Sunday, August 20, 2006
Echoes of Silence
High in the hills, lost in canyons of thought, deep in the dry ravines, in the wilderness of the soul, amidst desolation, often you can hear it. The sound of oblivion. When the void itself becomes a voice, so empty and hollow you can hear it. You can feel it. Silence throbs inside your ears, a prisoner, beating its fists on your drums. It swells, reverberating in the tunnels, ringing sledges on the anvils. Your shallowest breath heaves like the foundry’s bellows, shrieking through your teeth, stoking fires, singing ear hairs, melting wax. Overpowering nothingness. Never has a vacuum been so loud. Earplugs are inadequate. But what’s worse is the repetition, stacking on itself, crescendoing toward a terrible, unforeseeable climax. Life's barrier of sound has been breached, no, obliterated. Silence breached like a humpback. Nothing can stop it now. Here comes the boom. Dynamite. Whale hits water. A burst of pressure. Spouting from a new hole in the head. Now you know solitude. Deaf or dead, it little matters. Either way you are alone, lost in silence that echoes forever. ¶ 10:20 PM
High in the hills, lost in canyons of thought, deep in the dry ravines, in the wilderness of the soul, amidst desolation, often you can hear it. The sound of oblivion. When the void itself becomes a voice, so empty and hollow you can hear it. You can feel it. Silence throbs inside your ears, a prisoner, beating its fists on your drums. It swells, reverberating in the tunnels, ringing sledges on the anvils. Your shallowest breath heaves like the foundry’s bellows, shrieking through your teeth, stoking fires, singing ear hairs, melting wax. Overpowering nothingness. Never has a vacuum been so loud. Earplugs are inadequate. But what’s worse is the repetition, stacking on itself, crescendoing toward a terrible, unforeseeable climax. Life's barrier of sound has been breached, no, obliterated. Silence breached like a humpback. Nothing can stop it now. Here comes the boom. Dynamite. Whale hits water. A burst of pressure. Spouting from a new hole in the head. Now you know solitude. Deaf or dead, it little matters. Either way you are alone, lost in silence that echoes forever. ¶ 10:20 PM
