The Once and Future Theme

or

A Good Lie is Hard to Find

Just before my last true colors ran down the drain, I realized there was more to writing than posting.  Like wounded Geronimo, lying cliffside, maggots tending his oozing wounds, eyes fevering over a fading digital  desert, I reach for the keyboard. After so much time, its endless combinations of letters, spaces, and punctuation are hieroglyphs of an intricate language I used to write and understand in a previous life before the virtual head injury.

Speaking masqueraded for years, replacing complete written sentences as my vehicle for creative expression.  It was bad enough when I simply talked too often and too long to make up for the writing slack.  Then the awkward pauses of tweets, posts, and IMs began to infect my verbal conversations.  My mouth started auto-filling with non-sequiter or downright vulgar  guesses to complete glib, short phrases.  There were consequences...  Time took over as master editor, and the hue seemed to drip from my palate while the words flattened out like gray eggs cracking, one at a time.   I settled for, and spat out clever turns of phrase before ideas could spring forth whole. And now, words that used to be worth a thousand murals are like bumper stickers; my brain has become so random it's epic.

Recovery may be slow.  And perhaps that is the whole idea.  Maybe I can draw the images back up from the sewer and flood the screen with the black and white that used to saturate mental pictures with a written roux that was rich and delicious.  Just maybe.  I've got nothing but time.