- You are here: Jé Maverick
- The Mute Papers: Day 9
(I took a three
month week vow of silence. I had some general rules and reasons posted here)
And then there's this: the tuning fork, it hums.
On a street in San Francisco, I saw a lady place her tongue on each item in her path: tree; rubbish bin; lamp post; tree. She didn't like the taste of anything, and I don't believe she had a fork at all.
Chomsky hums in his sleep. So too, Ahmadinejad.
In a park in Santa Rosa, I played catch with a young man who was also a complete stranger. His fork was humming, glowing white hot. He believed that the planes above us were releasing mind control chemicals in their contrails, and that in about 15 minutes we'd start feeling stupid. Or, more stupid.
When I was still young, I found the rule of law and the consent of the governed, just like that. I saw that somebody had drawn a line through the divine right of kings. I placed my tongue on compassion. I let liberalism place its tongue on me.
Our identities are the instruments of countless found philosophies. We hold a tuning fork to each, and if it resonates, it's in the orchestra.
So far, no sign of silence. Resonance, yes. The forks show no signs of letting up. A lot of signal; a load of noise. But - the sound of carnivals? The sound of symphonies?
With all of this music, how do we peel ourselves from the dance?
Take care, keep safe, and stay beautiful,
With love and peace,