Nocturnal Silences

I think I know now, why the nocturnal silence in this illustrious place is such a bad silence. The words, all of them destined to oblivion, have died out. That shouldn’t matter as they died out in the street too. But outside of this enclosed gray frame, no one pretends that it’s more than talk, people talk and enjoy talking, as they enjoy licking ice cream, so the tongue can take a break from the words. While here, everyone always acts as if it were different. As if it were enormously important, what they “said”. But they too, have to sleep in their self-importance, and then a silence remains that smells rotten because cadavers of pomposity are lying around everywhere and stincking without words. People say they understand each other, answer each other. But it isn’t so. No one, not a single one of the discussions shows the slightest indication of a change of mind in view of the reasons presented. With a heavy heart I realize: that’s how it always is! Saying something to another, or plethora of others, how can we expect it to affect anything? Really…?! The current of thoughts, images and feelings that flows through us, on every side, has such force, this torrential current, that it would be a miracle if it didn’t simply sweep away and consign to oblivion all words anyone else says to us, if they didn’t by accident, sheer accident, suit our own words. It’s sad, such sign of putrid minds; how everybody just goes around talking only to themselves. Well, I guess, it’s just talking. People like to talk. Basically, that’s it: just talking. No meeting of minds! Meeting of Minds? What? Why? The mind is not a bicep or broad chest nor a firm ass or perky breast, you can suckle on or feel … flaunt it to be admired and groped. It can’t be seen or possessed …so who cares? What an irrational expectation in today’s fleeting lives. How disdainful. I wonder…Is it different with me? Do I really listen to anybody else? Let them into me, with their words so that my internal current might be diverted? Why does this nocturnal silence, my sole companion, as I wander this insipid city streets at night, seem so lifeless to me? So queasy and desolate, so completely vapid and without charm? So completely different from those rooms of dusty velvet silence, which flash with life even in the early hours of the morning, when no human souls are out and about. Where the bright unearthly shining encloses buildings with sacred names, cells of scholarship, exquisite libraries, where perfectly shaped sentences are spoken, weighed pensively, refuted, and defended. V