He had resolved to write a short story in the month of January 2010. The story was to be entitled 'Terms of Collision' which was a name that had occurred to him quite spontaneously one day whilst walking the dog.
Terms of Collision. Terms of Collision. One wee problem: he had absolutely no fucking idea what the story should be about.
Well, he had some ideas, but they were vague and muddled. The more he tried to summon them the more blurred and out of focus they became.
Terms of Collision. It was to be a fairly bleak, sparse, minimal piece of prose.
Terms of motherfucking shitey hell.
The device made a whirring sound like an electronic cicada. Was it configured properly?
He was writing a science-fiction novella entitled 'Configuration of the Pegadrift' about a vast, omnipresent, telepathic computer.
A load of implausible shite aye perhaps.
He did quite enjoy the sensation of stupefaction that could not be denied. The presence of other people tended to exhaust him. He loathed people. And yet he needed them near him.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment