Ideas? You are out of ideas? Now, if you had come here and announced that you had run out of words, or motivation, or, even, laser toner, I would have believed you. But IDEAS?
Ideas infest the air like a thick sickening miasma. Ideas run through the streets of our minds and coat the foundations of the houses with a dark, stagnating damp. Ideas collect on the roads in huge mountains of dry tumble weed. the fill up our pockets like matted lint, so we can not put our hands in them anymore on a cold day.
What I am in short supply of is discipline. The discipline to scoop the miasma from the air and form it into a sculpture, to divert the flood in the streets into powerful rivers, to harvest the tumble weed and ... well you get the picture:
Ideas cheap, execution hard, blah, blah, blah.