Friday, March 4, 2011

I Can't Get No SatisFICTION

I didn't used to care. It didn't use to matter. I used to take facts and fiction, throw them against the wall and paint a picture out of whatever stuck. But at some point all the dreams and all the jumble and all the making sense of madness gave way to the simple blahness of "what is."

I miss the dreams. I miss the hope. I miss the way fiction skewed real life and made the future as outrageous as I wanted it to be. I miss the way brain would pop out an idea,  the idea would shift into a sentence, the sentence would flow into a story, all in the course of an hour or less.

Who says I can't still be a dreamer? And who says a dreamer can't wear loafers?

Time for a little satisFICTION:

Ok here we go.


I've got it.

The first line will be... The rhythm had slowed but his pulse was speeding ahead like a...

No wait, that's not right.

In the grey shade of the leaning...

No, no, that's all wrong.

Damn it.

She paused. A moment fleeting as the curly tussles of her blonde hair sprang...

Ugh. Cliche city.


Oh no.

I'm lost.

What has business school done to me?

And where are my damn loafers?

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