gizmos. We, I should say I, sit, bloated and so busy with stuff that I cannot focus or prioritize. I skim. I read multiple books at a time. There is one on my bedside table (Steve Turner's Imagine: A Vision for Christians in the Arts), one on the dining table (Tony Campolo's Speaking My Mind), one on the coffeetable (Madeleine L'Engle's A Wind in the Door), and a host of others I don't dare to crack open until...later. I pick them up at different parts of my daily routine. Snippets of this and that tap at my mind, but I rarely indulge. There is too much other stuff to do. I itch with it. I itch to create. The part that really bothers me is that it isn't that I do not have ideas. I have plenty of ideas. They are my children. They are my kindred spirits. I create them and play with them as I close my eyes to sleep. Some vaporize in the morning, others have become shaggy live-ins so comfortable with their abode they walk around disheveled and in their pajamas. Once in a while they are booted from the nest and come into fruition. But then another hurdle presents itself: actual completion. Some ideas roost in my head, and I am sure they cringe as they imagine the day they will be left half-complete, on a shelf, like a broken toy. My wife has been great and practically dangles me by my feet jingling my ideas, like change, from my pockets. I subconsciously fight it however, disappointment looms and reminds me of my shortcomings, lack of practice (ooh the paradox!), time, and tools. It's dumb and it is a disease. "Real life" needs my attention now. That whole career-thing, sodding, building a deck, installing the knife magnet in the kitchen, etc etc. Yet, I'll skim over those too...Rinse and Repeat.
Tid Bits: an artist (a Canadian artist, I might add), Michel Gagne, whom has plagued every Flight volume has created this. What a sweet symphony of his distinct style and old-school gaming.
And if this isn't a hotbed of creative interpretation and mystery. I don't know what is.
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