tap the glass

"interesting water," said the fish.

the premature setting sun reflects off a display case and glares at me. what the hell time is it? stop thinking about that. I continue to stare at my cursor, willing it to move. I flick between the two documents I'm working on. what the hell time is it? shit. it's been 45 minutes since the cursor has moved for either of them. I feel myself losing hope. a part of my brain seems to have resigned itself to the belief that I am not going write anything of interest today. it's meandering around trying to convince the other parts of my brain that this is so. periodically, the polite society of my brain devolves into a lord of the flies-esque fiasco. factions fight over what to do next, other factions just sit around; very little compromise, lots of thrashing.

maybe I've just been watching too much fucking Lost.

the buds of my ipod throb in my ears. the bass usually helps me focus; usually helps me drown out distracting side thoughts. right now, the music seems to be drowning out all of my thoughts. either that, or my internal voice is mumbling. I glare at my ipod for a second and go back to squinting at the cursor. I feel like I'm on the brink of something. somehow the last couple of articles and books I read and re-read, the movies and tv shows I've watched, they are all coming together. more and more, I've said, "YES! that's totally related to what I wanted to say about... about... THAT."

there's a thought, an idea, a theme that's begging to be expressed. Michelangelo once said that sculpting was easy; all you had to do was cut away whatever wasn't part of the statue. Bach said that organ playing is just as easy; push the right keys at the right time. on the subject of writing, Just said "get the thinking right and the sentences will follow." all you have to do is put the right words in the right places.

I can put this non-thought into words, I just need a few more moments longer. block out the glaring sun. block out the bass. block out the smell of cigarettes, the fly that just meandered by, the sticky table, the pain in the ass metal chair, the little nubs on the 'f' and 'j' keys, the...

fuck.

I give.

wait... I clench my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose in a last, desperate attempt to squeeze that intangible idea out of my head.

fine. fine. fine. you win, ADD. I'm done.

I sigh, open my eyes, close my laptop and look around the room for some sort of inspiration. inspiration usually comes in a 16 oz cup, 150 mg at a time. I think I bought a dud. my cup is almost empty; what's left tastes a little like cigarette smoke. I don't think inspiration is supposed to taste like cigarette smoke.

I'm sitting in an internet cafe / bar. the guy at the table in front of me is staring at his laptop. the girl at the table next to me is staring at her laptop. the couple next to her is staring at their books. two more people at the bar have laptops, another is reading a newspaper and another just fed a dollar into the bar game thingy. three people have headphones on. I would've been the fourth, but I just pulled my earbuds out. in this moment, the only two people here looking at anyone else is the bartender and me.

strike that; the bartender is walking toward his computer and I just re-opened my laptop to scribble down this thought.

there it is.

when Michelangelo finished sculpting his Moses, he took his hammer and hit the knee of the statue and yelled "fuck yeah!" or something to that effect.

Milan and I used to joke about how it'd be awesome to write like a rockstar. like get so pumped about what we were writing that we would type with one hand and throw a fist in the air. I'm starting to type so intensely that I feel like pointing to someone and yelling "AWWWWW YEEEAH!" before putting my laptop on my shoulder and typing more. I should buy disposable wireless keyboards so I can rock out around the coffee shop and smash them into a table when I'm through.

now, I'm smiling. I close my notebook again and look around the room again, just trying to soak the strangeness in. I feel like throwing my notebook across the room, putting my hands in the air and yelling "THANK YOU, PHOENIX!!! WOOOOOO!!!"