Apophasis/Apostrophe

          D’you recall ever having a great Idea? An idea so potent as to send chills up your spine? But then you think of it again and again, and you really and truly start to consider it; you start to parse it out. D’you ever think that you’re unique, that you’re idea is fresh, like you have something to offer the planet other than a narrative, (not to mention a narrative that has been told countless times before: you’re born, you live, you do stuff while live-ing, you die)? Does that feeling of uniqueness ever come back to try to persuade you, try to make you a part of its team; team unique, teamU. There is no U in team. I had an idea once, but I’m not going to tell you what it wa(i)s. I’ve removed it, like a crumpled up memory tossed into the wastebasket of my mind; it’s gone. But I’ve made you stare at this paragraph, and I should tell you that it’s a puzzle, a myth, an idea.