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To Delve, Wade, Or Wallow: Bob Duvet Investigates Silence...

written by: BobDuvet


"I'm really swimming in it now…" Bob thought for a moment as his right hand guided the white mouse across its grey, rubber landscape. He noticed his reflection distorted and misshapen on the glossy surface beneath his fingertips, like he had entered a house of mirrors at some county fair. It is in these moments we catch glimpses of our true selves, guilty, depraved, searching for comfort in images and release from our habitual nature. The music playing in the background was all wrong. A distraction. A reminder of the impermanence of everything he spent his days putting value on - just another band in a multitude of bands with ironic titles, pleasant sounding enough but inconsequential and distracting. He needed silence, or the "new silence" as he liked to think of it. It was as much silence as someone can expect living in a city, the constant hum of broken people trying to fix a broken world running like a distant motor propelling it forward. Silence, true silence, didn't exist for anyone anymore. Perhaps, it never did exist at all. There was always something, some sound emanating from somewhere ready to muck up the silence, to distract. A plane flying overhead was no different for him than the trickle of a stream for somebody else. He couldn't believe that this would prove no less maddening to that person than these sounds were to him in a similar moment of reflection. Just because nature produced them made them no less vile in that moment when one craves perfect silence. Bob hung his head as he came to realization that this "silence" never existed. It could never be obtained. Even in death there was probably some gnawing buzz that permeates the afterlife, there always had to be something fighting to be heard. A fucking refrigerator or the happy giggle of tourists coming across a landmark that inspired them to come to this fucking place and stand outside his window. To interrupt a silence that never really existed. The word no longer was necessary because what it defined never really was. He could prove it just by sitting still and waiting for some clang or bang, hum, buzz, click, rustle, or breath that was held for too long inside him to shatter what he was called "silence". He couldn't even keep himself silent he thought, as he tried to remember what sent him down this thought path? Oh! Snapped out of the loll of introspection he typed, "girls with big tits" into the search engine box.

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