My computer has been colonised by millions of microscopic ants. As I type they appear from under the keys and climb up my fingers.
They scurry across the screen and make an 'n' into an 'm'. They make this word I'm typing, 'make' - yes, take 'make' - into 'made' into 'mate' into 'date' into 'late' into 'fate'. They write their own things on my screen, possibly the great ant novel - it marches into view, complex, fully formed and swiftly changing, then vanishes all at once under the gale of my breath.
Wait. Where have they gone? And now, that they've gone, what can I write that's half as good?
P.S. I tell someone about the ants and he says: 'ants? wait for the mold in your kindle'.
They scurry across the screen and make an 'n' into an 'm'. They make this word I'm typing, 'make' - yes, take 'make' - into 'made' into 'mate' into 'date' into 'late' into 'fate'. They write their own things on my screen, possibly the great ant novel - it marches into view, complex, fully formed and swiftly changing, then vanishes all at once under the gale of my breath.
Wait. Where have they gone? And now, that they've gone, what can I write that's half as good?
P.S. I tell someone about the ants and he says: 'ants? wait for the mold in your kindle'.
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