Silence pounds on my ear through surgically-attached earphones. My fingers are punching the keys of a keyboard, slippery, moist, sticky even. Silent, oh so silent. I turn off the fan behind me, slowly, romantically, if you may. And my fingers slip, yet remain.
Remain, oh i hope you remain.
Remain. Remain. Sense eludes me, or does it? Dozens of, perhaps questions, answers, questions with answers. Answers of silent summer singing. Silent sins begets silent stutters. Mutterings. Anxieties. Shit society. Pounding on my ear. Words, wording, so am I haunted. or haunted? Pounding. Ever pounding. Silence.
We fear what we do not understand. And yet understanding makes us fear. Hear my words, and wording. Hear them if you will. Listen. We fear what we never will understand. What we could have understood. Stand up, and listen. The griping silence is sticky, moist even.
And now, the screen is blank, full of emptiness, nothingness, void.
Mistakes and sins are often confused for one another.
Unconsciously i hear beats of drums, pangs of strings, high-pitch. References to a Christian atheist.
And yet the silence remains, remains.
jhocnsoesaideoiilsLeuid.-- extra letters, maybe?
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