Abrasive Thoughts Cannot Linger

How long can silence last? I do not mean external noise, like car horns or crying children or barking dogs. I mean the internal sort of quiet. The kind where the mind goes blank, and the beating heart neither increases nor decreases in pace. When someone says "hello" or the radio is playing a song and you barely notice. How obvious is this? Do the eyes appear glazed or the face numb? Can one even notice it in one's own reflection? It's like an empty, abandoned train station. Every element is there, the tracks, the ticket booth, the waiting platform. All reminders of what once existed. Yet without the train, a station loses purpose, meaning, a logical reason. At which point does a demolition occur? The glass and metal and wood all turned to rubble in the blink of an eye. Some kind of merciful homocide. Or will the old place just sit waiting? Waiting for the people to return. Waiting for the blast from the train's horn. A spark of life, or a small lump of sympathy from passersby. This, after all, is the mind. An old, decrepit thing constantly waiting for reignition. Oh, there may occur some small event, a brief break from monotony when existence is made to seem worthwhile again. A smile, an acknowledgement, maybe even a conversation. And suddenly the mind is freed from its constraints, and the heart can thump with vivor and strength begins to grow. Then it is over. The smile, the acknowledgement, the conversation. Where else can one go but back down? When light is gone, what else could there possibly be but darkness? Light does not come from within, that is foolishness. Perhaps the world might gain some meaning when people learn to shoot light from their own ass. Until then, inside is just as dim as outside, and silence is all the more bitter when contrasted with the loud joy of surrounding parties.

Hey Bus, Run Me Over!

I always thought growing up would take forever. You know, I imagined that all knowledge would suddenly jam itself into my brain at the age of 95. Or, that it would occur each decade or so. At the age of 20, I will have Maturity. At 30, I will have Worldly Wisdom. At 40, I will have Sympathy. At 50, I will have Menopause, etc, etc. However, it seems life appreciates small, subtle increments. Little bits of wisdom at a time. I have always said, "Learn something new every day." But I always say that when I'm told something completely uninteresting, entirely factual, and of little consequence. Furthermore, I have never liked the idea of learning from other people's mistakes. I grew up reading books about other people's sins and every time they explained how they were wrong, I think, "You just didn't do wrong the right way." Plus, there are some things that you just shouldn't try to explain and compartmentalize into proverbs and ideals. You just view them. Experience them. You can ponder, and analyze, but never come to a conclusion. Never attach a word or a label. It just is.
Maybe I am wrong. Maybe each new experience needs an organized space in your mind. The Good, The Bad, The Ugly. Yet when we live in a society that is constantly rushing past and never stopping to ask, "why?" is it really plausible to expect to understand everything? Life is like a plotless, silent movie. Compilations of short clips, some warped, some clear, and some more poignant than others. Perhaps through the someone else's eye the scenes might be interepeted differently. Which is why I will never go to a psychiatrist unless I want to be called crazy. Yet I have convictions. I will never go into the woods to find myself. I wouldn't go to a convent either. The only thing I'd ever find in those two places are poison ivy and scratchy clothing. The more I see of this world, the more I realize how little I know. So, is solitude and isolation really the solution to ignorance? Of course, "finding yourself" is basically a lost cause. I'm almost positive it never happens. Even on your deathbed, won't you lay there thinking about everything you never did or the things you rather wish you hadn't? Yet there is some comfort in being young. Being 19 is both blissful and chaotic. There is this constant onslaught of information and problems, but I'm still a fresh-faced kid. I still have a chance at life, at change. I look back at the past year and it is overwhelming to see how much I've learned. Can it be I have found optimism? As frightening as the future may seem sometimes, I look forward to progressing and seeing life in a new way as each day passes.