Oh, Idea, where do you hide? Behind which story; beneath what trend; beside whose unfortunate demise; between where and my brain? I want to find you. Not to capture you—trap and hold you forever in a cage. But to free you. Release you into the written world where you can prance, and agitate, and cause conversation. I do not want to harm you, Idea, I only mean to help.
Yet you run. Just as soon as I think I’m on to you, hot on your trail, you escape, and I am left grasping at nothing. A faint glimmer. A distant memory. What could have been? You are so elusive, Idea, so tricky. So hard to wrap up and around.
Sometimes you are just bad, Idea. You misbehave. You taunt and you tease. You coax me towards you, down a slippery path, and as soon as I can look you in the eye, you dart off into the unknown. The unrealized. The never to be.
There you are. I see you. Right after this line. I am approaching, slowly. Methodically. I don’t want to lose you. Not this one. I have come too far already. Almost four paragraphs. Not to mention the graveyard of countless others I have already traversed. The scrap heap heaping with those that were scrapped. The innumerable starts and stops. The maybes. The possibles. The no, that just isn’t that interestings.
But you. You, I will not let fool me. You will be mine, Idea. You will be mine and I will share you with the world. The entire blogosphere shall know of my success. Of my pursuit, and of my conquer. Yes you can run, Idea, but you can not hide. Forever.
For it is only a matter of time. And time, I have plenty of. Oh, I can think Idea. I can think, and think, and keep on thinking. I never stop. I never will. Just when you least expect it, I’ll come a thinking. In the shower. On the toilet. Sitting on the subway or eating a sandwich from one. I am constantly on your tail. You will not have a moment’s rest. That’s right Idea. You messed with the wrong guy.
So you might as well just show yourself. Quit this game of cat and mouse and present yourself once and for all. I am tired of the chase. I just want to get to the easy part. The writing. But all this pursuit. This constant struggle. This scanning and scouring. This that could work, then subsequent souring. I’m sick of it, Idea. Why don’t we just work something out?
We might as well. I mean, I need to post something, and you must be completely worn out from having had to live in the dark for so long. Don’t you want to come out, blinking, into the dawn of a new day? Don’t you want to see the white light of the page? Or would you rather stay in your dingy, damp cave forever?
Work with me Idea. Follow my lead. We don’t have that much farther to go. Just over yonder to the next conclusion. That one final destination, in the not so distant distance, right by that full circle. Go with me there, hand in hand. Together, we can enter the land of piece as one.
Oh, Idea, we have made it! And think how far we’ve come. From nothing to sort of something. From stuck to unstuck. From what the fuck to here. Finished product. A new entry. Another winning blog post. Oh, Idea, how great does it feel? To dance in this land of completion. I owe it all to you.
