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The engines of imagination are microscopic. Their gears are empty space. Chemicals float across ‘nano’ distances to deliver messages that birth electrical impulses. These impulses race about the cerebral cortex and anything and everything comes to life as a thought. Then, with a new thought in mind, we can ask ourselves; is there a place in reality where this dream will fit in?

The thought grows as fast as we urge it to, or faster than we can control. We can hold it back until it fizzles out with nary a puff, or we can squash it quickly before it event takes a first breath. It is our thought, our ‘idea’. If it could make the world a better place, or worse than it already is, only we could know. We might let it scream. We might muffle it just above total silence. We might be proud of it, or ashamed. The choice is always ours.

There in the nursery between our ears the percolations of possibilities gives rise to things which have never existed before. Most may never translate, by our physical hand, into reality. Even as the initial electrical activity is waning, reality might ‘accidentally’ bump into our thought processes. That new thing imagined might vanish like a strange image you were just about to identify. It might melt away like cream into coffee, physically rendered diffused leaving some affect behind.

While daytime dreams bemuse our minds reality tears the blinds away.

Imagination sprints across soft desert sands, coming from nothing but memories.

Imaginations’ muscles crackle with electricity as its breath labors.

Reality shines down hard disrupting every spectrum.

Reality pulses and imagination disintegrates into dissolving ions.

Reality is proud of its kill, as always.

Reality never pays much attention to the sparkles in the desert sand.

Imagination smiles, even in defeat, knowing muses will blow the sands again.

Imaginations’ comfort is the tinkle of grains under ‘muse-breath’.

Imagination laughs quietly as reality never notices what’s going on.