Actually, I love silence. But i've come to know how firmly the emerald eyes were my Messiah to gide me away from the abyss silence brings me to. They made me bear that abyss, they made me look into it, and see why I shouldn't fall.

Now, from times to times, I look up and I remember the shores of that cosmic hole in the ground. How far do they seem from this place I'm at now. There is no flying away from the abyss of mediocrity. I can only listen to the noise from the coming waterfalls. I'm going to fall again and again, drowned in the sense I'm not drowning. Until some day, hopefully, I get to another shore. And, also hopefully, I'll have been listening to my silence overcoming that outside noise. Why? Because when you are in silence, you can really listen to the words, one syllable at a time. And sometimes they sound magic. And I need magic to survive until the last waterfall, where I'll get to those other shores, and I'll be out of the abyss. Just being given the opportunity to walk again to the sides of that (or other) abyss.

I need an abyss. I need waterfalls. And I need not to be in either of those. But to survive the lack of lacking something vital, I need the same alcohol, to purify my thoughts, and often, eliminate them too.



Worst of all, when I look into that pictographic log, there's no brandy that can make me look away. You'll always be my silent curse.

Yours truly, the fallen mediocre guy.