Humankind's preoccupation with all things auditory is particularly odious, and so I do my part to engage in vague protest. It is an indistinct but necessary engagement. Regardless of its true efficacy, it calms the nerves and combats the insipidity of oscillating air.
In the streets this sensory molestation festers, welling up between the curbs, protesting the inevitability of its existential nadir. What shall we do to shield ourselves from its torrent?
Birth is certainly not an act that signals the commencement of this exercise in negation. We enter with a scream deemed to mark the healthy beginning of a long slow fall. Evidently, it takes conscious and exerted effort to overcome our first mistake, and many are not up to the task.
I find repose in my bastion of silence: four walls that mitigate the effects of unwelcome aural stimulation. But there are times we must venture the world on the outside, bathed by the white noise that betrays humankind's vacuity. We must come face to face with flesh-covered corpses, too distracted by the act of modulation to understand the meaning of a sigh.
There are few things more damning to our kind than the oral contortions of the populace, and there is no response more fitting than no response at all.
We might imagine a world content in its own verbal abstention, an existence anterior to the genesis of consonants and vowels, where words are wholly inadequate for the task at hand. In short, a world where there is no atmosphere left for us to stir. In silence alone we shed all complicity in our gradual decline, a fact lost on all but the stillborn.
In the streets this sensory molestation festers, welling up between the curbs, protesting the inevitability of its existential nadir. What shall we do to shield ourselves from its torrent?
Birth is certainly not an act that signals the commencement of this exercise in negation. We enter with a scream deemed to mark the healthy beginning of a long slow fall. Evidently, it takes conscious and exerted effort to overcome our first mistake, and many are not up to the task.
I find repose in my bastion of silence: four walls that mitigate the effects of unwelcome aural stimulation. But there are times we must venture the world on the outside, bathed by the white noise that betrays humankind's vacuity. We must come face to face with flesh-covered corpses, too distracted by the act of modulation to understand the meaning of a sigh.
There are few things more damning to our kind than the oral contortions of the populace, and there is no response more fitting than no response at all.
We might imagine a world content in its own verbal abstention, an existence anterior to the genesis of consonants and vowels, where words are wholly inadequate for the task at hand. In short, a world where there is no atmosphere left for us to stir. In silence alone we shed all complicity in our gradual decline, a fact lost on all but the stillborn.
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