I have an idea. I am experiencing ideation.
Am I ideating? Do people like to ideate?
Ideas. Where do they come from? One is probing my noodle right now.
I think it wants to use me for its own purposes. Or perhaps it wants to escape my head.
I don’t think the idea is mine. I think it is on its own, seeking someone to use.
But what is it, exactly? What am I experiencing? I close my eyes. But my eyes won’t stay closed. I could continue to write with my eyes closed. I try it briefly, and I don’t make it to the end of the sentence before the eyes pop open. They see what they already knew would be there. But what if what was there was the idea that is seeking a vehicle for expression?
I have had ideas that want to be used. Some of them want to be abused. Is that when I am ideating — when I am thwacking an idea with a switch?
I would ideatize. I shouldn’t be so abstract. I should idealate. I could stand on a chair and be a concrete detail, my feet in socks on the slippery vinyl seat. I could also call upon my ideativity, raise a horn to my lips and blow. The vibration of the sound makes my lips itch.
What’s the idea? I suppose it is open, that I am scooping into its resistant flesh. If I look closely enough, perhaps with the right peering equipment, I will descry the operating mechanism or the operating principle. Perhaps I will see its song, the vibrato making it a blur.
