Ideas can come from anywhere. If you don’t think they will they wont. But ideas, like women (or men dressed as women), will not be stalked. You cannot corner them and pin them against the wall. You cannot clip them with shot like a scuffle of game; wing them and pounce upon their injured, glistening, half-naked bodies. No, the ideal idea receiving state is called the ‘Bus stop modular sub-psychosemantic- elfhouse5’. It is all about simplicity. Pull up a chaise and grab your note book and learn:
You wait, metaphorically, for a bus that was never scheduled. You wait in silence, still as a city of tombs. As no buses run on this route it would be perfectly imaginable that no bus will arrive; but wait, wait, don’t divert from the purpose; don’t be tempted down blind alleys or retire to drinking and/or whoring establishments. Make yourself amenable to the possibility of a bus appearing like a dream; like the idea cavalry relieving your last stand (bus stand). Oh, what is this you spy? The number 60b, its destination: where you are going. Where is that? Who knows? Patience blog-fiend-friend.
I have used this technique staunchly and with the tenacity of a warrior-terrier closing in for lunch for some years now. It has borne fruit, though the fruit has been bruised, soft and unfit for consumption. Because when the bus arrives it is the mad bus, the bus with nothing but nutters on it, including the devilishly laughing driver.
I wake up from disturbing dreams. I sleep rough at the bus stop with no buses. And groundhog-like: the same mad fucking bus with the same but different mad fucking passengers. Shoot me now; shoot to kill.
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