Dancing Words.
The night covered the sky in it blissful color of black and the sprinkles of white and hints of blue and red. The moon provided only half of its lighting ability which gave just enough light to see five feet in front.
I was indoors though so the moons stinginess was little to no interest to me. No, I was inside at a table looking at the computer screen in front of me. The light was much stronger to me then anything in the room. It called out to me and every time I looked away, it yelled back throwing its hands on me and dragging me back.
I just sat there looking at the screen seeing the words I had typed dance around to the music that was buzzing in my ear. Each paragraph had its move to the music and was melody to each note. Every once and a wile I would and a few more words, creating another sentence and in turn another performer to dance with the tune in my ears.
I was able to drag my eye sight away from the screen again and noticed that the moon light began to creep on to the floor next to the table that I had set camp at. I then looked back to the screen of dancing sentences and realized I had only found small cast of dancers for my performance. How had this happened? I had been sitting at this table for hours according to the moon's silhouette.
I shook my head for the utter disbelief that I had done nothing with my writing and began to count the graveyard of coffee cups that portrayed the deaths of ideas and story line frustration. Underneath those cups laid the college ruled papers that held cliff notes, geometric drawings, squiggly marks and on rare occasion an idea that did not make it to the screen.
By the amount of coffee cups and papers I came to the conclusion I needed to see how long I was truly sitting there and not just by the movement of the moon. I manged to look around the room, looking for that one clock that clings to the wall waiting to do it bidding. Once I found the generic, white faced, black arm clocked, I had noted both of the arms pointed upwards.
No, I had not been sitting here for six hours, that can not be. Not with the amount of work I did. I sat back in the rough wooden chair with no cushion and focused on what I had been doing for the past six hours. As I sat there, it hit me, I could not remember anything besides the dancing stream of words forming a thought.
I then looked upon the grave yard again. I suddenly began to dig away hoping to find some valuables on the carcasses. Just maybe there was one idea that would lunch me into hiring more dancers.
Coffee cups were pushed aside and yet nothing. How could this be so much paper yet nothing. My head then fell down to the table. Only to imagine it feel like a log in the forest, and just like the log in the forest no one was around to hear to see if it makes a sound. Well it did.
I quickly bounced my head back up. Brought my right hand up and rubbed my forehead as my eyes closed and my face in grimace. I then opened my eyes to see one paper on to dear life of my right wrist. I pulled the paper away to notice that it was a coffee stain that allowed the paper to grab a hold.
How dare you paper, what gives you that right. How dare you coffee for staining my poor paper of random marks and words. I then looked closure at the paper and noticed that those were not random marks at all.
The words began to twirl, take a few decisive steps creating a perfect choreograph. Was this possible. No, I do not have this much faith in my coffee high induced sleep. So I sat there reading away only to see the most amazing show.
I was indoors though so the moons stinginess was little to no interest to me. No, I was inside at a table looking at the computer screen in front of me. The light was much stronger to me then anything in the room. It called out to me and every time I looked away, it yelled back throwing its hands on me and dragging me back.
I just sat there looking at the screen seeing the words I had typed dance around to the music that was buzzing in my ear. Each paragraph had its move to the music and was melody to each note. Every once and a wile I would and a few more words, creating another sentence and in turn another performer to dance with the tune in my ears.
I was able to drag my eye sight away from the screen again and noticed that the moon light began to creep on to the floor next to the table that I had set camp at. I then looked back to the screen of dancing sentences and realized I had only found small cast of dancers for my performance. How had this happened? I had been sitting at this table for hours according to the moon's silhouette.
I shook my head for the utter disbelief that I had done nothing with my writing and began to count the graveyard of coffee cups that portrayed the deaths of ideas and story line frustration. Underneath those cups laid the college ruled papers that held cliff notes, geometric drawings, squiggly marks and on rare occasion an idea that did not make it to the screen.
By the amount of coffee cups and papers I came to the conclusion I needed to see how long I was truly sitting there and not just by the movement of the moon. I manged to look around the room, looking for that one clock that clings to the wall waiting to do it bidding. Once I found the generic, white faced, black arm clocked, I had noted both of the arms pointed upwards.
No, I had not been sitting here for six hours, that can not be. Not with the amount of work I did. I sat back in the rough wooden chair with no cushion and focused on what I had been doing for the past six hours. As I sat there, it hit me, I could not remember anything besides the dancing stream of words forming a thought.
I then looked upon the grave yard again. I suddenly began to dig away hoping to find some valuables on the carcasses. Just maybe there was one idea that would lunch me into hiring more dancers.
Coffee cups were pushed aside and yet nothing. How could this be so much paper yet nothing. My head then fell down to the table. Only to imagine it feel like a log in the forest, and just like the log in the forest no one was around to hear to see if it makes a sound. Well it did.
I quickly bounced my head back up. Brought my right hand up and rubbed my forehead as my eyes closed and my face in grimace. I then opened my eyes to see one paper on to dear life of my right wrist. I pulled the paper away to notice that it was a coffee stain that allowed the paper to grab a hold.
How dare you paper, what gives you that right. How dare you coffee for staining my poor paper of random marks and words. I then looked closure at the paper and noticed that those were not random marks at all.
The words began to twirl, take a few decisive steps creating a perfect choreograph. Was this possible. No, I do not have this much faith in my coffee high induced sleep. So I sat there reading away only to see the most amazing show.
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