My OperaA New Silence / An Old Noise
Sunday, April 25, 2010 12:08:34 PM
The infinite hierarchy of stillness hangs heavy in the air. A sticky afternoon shimmers in the murky past, lost in the ordered chaos of being. All that cannot be becomes an expression of itself, reflected in the dark backwaters of lost Tuesdays.
In the stillness, color burns with the smell of burnt oranges. History pulses like so many unremembered promises in the mist. The quiet slithers along the floor and melts through the walls and windows, dissolving them.
A torrent of silence rages through the empty streets. Man is an enigma no more, the last of the wild phantoms laid to rest. Great cities become termite mounds as the pale moonlight washes over them. A thousand generations are eclipsed by the absence of a thought.
A little small silence collapses in on itself. Everything is crisper, stronger, more vibrant. Eternity flickers with the light of a thousand suns, and plunges into darkness.
Silence has consumed the world.
An Old Noise (sequel to A New Silence written in May 2011)
Cobwebs stretch across the dank alley like chloroform. Lights dart about in the thick fog, casting small shadows in the air. The shadows reach out to touch the grimy pavement.
Just a few feet away, flooding the alley with sound though never entering, are the thundering hoof-beats of a thousand mechanical horses. They dart back and forth like desperate confused beasts in a stampede, narrowly missing each other.
From above, a pounding beat and an electric buzzing. The air crackles like a steady lightning in the damp mist. The shimmering echos of bygone generations hammer at the threshold of the now.
Frequencies harmonize and resonate, the whole world fuses to a single deafening note. It penetrates deep into the core of the earth and out to the depths of space, too loud to be heard and too powerful to ignore.
The glass walls shatter. Everything stops, everyone circles about and stares at the scattered shards. A man with a broom pushes through to pick up the pieces.
The window is closed. The people disperse. Life resumes.
In the stillness, color burns with the smell of burnt oranges. History pulses like so many unremembered promises in the mist. The quiet slithers along the floor and melts through the walls and windows, dissolving them.
A torrent of silence rages through the empty streets. Man is an enigma no more, the last of the wild phantoms laid to rest. Great cities become termite mounds as the pale moonlight washes over them. A thousand generations are eclipsed by the absence of a thought.
A little small silence collapses in on itself. Everything is crisper, stronger, more vibrant. Eternity flickers with the light of a thousand suns, and plunges into darkness.
Silence has consumed the world.
An Old Noise (sequel to A New Silence written in May 2011)
Cobwebs stretch across the dank alley like chloroform. Lights dart about in the thick fog, casting small shadows in the air. The shadows reach out to touch the grimy pavement.
Just a few feet away, flooding the alley with sound though never entering, are the thundering hoof-beats of a thousand mechanical horses. They dart back and forth like desperate confused beasts in a stampede, narrowly missing each other.
From above, a pounding beat and an electric buzzing. The air crackles like a steady lightning in the damp mist. The shimmering echos of bygone generations hammer at the threshold of the now.
Frequencies harmonize and resonate, the whole world fuses to a single deafening note. It penetrates deep into the core of the earth and out to the depths of space, too loud to be heard and too powerful to ignore.
The glass walls shatter. Everything stops, everyone circles about and stares at the scattered shards. A man with a broom pushes through to pick up the pieces.
The window is closed. The people disperse. Life resumes.
