When I go quiet here, on the blog, it’s a good thing.
A lot of thinking, crafted here, is ok, occasionally insightful, but mostly it’s chatter, when I would do better talking materially, making material prose, making material poetry.
Quiet here, on the blog speaks of noise elsewhere. A silent blog speaks loudly. My silence here is elsewhere noisy with hammering, chiselling, sawing, thinking out loud with machinery.
This silence here is a pregnant pause. I am busting with a big litter of pups that will bark and scramble for attention when they come.
This silence is the hint of light before dawn when the birds think they have the stage alone.
This silence is the end of the music, or is it, and you clap and the music starts again?
When does the silence stop? It stops when anticipation is exhausted, when we are exhausted from false hope.
Silence is never tenured.