Most of the Ooh-Shiny’s I come across are the kind made of words. Or, more precisely, the white space between them. It’s the spaces, really, that make the music. The punch, the beat of ideas, which after all, speaks to our most native hearts, born, as we are, from the watery warm thump-thump cocoon. How did your mother’s heart beat? What was the swing of her walk?
Today’s bauble, plucked from rabbitblog, an utter favorite:
God was probably at the In ‘n’ Out Burger Drive Thru, chatting with one of his idiot friends on his cell phone while some pimply teenager packed up his Double-Double. He was probably pulling a ‘Joan of Arcadia’thing on the teenager, telling him to move to a trailer park in Utah with his girlfriend and wait for further instruction, then getting back on the phone with his buddy and laughing so hard he snortled chocolate shake all over the luxury interior of his Jag.
He does too drive a Jag! Don’t be daft.
For it’s in you, those tones that attract. The spaces between the beats of the words. Reading? Words make love to you, the writer’s voice enchants; inside, you dance, you come, you rise and fall, without knowing. All you know is that you are unreasonably pleased by that “don’t be daft.” Unreasonably.
