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sooner or later the voices in my head will hush, reduced to faint echoes or residual whispers of a million voices disappearing like stars against the city's neon lights. until that day, i have to put down what they say lest my head will burst like a cup forced to hold an ocean. i do not promise anything that makes sense - i just have to put them down...
Monday, May 29, 2006
Quiet
There is quiet and there is quiet. There is the quiet of a graveyard at midnight—nothing but whispers of sad somber breeze slithering in between tombstones, dusty wax and burnt out candles that occasionally decide to stir fallen leaves and sleepy tress; and there is the split-second quiet following an angry crack of lightning, or that passing moment of silence shadowing a black out. There is quiet and there is quiet, Ana. There is the quiet of a volcano masking its mounting fury. There is the predatory quiet of rattle snakes on a hunt. There is the quiet countdown of time bombs before inflicting indiscriminate violent force upon anything in its path. There is the quiet gloom in the air and the skies that herald an unstoppable nagging from an irritated weather. There is the quiet of a playful puppy unwell. There is the quiet of a trusty car radio broken. There is the quiet of a sneaky burglar moving about cat-like in the dark. There is the quiet static of a dropped call. There is the quiet of a boisterous church bell before and after mass. There is the solemn quiet of the earth ready to rest at dusk. There is the sudden ominous quiet of songbirds.
There is quiet and there is quiet, Ana. Some of which I understand, some I long to understand.
-paeng
my quiet room
