Quell my fears and calm me
(Unless I kill you, too)
I'd throw away these luxuries to find myself
End the needless noise-
That noise which has brought me only pain
Newsweek ran an article about the value of silence. The writer mentions a lady, Sara Maitland, a British author, who traveled to and lived in quiet places for years upon years, being strange by all accounts to us. Us. It disgusts me, what I am: trapped in a society of perpetual stimulation but no satisfaction; endless noise with no purpose. I think I may go into exile; become a hermit, not only for me, but for others, too...
My presence stifles the life out of those who come near. I rob them of their (I believe) artificial happiness, based on the most idiotic pretenses and things, and they detest me for it- first subconsciously, then consciously. This has long been my problem. It cannot be solved, so I shall cease to plague them, and maybe one day I'll find another hundred-year old in a an adolescent body who will be themselves with me: dull, old, introspective...