how thin it gets before, as an almost invisible, elongated filament, it finally can't be stretched any longer and reluctantly divides into two stringy pieces. ( A few days after writing this post I got curious and I tried pulling apart a couple Trident White squares I was chewing on. I was really surprised that the gum stretched out a lot longer than I imagined it would. I had to reel it in, like a fishing line, over each hand as it kept expanding, longer in length than my outstretched arms. Luckily the Trident gum isn't very sticky. Well, back to the swamp...) As I mucked through, I was pushing away brush and sticks, and stumbling over half sunken stumps. Then I was transported into a comparatively sterile setting. I was a manilla file folder, thumb thick full of papers, leaning on and bending in against the side of an office cabinet, slipping slowly over months and years, downward onto the countertop, weakened by passing time and succumbing to the gentle tug of gravity. It was clear that the office had been abandoned before I was filed away properly into the cabinet where I belonged. Everything around me was skinned over in the disgusting office dust I remember seeing and wondering about when I worked in an office a few years ago. The swamp imagery then returned but to the back of my mind only, like wallpaper, becomeing a toned down, muted version of my previous encounter in the swamp, but running over and over again in a continuous loop. It seemed like I was able to be in two places at once. I last remember being an empty scabbard hanging on the rope belt of a shipwrecked pirate. After realizing that I was an empty scabbard I felt a longing for the knife to return.
