March 1st, Year of Silence

I can hear someone playing the violin. Sound carries well throughout the neighborhood. Droplets of water release pungent odors. It seeps in through my window, ever so slightly open. It is oils intermingling with weeds. It is cat fur and dead flowers.

 
The person is only beginning to learn their instrument. I think they should play this way forever. Let it be ferocious and from the heart. Like a monster behind the tree. The one you know you can befriend, if it would just let itself be seen. It is wild, the way most things should be.

The truth is faithful to itself. That is why so many find it repulsive. Our allegiance is often to external things. Alone, we are lost. Made up of only ourselves, we are nothing. A lie can be manipulated, it can be played with, it is interactive. Lies change depending on circumstances. It is a life that we create, and can go on to survive on its own. It makes a minor god out of us.

Joseph has apologized to me. He has expressed remorse. He has made a minor god of himself.

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March 1st, Year of Silence

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