While stationed in Bosnia with the army, I wrote some stuff down:
Memory-
The memory comes rushing into my mind like a flashbulb popping. The momentary stun of the white light giving way to the scene, drawing me in further and further until I'm all consumed, smothered in the subconscious, the colors so vivid, the smells so strong. I run my hands over it, feeling the texture and warmth. my breath is coming in shallow puffs now and the blood is rushing to my head. I know this can't be real.... but is it? Lost within myself like a blind man who can't find the door.
Hmmm....
How about:
Creativity-
The idea, wrapped in it, consumed by it, pulled through it, twisted back around, examining, probing, light a flashlight falling slowly down a dark raged hole. The Iris of the huge eye, expanding out to the limit, stretching the lid, till the flashlight falls through, descending faster till it is like a speeding train, smashing, exploding out into the world to forever leave it's mark on time.
OK, your last one for the night, but just cause you've been good...
Cycles-
The world I make inside my mind, I try to crawl in, squeezing, clawing. I can not fit so I must watch from outside, like a fish tank...soon I bore, and look around, needing to create something I can hold, breath, wear, eat...soon I bore, and look within again, searching, everything is new. But I can't fit, so I look around again...soon I bore, and look outside.... Everything is new.
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