Day 12: The King of Swords

The Card

What can I say about the King of Swords?
Literally, what can I say?
I've actually been staring at the screen for a couple of hours trying to put into words how exactly uninspiring this card is to me.
I have no aversion to it.  I have no strong feelings for it.  Or against it. And therein lies the problem!

He's just...so....smart.  Like too smart.  Like that guy at a party that everybody hates.  Because he has an opinion about everything EVERYTHING and he thinks he wins all arguments because he has a steel mind for facts and logic and doesn't believe in made up words and is just not my cup of tea.

Let's take a look at him, shall we -

Nice sword.

Compensating for something?

I just want to point out that his scowl is actually an attribute that is shared by most King of Swords across the board, regardless of the deck.  He is scowling. Because. He thinks he's better. Than. EVERYBODY.  To me, that's unappealing.  It's just. Unappealing.

And uninspiring.

Which is a foreshadowing for the discussion I'm about to lay on you abouuuut

The Process

So it was just as rough going with the writing as it was with starting this blog entry.

I even looked at the prompts that the tarot book give and they weren't so much prompts as professions, like Doctor. Lawyer. Professor.  As though the tarot book were like Yeahhhh uhhh I just don't even knooooooow.

I was like Why you gotta deal me like that, Universe and the Universe was like

Even deities need a holiday, son

So it was like way slow going and since I am apparently too stubborn to oh I don't know, PICK A DIFFERENT CARD, I just did a lot of blahblah writing.

Blahblah writing is when I just write random words and try to make sentences out of them.

I also ripped up a lot of paper.  

Ran around in a circle.

Played with the dog.

Had an existential crisis.

And listened to a lot of Jason DeRulo.

I was like one of those Writer's Block montages you see on the Netflix.

And just when I couldn't blahblah write anymore,

I started to really write.

And wound up writing the most pages that I've written for these plays this month yet!

WHAT!

How?!

I dunno

but here

's an

EXCERPT-MANIA!

 [DOCTOR stands at a grave.  There are pictures of a smiling girl, about in her twenties.  Teddybears and pages ripped from books.  Candy boxes and piano keys.  It’s beautiful.  His hands are in his pockets.  He smirks at the engraving and shakes his head.] 

DOCTOR

Her suffering fell out of her body like a song

And filled the world with music.

.

Stupid.

[He turns to leave.  Doesn’t]

DOCTOR

It’s just that…What does that even mean, is the thing.

Does it mean anything? Because it sounds like a group of words, strung together by a shallow metaphor of music, is what it sounds like.

I bet you wrote it, though, didn’t you?   Either you or some of your hippie friends.

.

.

I never do this, you know.  Death happens.  All the time.  And I did my best.  No regrets.

There’s no such thing as saving a life, only extending it. And I extended yours over and over and over again.  In and out of the hospital, in and out of tests and surgeries and you, always there with your notebook and your smile.  The happiest dying girl I ever knew.  The most naïve dying girl I ever knew.

So…so…naïve.

[She appears.  They re-construct a memory.  They mimic and mime the movements they speak, but never touch, stand about three feet apart.]

In Concluse-balls

If I hear that "I am a paleontologist" song from the payless commercial one more time, I'm going to actually explode.

'Til tomorrow, all!