To Be Silent

    I'm no one to advise anyone or to be advised. Speech is rarely necessary, most often an attempted antidote to the awkwardness. I speak to put them at ease, to escape my label, to escape myself and the true essence of I and all of us. Because we're all the same, so why would talking to others be more rational than talking to myself? Which, of course, I do, and which, of course, writing is. Writing is talking to oneself, but with the added illusion of talking to the entire world, potentially. Who knows who might find their way to these words? I've read many a word that never knew I would be its audience. So what's the point? I'm told I should write a book. And then I'm told again, by another. But I always inwardly have the same rejecting thought - what could be the point? Not only do I have nothing new to say, but I doubt anyone else does either. Fiction is the richest medium for revealing insightful truths, so I could see the potential there more easily. I do recognize the perpetual sensation that we've peaked, intellectually, technologically.  Many have thought this for centuries, it's been documented. We believe every idea has already been had, there could be no possible new invention, but we go on creating more and more exponentially. So I get that, but still I feel the pointlessness of it. We already know we're supposed to just stop it. Stop thinking, reaching, striving, breaking, hurting, taking. Just stop it.
    We're just filling up the emptiness with denser emptiness. There's no sense in order. I would put my words in poems, put my poems in songs, for ambiguity does words their highest honor, but even the words detract from the purity of the music, as the music does to the silence, and ultimately the most we can do is the least we can do: to be silent.