When writing about Ideas: hold them up like a wick lit by recent inspiration, observe their colors in the flame. They often snuff out in a moment's breath. Usually though, they smolder on down to my fingertips, just long enough to hurt. Occassionally, I catch fire. My body ignites and burns for days. I always re-form though around the shape of myself, a little bit changed. Rarely—and I may not even notice—the idea becomes something else entirely, a compressed part of me that continues to transmute energy, just beginning to spin. A different kind of fire.

I haven't published in a while; I'm updating my site to break that residual pattern.