Having burst into this day by drinking two large cappuccinos I have had no problem generating an excellent idea for today's blog post. Indeed I have generated at least seven ideas so far, and you would have loved each one. Really. Very insightful they were, passionate, rip roaring, funny, illuminating stuff. Unfortunately each one of these fabulous ideas has gone racing through my fevered and caffeinated brain like a wild horse on a rampage of power. There is the horse, and it is beautiful and wild and perfect. It runs by in a blaze of ferocious glory, and it's gone. Could I even have seen such perfection? I don't know because the only notes I have on my ideas look like this:
Liyuan Library, triumph of print!
Librarians and Journalists!!!
cell phones advancement to past.
great lives and not trying.
It doesn't look like so much there, does it? I have a vague sense of what each one was supposed to be about, an echo of the thrilling rolling thuds of their hoof-beats, a heart piercing flash of a vision of their rolled back wild eyes and me standing astonished among the dunes and wild grasses.
Ah, well, written or not, great or not, they would have all disappeared to the west, toward the sea. Whether I could have read my vision over again as bona fide art, or just remember them as fading, fearsome and mighty dreams, they go, and are gone.
And that is how it is. Life is the disabusement of our ideas of how things should be. But I do not despair. I don't even feel sad, oddly enough. I have my scraps of the tiny pieces of my ideas. I will go track down some of those horses on the dunes. And no doubt I will even manage to reconstruct a few of those pieces for you to read here. They'll probably be worse than their original, brilliant, racing visions, but that's how it usually is anyway. And yet too, they could be better than all my wild imaginations. Greatness. Though I sometimes do, it has never been for me to say.