There was once an army of ideas.
Of course, people couldn’t see the army as it was.
So, lives and careers got built around fighting to scribble ideaesque shapes on flags.
The first generation of competing scribblers had their sights set on authority. Each worked to make their particular shapes the only ones trusted and adhered to.
All flags chosen came to be held aloft by a proud and special, select few called collectors.
In the beginning, the collectors arranged themselves and their flags naturally into squads, platoons, companies, and battalions that more or less matched the ideas’ formations.
The intricacy and beautiful order of this ever-expanding, fabric-and-squiggly-line enterprise made it all the more enticing to command.
One day, both the unseen idea army and its profiteering counterpart came unaware upon a great and consuming fog that filled The City.
As both armies marched headlong into the fog, nothing at all changed for the collectors. As always, their eyes stayed glued above to only where their flags were meant to fly amongst those nearby.
In fact, the collectors soon became extremely successful in The City. The prestige of their flags protruding high up over the fog drew many from far and near to come be made collectors themselves, even at great expense.
To the collectors now, and all who saw them, the flags and symbols were and had always been the ideas.
Lost, the forgotten ideas fell blind in the fog, unable to see or even remember one another. Each was hopelessly isolated. Most wondered if they were real.
Every lone idea might as well have called itself aloud with all its worth yet found no one to hear or understand.
Maybe in The City, the lost ideas could have stayed stuck forever in blank and gray for no good reason at all.
I don't know anything 