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skonen_bladesHey bookshelf! How’s the bullet wound in your green shirt doing? Is the red ink flowing? Are you in debt? Do you fear the reaper? Does your wooden exoskeleton feel exposed to traitor arrows? Do bullets made from the same stuff at printing presses scare you? You are a hardcopy going softcover. Your spine is thinning. Heavy books covering heavy subjects are becoming fewer and fewer. You might even say that it’s become the twilight of an age when books about vampires are no longer sun-damaged and have lost their teeth to love.
As your subjects become lighter, you need less support. Oak bookshelves give way to plywood. Huge bookshelves are replaced by smaller ones. Periodicals disappear into phone lines and magazines grow in number to satisfy the shortened appetite-span of the average reader. We used to be locusts. Now we are full. Libraries are turning into uninhabited airships, becoming all homeless Bruce Wayne secret identity that no one even cares to know anymore. Cruise ships up to their necks in cat pictures.
They’ll join the billboard atlases and vintage spacesuits in the attention span vortex of the internet. They’d be better off becoming a vagina with a Mohawk. Crater photography and florist x-rays have no place in a society that no longer cares how things work. Even mechanics now dream of playing mechanics in movies. Famous is as famous does has become the reality television motto of every living soul not struggling for water in the third world.
If this is the year of the dragon, then maybe fire will descend from the clouds. Perhaps electricity will stop swallowing all the words and give us back some candlelight. Closets full of worlds will bloom again, cats will dream of whales, and black-eyed barbershop quartets will appear in park gazebos. Panda bears will roam condominium halls and ideas, precious ideas, will swarm like hornets dripping lust from the fertile minds of our young men and women. Each tickled fish will gives an artist year of pleasure.
Rubbing two ideas together can create a storm. Let the light bulb of your ideas give you enough illumination to write when it’s darkest. Because the sun is going down.
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As your subjects become lighter, you need less support. Oak bookshelves give way to plywood. Huge bookshelves are replaced by smaller ones. Periodicals disappear into phone lines and magazines grow in number to satisfy the shortened appetite-span of the average reader. We used to be locusts. Now we are full. Libraries are turning into uninhabited airships, becoming all homeless Bruce Wayne secret identity that no one even cares to know anymore. Cruise ships up to their necks in cat pictures.
They’ll join the billboard atlases and vintage spacesuits in the attention span vortex of the internet. They’d be better off becoming a vagina with a Mohawk. Crater photography and florist x-rays have no place in a society that no longer cares how things work. Even mechanics now dream of playing mechanics in movies. Famous is as famous does has become the reality television motto of every living soul not struggling for water in the third world.
If this is the year of the dragon, then maybe fire will descend from the clouds. Perhaps electricity will stop swallowing all the words and give us back some candlelight. Closets full of worlds will bloom again, cats will dream of whales, and black-eyed barbershop quartets will appear in park gazebos. Panda bears will roam condominium halls and ideas, precious ideas, will swarm like hornets dripping lust from the fertile minds of our young men and women. Each tickled fish will gives an artist year of pleasure.
Rubbing two ideas together can create a storm. Let the light bulb of your ideas give you enough illumination to write when it’s darkest. Because the sun is going down.
tags