Monday, April 24, 2006
The sound sans the fury
I been going back, back, back ... Late nights under the covers with the radio on. Strange voices and music battling static through a small plastic speaker. Those sounds, so near and yet so far. Comfort ensues; it's as if I am in a womb, connected to the entire universe by penlight batteries.
These days I lay in the darkness late at night and I move the radio dial wheel like Jimmy Valentine turning the safe's combo nob. I hear stations from distant cities, I hear voices, I hear ... nothing. I cannot tune in because there is nothing to hear that can rile my soul, beat my brow, bust my gut, roll my rocks nor rock my rolls.
I die’
Considering the current atmosphere
across this world, including, of course, the reverberations of a post-Sept.
11 global population and the swarm of hatred that fuels it all, I think
of the Wolfman.
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