There are old,
worn-out ideas laying about the back rooms of thought. They haven't been used in years and in most
cases aren't even worth thinking about for a second time. They are fragmented, and without color. They lack the excitement that sparked their
birth. They simply lay quiet, within the
dust that is itself as thick as the cobwebs that surround them. They remain undisturbed by vision, fragrance
or imagination.
Sometimes,
just for fun, I wander around back there.
I kick up the dust and look to see what's under it. Now and then I'll bend over and pick up an
old idea and take a long look at it.
I’ll hold it up and slowly turn it about. What ever made me think of this, I'll ask
myself.
A lot of them
seem to be very stupid. It makes me feel
dumb when I see the little ownership tag hanging from them. Corwin’s
Yikes. It doesn't take me long to come running back
out.
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