There was once a tippy toppy little blippy bloppy named troy boy who took his boy toy to the jai alai game.
Jai Alai, being the zippy whippy dame game it is, gave troy boy a red head and bitch’s stitches when a fast blast crashed his ass.
We’ve all got tidal waves with our names on ’em. They’re just waiting out there in the deep, plotting to smash in our skulls. If we could drain the ocean, we’d just die in a landslide for trying. So why fight this upheaval against nature? Why not just surf to our deaths?
Waiting for an idea, like a train at the station, transfixed on emptiness. His peers were already ripping along. They had their projects, they had their answers, their double-blind tests. Everyone was struggling, but he hadn’t started. He woke up each morning and read whatever was in his blog feed. The writers kept posting this fake-sounding Chinese proverb “The best time to plant a tree was two-hundred years ago. The second best time is now.” He thought the second best time was probably 199 years, 23 hours, and 59 minutes ago. They were oversimplifying life and missing the point. Each second he deliberated felt wasted. There was no real hope here, except hope for less failure. Each morning he woke up and tortured himself with thoughts like this. He pushed along into the future, languishing over the past, and wasting away in the present.
A friend and I did some stream of consciousness writing for about 15 minutes. Then we gave an excerpt of our writing that we liked to the other person. We then used that as inspiration to write something small. The first is the inspiration, the second part is the response. I posted both of our attempts here.