I know you have all heard it.
You probably were more aware of it than I, at the time.
Slowly the tick, tick, tick of the life bomb was becoming the steady thud of worn soles on gravel.
The focus had slipped, the authenticity lost, life had started to dictate the terms of the grand work.
When life dictates we are not the engineers of our own meme, instead we become, once again, the subtle sheep of situations.
I have seen the few aspects of the bomb that remained true come to a beautiful fruition. Hurrah for those that reap the benefits, but it is not finished.
I turn my intent now inward. I begin the long walk back to my laboratory, the psychic tower from which I watch, I learn, and I grow.
I hold the rusted key tightly in my bruised palm, knowing that it will turn the lock on that worn door and back to the welcoming rooms of my lair.
The closets filled with the previous fiction suits worn, the war rooms with their rapiers hung on the walls beside weapons designed only in the realm of the mind, and most importantly to my lab.
The lab where the bomb sits quietly ticking, slowly grinding away, in need of the repairs and attention of its creator.
My long walk back to my lab is almost at an end dearest reader. My focus is greater than ever before, my intent as authentic as the very sun that I imagine every day warming my roses in the yard.
Soon the key will turn, soon I will once again walk the familiar creaking boards of my imagination and will.
I just got lost for a moment.
Never fear dear friends and conspirators Uncle Maury is almost home.
And he is bringing one hell of a bang with him.
The life bomb count down will start soon, smile, wait, and know it's going to be a thing of beauty.
