Noise brings noise. Mayhem attracts

August 09, 2003

Noise brings noise. Mayhem attracts mayhem. Quiet attracts noise. I can’t stop it. I speak more quietly. Then I try yelling. Then I try sitting down and stopping. Nothing. Everything must be delivered at once. All things are past some artificial deadline and I am racing just to fail in a lesser way. Freak occurances break the cycle. You can't rely on them but you can count on them happening. There are the freaks that go your way and the ones that don't.
The man sat down and said, “There, its all done. I have nothing to worry about or prepare for or finish. I have plenty of money. I have achieved all I ever want to achieve. I owe nobody anything emotionally or physically. I feel perfect all over. I have love. I do not fear death. I can handle anything.” He wasn't counting on feeling this way. It came out of nowhere after six months of intense depression. Why? The man walked out onto the sun dappled sidewalk on the edge of the green belt. He felt the whole world around him and half saw the invisible ribbons of celestial energy that connected all things back to him. He was stopped still as this enlightenment was overwhelmingly satisfying. His eyes closed and a beam of sunlight broke through the treetops and brushed its soft hand hand downward from his forehead to his chest. He closed his eyes.
A bald eagle being chased by two seagulls took evasive action and cut a hammerhead stall, tucked its wings in tight and dove straight for the strip of pavement below. At the last second he pulled up hard. His beak entered the doughy moist mass and things went black as the cushion was punctuated by something hard and boney at the back. He flapped backward, on a blast of adrenaline, against the warm moist vacuum. It let go and he fell to the pavement. Stunned he flew any direction he could as the warm trickle of human blood thinned over his brow and he regained his bearings. His vision cleared and the shock of heading up partially blind into the light from that dizzy darkness was tempered by the relief of open air. A few feathers would have to be adjusted back on the top of his favourite Douglas Fir but he’d lost those asshole gulls and things were looking up. Maybe he could go back later and fight off the local dogs for whatever he’d killed.
The bystanders stood over the dead man with the huge hole in his guts. He had everything going for him. Who was going to tell the story to the first cop on the scene? Maybe someone lucky would be on the news today!
Quiet brings noise. Noise brings noise. Then come the freaks.