Posted:Sat Oct 17, 2009 1:04 AM CST
When it's quiet
When we are beset by silence, it is our way, to end it.
Like the frightened beasts we are, we have to end what we cannot comprehend.
To destroy what is.
Whether or not is be good, or bad for us, ourselves.
The void, the blank slate, it must be filled, with something, almost anything.
We talk to ourselves, in the lonliness, to end it.
Social beasts, though, even some of us despise socialalities.
We draw, we write, little nothings, meaninglessness, to end the true nothings we believe we are faced with.
Denials of the voids.
It cannot be there, for I am there, something must be done.
So we scream in the silence.
We violate the nothing with something.
Paint on walls.
Words on clay tablets.
We hear that the silence is a test of patience, the blank canvas, a test of mind, willpowers of creativity.
It's all something to see in ourselves, what we are, and how we think.
Never the tiny wisp of image, of thought, that maybe, just maybe, we should do nothing at all.
Just breath the void.
To exist in the utter absolute of nothing at all.
Maybe, in that way, we can see deeper into ourselves.
Stare at the night.
But then, we are what we are, creations, constructs that cannot feel to be, in the nothing.
For us, there has to be something.
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There is no void . . . . . . .
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The blankness cannot go unfilled . . . . . . .
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There is no nothing . . . . . . . . .
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Now scream