Arriving Rivendell

The planks on the wooden bridge waddled back and forth under the pressure redistributions caused by travelers. Each plank had a small hole on each side of its flat section, and through the holes were small, green, twinelike strands that held each plank to the next. Running across the bridge all at once caused a tidelike ripple to cascade over the span. Of course, the variables in such a wave may be examined relentlessly (ibid).

But all of this foreshadows a familiar topic, and, seeking variety I find myself back where I began: at this goddamned Roman Clef. The influences over the past two years have been few. When I catch it good, I can follow the flow of clean streams. When I see my reflection too clearly, I pollute the waters and tire my wrists. I need calm waters as much as I need hazy rapids as much as I need the frenzy of bodily functions to quiet down for a few minutes. The source seems pure and opportune, but the rest is a tangled, murky mess.

I'll travel with myself and hear ripples of sure success: "Got a new year comin'. Only God knows what's in it." Or the thing about the dog and the gentrification zone. Only to be saddled and handcuffed by sloth, gluttony, envy, and pride - are these my bridge girders! I read the LCD display. I'm like a Three Gorges Dam simulation with infinite retries. I well up, and before I produce anything, I fall apart (at least I'm not in the paper). Inspiration sought, bring it to the bridge.

Maybe I need to recupe in some magical homely house. The structure of the worldsuit doesn't fit me. The lush greens of the riverbanks don't appeal to me. Give me your tired, distracted, jaded, populous audience, and I'll forge a head! I'll leave the homely house of convalescence (assuming I rest there), and I'll blast through the arachnowoods, acidoceans, treacherousplains, and inauspicioussands - to the top of the mountain (of love/adobe of angels). I'll tower indifferently over the riverbanks and its masses, shackled by the worldsuits of slavery (if you can say it more sensitively, e-mail it to me), and beam a message into their receivers: "There is hope, you who listen."