On Building Worlds
Some people build themselves like new worlds, discrete realities with their own rules, until they resemble to everyone what they had in mind. This is my favourite kind of fiction, tales parental and prize-winning in a gesture or a use of adjective, long threads to pull.
I’ve met people who build worlds for entertainment, with spaceships or with dragons, and people watch their worlds or read them, they make one rich. A painter absorbs his nude, building stroke by stroke, until what’s outside is tolerable, easier to move in. Some people build worlds just for others which are cunning, any elevator’s > < , the “free” code for your lunch sushi, where you get to live and for how much (though not for how long).
I always tried to use the world as it was when I found it, wrote a local’s tales in notebooks, floated from my classmates, a cloud-watcher. But this became much harder, grownups cross deeper ravines, so I looked at those who are flying and what they do.
It’s a shock to first touch matter, the world-stuff with your bare hands, and feel it move. To will real mountains to give way, and know which friends to take along on the ride. When books run off their pages, where do they stop?
There are people who build new worlds, and remain grateful guests in others’, and the obedience of elements is something to share.