Intergalactic council tax

Scientific American is the second news source to put space litter in my imagination today. I have a writer’s brain and this is far from trivial. It means I’m out and about tittering in public, drawing disconcertingly familiar attention bordering on concern.

I don’t know what other people daydream about, but I doubt many others are thinking about floating refuse collectors in high-vis spacesuits. Or mutating alien condoms. Or dirty vapes from which the saliva of misguided teenagers conjoin with wires to form AI-organic intergalactic troublemakers.

It brings about alienation from my task sheet and displacement in a creative industry that I often feel could use a mind like this in more ways than I’ve worked out how to action.

These last few days, it’s become apparent that my current direction is about resolving a relationship with the industry I love that has a certain fissure running along a bit I’ve never noticed before. At times it’s threatened to branch off in many directions, and maybe it already has.

But there are meetings lined up. Meetings about coaching work with not just individuals, but agencies who I believe I can help. Agencies outside which I spend a lot of time peering through their online windows, yearning for a taste of that collaborative energy, and a little more time outside my space-litter-sullied head.

From time to time, we all need to peer at those we feel drawn to and assess them thematically. What is it that they have, or do so well, which we shouldn’t seek to attain in its literal form, that speaks to us on a level that language cannot always express? And in what ways, despite my particulars – my budget, location, schedule, and skillset – can I start to bring them into my creative ecosystem?

This way, those cracks heal.