It’s noise that gets you.
The clamour of family laying their claim. Loud and demanding as they declare their ownership of you. The uncertainty of relationships of old once the veneer of care is stripped bare by the test of time and its uncanny knack for exposing what was sold as solid to be revealed as ply. Aesthetically useful when painted but brittle when tested. The ambiguity of professional encounters that masquerade as relationships, where we profess to know those people we interact with. Who present an ‘as expected’ face whilst concealing an admirable zeal in their endeavour to unmask you. Because, of course, if they wear one then they are duty bound to rip off the one you must surly wear before you expose them. Right? A tinny, synthesised descant to the dark bass of your own body betraying you. Plucking away at your hair and leaving you teetering on the verge of succumbing to the hypnotic call of the tears running down your face. Each and every night you vow to get it over with and just cut it, but your resolve wavers under the pressure of exposing your personal vulnerability to those who would view it as a lack of strength. The ever present chorus of insistent emotions that whirl to a frenetic crescendo, before bringing everything to a distraught end. And your efforts to pull yourself away from its allure become less frantic. It’s noise. And you’re unable to organise it all so, you succumb to it and allow the discord to envelop you. And you close your eyes and try and block out the light.
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April 2016
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