Creativity

A 3-post collection

Challenge #02216-F026: The Boredom Compulsion

This rumination on Queen's three types of songs, as seen by aliens trying to understand these odd Deathworlders. -- RecklessPrudence

If there is anything to cause the Human brain to skip a few gears, it's listening to The Prophet's Song followed by Fat Bottomed Girls. Both are clearly sung by the same man. Learning that both are written by the same man just makes the disparity more obvious.

One is a philosophical piece about those who foresee doom down the road and how they are treated by the general populace. The other is a diatribe in appreciation for ladies who have large buttocks. Even a novice could tell them apart. Then the hypothetical listener hears something like Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon. Frivolous, light and a seeming relic of an era long bygone before its author's lifetime.

It's at this point that the listener might wonder what the flakk was up with this one being of talent. Others would use him as a prime example of Human unpredictability and capriciousness. The truth, closer to the bone, is that those with a capacity to create have their emotions as a co-author at all times. Even the most serious creators just want to doodle around and have fun with what they do.

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Challenge #01905-E081: Who, Me?

Excuses both lame and creative. -- Knitnan

Of all the forces of creativity, imagination, and progenitation available, nothing in the known universe is more powerful and simultaneously more inept than a small child who has been caught out, and is desperately digging to get themselves out of the hole they are already in.

"Uhm," said Kae. Elbow-deep in the cookie jar. There was no denying that her hand was in there, and there could be some debate that she was, indeed, taking

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Challenge #01490-D029: Prophecy From Another Dimension

You should write for Steemit...

Oh, that's right! You already do! Just "discovered" you there today... Having fun reading you, THANKS! -- @creatr

The message arrived via postcard under their door. They pondered over it for hours, because they had never written a word in their life. Everything was too busy. There was no time. There was no space to create anything in. Their space was a mere bed-sit[1] with cardboard walls and loud neighbours. It was the exact opposite of

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