The Lush Chronicles

There are different qualities of silence. Some silence is soothing. Like the silence after a nuclear holocaust. You traverse the dead rows until you lie down and become part of it.

Put your hand in the hand of the man who made the water...

Sometimes there is silence in a bar, amidst the noise and revelry and dancing and carousing. Sometimes it is a screaming silence and you wonder, whither the devastated landscape? At least that was right, appropriate, familiar, comforting. I can't take this silence. Somebody please, put me out of my misery.

So I pass out. (it's the only thing to do)

Sometimes the silence is in your mind. And you sit in front of the computer trying desperately to type out the words that will form part of another blockbuster speech to be quoted on blogs, discussed as part of the cult of personality that you don't approve of but have been so busy building, nevertheless.

The words don't come.

things fall apart; the centre cannot hold...

There is only silence.

Silence and tears.

In secret we met
in silence I grieve
that your heart could forget
your spirit deceive
if I should meet thee
after long years
how should I greet thee
with silence and tears.

At Starbucks now, charged on caffeine, shots and shots and shots of caffeine. And these voices in my head that won't leave me alone.

They tell me to jump.

I wonder: jump where?

I think

I need

another

drink.