The Silence Of Noise

Talking to someone, and they leave, perhaps fetching a drink or joining another conversation. For a moment my thoughts are still on the conversation, and then the background noise saturates me. All the other conversations in the room are crawling over me. My conciousness could flick to this one, or that one, and select just those voices, and hear just these words, but for now it stays drifting. So there's no comprehension of any of it. Odd phrases, fragments come and go, like ripples across the surface of a pool. I let go of that, and I have just a wave of sound. In this raw mass of conversations overlapping, without any meanings to latch onto, it is suddenly as though I am alone in silence.

It was a nice party, I imagine. Putting aside the introspective detachment that seems to sometimes dog my steps like, well, a dog, I had a generally pleasant time. It is always lovely to see long-time friends, and all together, in pleasant moods. The loud, rather awful kareoke singing was fun. I was tempted to have a turn myself, but this feeling was beaten out of me by the repetition of awful pop music. A pleasant time for a diversionary phonecall.

Later, some of us took a walk through the dark streets. It was a lovely night, nary a cloud and nary a breeze, though rather cold. For a second time, I found myself between (or betwixt, if you prefer it that way) two groups. It was less alienating the second time. I am fond of the night. There is a quietness to it, and an intimacy to it, that daytime lacks. Daylight has distinctiveness too of course, it is more lively and unashamedly happy, but I am fond of the dark smile and the quiet moments.

Also, my sleep patterns are somewhat asynchronous, so I tend to see the night just as much as the day, anyway.

If my previous entry was a soliloquay on what I love about the morning, then equally this is what I love about the night. Sometimes it is difficult to know what times I would really like to be awake, because they all have impressions, and memories.

If anything, the big memory that tonight's walk triggered for me was a cumulative one, of the various night walks on the various camps through school. What I loved wasn't the destination, but the walking. Night in a quiet place, or night in the wilderness, is one of the few things in the world that still has a quasi-mystical, otherworldy or spiritual essence at its core (two others that I can think of are sex and music, though I am sure there are more). During the day everything is reducible to elements and things are simply what they are, but at night sounds are sharper, vision is deceptive and there is an elusiveness to the world. It is something to enjoy, I think. Except when the imagination makes sounds into monsters.


Peace.