The Dino-Aspie Ex-Café (for Those 40+... or feeling creaky)

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If only I could make my mind sit still, but ideas pop in constantly, and I just can't keep up with all of them.

Particles of raw inspiration sleet through the universe all the time. Every once in a while one of them hits a receptive mind, which then invents DNA or te flute sonata form or a way of making light bulbs wear out in half the time. But most of them miss. Most people go through their lives without being hit even by one.
Some people are even more unfortunate. They get them all.
Such a one was Hwel. Enough inspirations to equip a complete history of the performing arts poured continuously into a small heavy skull designed by evolution to do nothing more spectacular than be remarkably resistant to axe blows.

...

Hwel pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted wearily at the wax-spattered paper.
The play wasn't going well.
He'd sorted out the falling chandelier, and found a place for a villain who wore a mask to conceal his disfigurement, and he'd rewritten one of the funny bits to allow for the fact that the hero had been born in a handbag. It was the clowns who were giving him trouble again. They kept changing every time he thought about them. He preferred them in twos, that was traditional, but now there seemed to be a third one, and he was blowed if he could think of funny lines for him.
His quill moved scratchily over the latest sheet of paper, trying to catch the voices that streamed through his dreaming mind and had seemed so funny at the time.
His tingue began sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He was sweating.
This iss My Little Study, he wrote. Hey with a Little Study youe could goe a Long Way. And I wishe youed start now. Iffe You can't leave yn a Cab then leave yn a Huff. Iff thates too soone, thenn leave yn a minute and a Huff. Say, have you Gott a Pensil? A crayon? -
Hwel stared at this in horror. On the page it looked nonsensical, ridiculous. And yet, and yet, in the throned auditorium of his mind ...
He dipped his quill in the inkpot, and chased the echoes further.
Seconde Clowne: Atsa right, Boss.
Third Clowne: [businesse with bladder on stick] Honk. Honk.
Hwel gave up. Yes, it was funny, he knew it was funny, he'd heard the laughter in his dreams. But it wasn't right. Not yet. Maybe never. It was like the other idea about the two clowns, one fat, one thin ... Thys ys amain Dainty Messe youe have got me into, Stanleigh ... He had laughed until his chest ached, and the rest of the company had looked at him in astonishment. But in his dreams it was hilarious.

Laurelled Lau lautiously launders laughter.

Ninja Chuck's nincompoop chopping chumps:
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_NQCTbvRnM[/youtube]
(...What kind of wood is this?!? )