I don’t want to write today.
What I’d really like to do is fly.
Not in a plane but with wings or on a magic carpet or something. I could be like the kid in the children’s story, The Little Lame Prince. I used to love that story. A magic bit of cloth turns into a magical carpet for him to see beyond the lonely tower where he lives out his days as a broken, unworthy son of the king. Broken, because his nurse had butterfingers and dropped him on the day he was to be presented to the masses. Of course, she didn’t tell anyone. I mean who wants to own up to dropped a royal baby who would eventually be king? What if somebody had dropped Prince Charles that way? I dare say Queen Elizabeth would have been pissed. Royally, of course. Yup. I’d say if you did that, keeping it secret is a given. Anyway, as this prince grew up, he was different and couldn’t run and play like the other children and had to be carried everywhere. I wonder if that is where the idea came for the lame prince who was pushed out of a tower window in Game of Thrones Series, or rather the books it’s based on? There was even a guy who’s only job was to be the royal carrier. Now I bet that was a thankless and dead end job. (“What do you do at the castle, Bob?” “Me? Oh, I get to carry a kid around all day.” “Gee, Bob. That’s the shittiest job I ever heard of.” “Not really. I used to empty chamber pots.” ba-dum-da!)
Of course there’s a moral to this story. The King paid so little attention to him, he never noticed the kid never learned to walk. You see, the Queen died…as happens in a lot of children’s stories… and the King’s heart was broken after that so he pretty much is a zombie. So the king’s advisors, or maybe it was an uncle…uncles frequently play the heavies when it comes to these kinds of things, takes the prince away “to recooperate in a warmer climate” and instead, imprisoned him in a tower as far away from the kingdom as he could get. Pretty much teh edge of the world. The people of the kingdom were told he was dead having been eaten by a dragon, died of the plague or something just as horrible but the point is, he was hidden away to grow old alone except for one attendant who lived with him, blah, blah blah… I forget most of it but I know it did have a moral to the story because all good children stories do. Something about him not realizing what he was missing and then begin able to see the world on the magic carpet his fairy godmother(there’s always a fairy godmother, isn’t there), unshackled, free, learning humility and how a person’s worthiness not being connected to physical attributes, reconnecting with the people of the kingdom and his father the King and becoming loved by one and all. A terribly altruistic or other “worthwhile” ending. Or maybe he became the best King ever after whooping his uncle’s ass… I honest to God don’t remember. Weird. I guess I’ll have to read the damn thing again.
Anyway, back to me wanting to fly
At sometime in our lives, don’t we all wish to be able to go outside ourselves with that kind of freedom? Is that why we write? To escape beyond the confines of the hand fate deals us?
I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting in this stupid office, if I could fly. You can take that one to the bank.
Wings would be even better. I frequently dream of having wings. Not tiny, gossamer, sparkly fairy wings like Tinkerbell (If you’re too young to remember Tink, I don’t even want to talk to you). No, I want massive fucking warrior wings; like an ArchAngel. Maybe even made of fire like a Seraphim.
If I thought it would help, I’d mainline Redbull.
To be able to soar above everyone and then dive and turn and buzz people I don’t particularly like and scare the shit out of them. Now that would be tremendously cool.
Yup. I definitely would rather fly today.
I have no desire to write about anything.