The wailing is ever present. In the most hospitable of times however, it’s indeed possible to momentarily quell the agonized cries of the potentially innocent. An attenuation that is fleeting and forlorn, as this coup by its very nature is transient, and borne from the womb of denial and carnal desires.
The starkness of the silence instantaneously loses its allure as the suffocating weight of the violence soon comes flooding in to sober any superfluous or glamorous delusions that arose from the feverish act. The gratuitous, lurid, and vile scene replays itself in an incomprehensibly rapid succession. In this blistering realization there can be heard a faint buzz. A stinging metallic tone that is ceaseless, and taunts its victims to try again and again in vain to extinguish the dissonance. Each new attempt is an exercise in futility, and the desperation for any convincing distraction torments the mind.
Despite knowing that the quietude is a perverse and self deprecating charade it must be pursued at all costs. This affliction stalks all whom have ever tasted the nectar of golden silence. The chase to recreate this bliss is so engrossing that the memory of its occurrence is diluted until nothing but the essence of its lie remains. There it rests. In between the primordial pulses, just outside the cold clutches of the dead and invisible to the living. The absence of tonality, as evidence to this chaotic creation dwells in its eternally unattainable and dynamic state.
