Sometimes I enjoy the silence. I've heard that Silence is Golden, but I think it's closer to Death. Perhaps Silence is Golden Death. Nothing would make me so ill as The Silence. That is the whole point isn't it?
When it is silent, I feel the lines in my head. I can almost picture it looking like a Pollack painting. Random and Variable, the the idea of it is mind boggling and I'm no more pleasant than tortured. But really, let's get real here, what am I tortured about? I'm not even sure. If the feminists can have a "problem with a name" then what do you call whatever everyone else feels anyway?
I felt lost and trembled and spurned and loved and cared for and touched too. I couldn't get away from the term "I" and I did not want to stray too far...
the song goes "live through this, and you won't look back" and I wonder, that if at this indeterminable time frame that make up the moment as I know it in my heart, would i really ever let the past wash over me? Would I not miss the singular lost of heart? The questions bear on me like pigeons over a piece of bread on a hot summer day, pecking away.
at this moment I want to sing, and sing and sing myself away. But I will not raise my voice because my voice is hidden. I have never felt so forlorn and I love it. It is not the end of which, but the beginning of which, like Fenrir swallows the world, like Orisis who needed to be pieced back together, or Horus who did what his predecessor could not. Like to Overthrow, Like to Overcome. It is the most curious kind of silence that dominates my mind. When I close my eyes I could still see the fire. I wanted to know, i wanted to feel, i wanted to long for, to yearn. But what do I know about what I want?
I want all the wrong things because they seem so right. I want the Love the die for but I know I will not. The life with which i was given had not yet come to terms and I do not understand.
The Beauty in not understanding, the beauty in the way we work. I would give anything to retain this ignorance, and give some more. I am fury and calamity and peaceful too. In the you of I, there is no end to the beginning. No hatred or jealousy, no pettiness or the grand, only the Self and I want to snuff it out.
When it is silent, I feel the lines in my head. I can almost picture it looking like a Pollack painting. Random and Variable, the the idea of it is mind boggling and I'm no more pleasant than tortured. But really, let's get real here, what am I tortured about? I'm not even sure. If the feminists can have a "problem with a name" then what do you call whatever everyone else feels anyway?
I felt lost and trembled and spurned and loved and cared for and touched too. I couldn't get away from the term "I" and I did not want to stray too far...
the song goes "live through this, and you won't look back" and I wonder, that if at this indeterminable time frame that make up the moment as I know it in my heart, would i really ever let the past wash over me? Would I not miss the singular lost of heart? The questions bear on me like pigeons over a piece of bread on a hot summer day, pecking away.
at this moment I want to sing, and sing and sing myself away. But I will not raise my voice because my voice is hidden. I have never felt so forlorn and I love it. It is not the end of which, but the beginning of which, like Fenrir swallows the world, like Orisis who needed to be pieced back together, or Horus who did what his predecessor could not. Like to Overthrow, Like to Overcome. It is the most curious kind of silence that dominates my mind. When I close my eyes I could still see the fire. I wanted to know, i wanted to feel, i wanted to long for, to yearn. But what do I know about what I want?
I want all the wrong things because they seem so right. I want the Love the die for but I know I will not. The life with which i was given had not yet come to terms and I do not understand.
The Beauty in not understanding, the beauty in the way we work. I would give anything to retain this ignorance, and give some more. I am fury and calamity and peaceful too. In the you of I, there is no end to the beginning. No hatred or jealousy, no pettiness or the grand, only the Self and I want to snuff it out.
posted by Zephyr ex Machina at 08:52
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