The coiled tungsten of old incandescence is rife with the most agitated of electrons tonight! I am aglow.
A sound is fed in, an image is envisioned, an idea enters left field and is considered, then again more diligently so. A concept that excites. To the degree it’s put before more testing conjecture: It’s bent then squashed then stretched; made hot, very hot, hotter still and likewise as many shades of cold. It’s inverted, re-coloured, bleached, dyed, laid bare to the people of the past and proffered up to those not yet here. Through all these labours it’s not, not for a moment, found wanting.
Goosebumps; a time-lapse eruption, the babies of button mushrooms fill, in unison, the shell-pink farm of the skin. An excited tingle prickles the neck, the back, the forearms and is observed by newly plugged-in child-eyes . The enormity can’t humanly be realised; a notion to wrap an enraptured world and post it 1st Class to Utopia.
But what’s this? From each goose bump sprouts a black, a grey or a white hair. As one yet as a wave they grow, to form a fierce mane that extends to consume body and limb. Every fibre held rigid by stressed dermis, every glossy filament a sentry at attention. A worry-wolf* of the greatest self-doubt materialises, turns inwards and tears the idea and itself to shreds.
* term handed to me many a full moon ago