Talking Pictures

I always did talk too much. Every time. Sitting there with a circle of friends, everyone getting real cool, real calm. There in the back of my mind is this chattering, incessant chattering trying to drown out all those things that I was trying to focus on: the voices of those around me, the music, the cool air, all those good things washed away by this raging torrent of inane questions and crackpot answers all floating there in the back of my mind and just screaming to get up and out of the front of my face by any means available whether that be in the form of a scream or horrific head explosion or worse. It is in this fucking mind that I was born and in this mind that I will live my life; screaming out above the cacophony, trying just to be heard, to be noticed above all the noise.

But really.....all that is just bullshit. What noise? It's me. The noise is inside of me. And how do you get rid of something like that exactly? Fuck.

And in this way I that I wake up everymorning to a hurricane of questions and the noisy ass answers and all that chatter chatter chatter. Right off the bat they start up with ethical queries and notions about the true nature of the time-space continuum, and all those kind of things that only the crazies ever think about. At any rate, they are the only ones talking about it.