i hate the silence. the odd moments that come about when you are sitting with a group of strangers/colleagues/family/friends. i need to pierce it with something, short conversation bordering on the arcane. questions about their occupation, location they live, views of politics, i am not really waiting for their answer to those questions but trying to fill the air with banter. trying to pull the time into some sort of vortex, trying to speed things up. there is something disturbing about the moments where social animals stop being social. something discomforting in the silence.

i have the same problems with gaps in a day. a schedule that is not full of errands and seemingly important destinations is a day not lived. i have to fill each box i come across, each drawer only content when it is stuffed with the perfect contents. my properties are incomplete when unoccupied, my mind unsettled if empty. i only see the stars and no space in between. i cannot find comfort unless i am filling the imaginary box with make-believe objects and objectives.

is this how the trees feel? how a lion feels when he wakes up on the savanna? does a bird get bothered by the silence or am i alone in this infliction? we all have our own maladies, none of us our void of suffering. i would hate to be thrown out of the tribe, locked in a room, put in a corner. i need my belongings and feel they need me. from afar, i cannot see them, but i sleep each night knowing their place, planning my next expedition and imagining things i once held that i no longer have. other then in memory. i am lost in the stuff, suffocating in hordes of objects and content counting coins in an illusion. bring on the year of the ox. i want more.