If things were going to converge, then first they must span the edges of the unknown. Simon was sure that he and his friends had found the borders of this undiscovered country.
Bronwynn was turning circles in Manhattan, he had never met anyone so frustrated in all his life. She had to be the most creative person he'd ever met, and here she was trying to trim down her creativity to the most meager denominator: product design.
If you sat her in front of a table with pen and paper soon she would have created an entire world on those thin sheets.
Simon liked to dabble with a pen, but he was always frustrated that his faces seemed lifeless, unreal, unbelievable and amateur, the pieces were there but they didn't fit into a puzzle.
Bronwynn could lay down a maze of scratches and blobs but when you gaze at it, there would be the most sinularly powerful expression of emotion. She would design whole cities, alien races, create their civilization down to the most incredible detail, with the ease of a child's imagination at play.
He was sure it was some sort of abomination against the gods that she was stuck drawing 1000 different swishes for the new Nike logo, or 10,000 Pepsi logos in an attempt to harness her gift into its crystalline, earthly form.
It was only in the last year that she had finally started moving towards her dreams again, casting off the mold of buisiness success and the security of buying in. Talking to her 18 months ago he hardly have recognized her, but for her voice, so constricted were her emotions, he sentences, strangled by stress and a neverending stream of worried thoughts.
Percival Penderbrooke, the best writer he knew, was working out of his van, trouncing thought the boroughs of LA looking for the latest piece of trash to sell his bosses at the Enquirer. Of course, 2 years ago it was a dream job, an opportunity to make some money while at the beginning of his career, but he had seemed only stuck in a rut, his mind only on the deviances of humanity's most obsessed over members.
Sometimes Simon thought that the fairy tale they were writing together was the only thing that kept him from losing his love of writing.
His IM bounced in the dock.
"Hi, Simon."
"Stuck in a rut????" The pussycat chortled to the owl. "Quit driving anything on land and the ruts disappear.
ReplyDeleteNo ruts out here in the ocean. Waves, sometimes very large waves....but surfing them has made all the difference in my life."
The big horned owl hooted with pleasure and flapped his wings.
Simon: Perci Bocu, my brother.
ReplyDeletePerci: Did you know that there is this meme floating around LA right now? Its the unhappy fem lesbian. Dancing between gender paradigms, doomed to date children.
Simon: I suppose I can believe it, things aren't that different a hundred miles of the coast.
Perci: Speaking of which, when do we get some face time?
Simon: :/ I dunno, when are you going to find me that phat IT job.
Perci: When are you going to dig up that dirt on Ryan Seacrest?
Hang on, brb.
The IM screen was idle for a few minutes
Perci: Back... weird.
Simon: What?
Perci: There was a man dressed in a suit at the door.
Simon: What did he want?
Perci: He never made it very plain. He really didn't make much sense. It was like he was on drugs or something. He asked how things were growing and I got a little paranoid.
Simon: Do you think he knows?
Perci: I don't know... but maybe I should fly up there to see you.