Blackout July 14, 2008

Perched at queer angle upon your faithful chair.
  Working away through the wee hours of the night.
Pumped by the loud stereo music, air guitaring as you see fit.
  Taking the lights and sounds for granted. Blackout.

You hear the faint pitter-patter of the rain.
  The hurr of the machine world fades away.
Sounds taken for granted, the background buzz of your life.
  The lonely night greets you to partake in its silence.

You can’t make a sound.
  You can’t strike a match.
You can’t ruin the night.

The window opens, smell the freshness of a rainy night.
  That wonderful dusty odour tingles your senses.
You hear that odd dog bark.
  You hear that odd truck slosh somewhere in the abyss.
Silence.

You can’t make a sound.
  You can’t strike a match.
You can’t ruin the night.

Thoughts flow unbidden into your head.
  You can’t filter them, you can’t categorize them.
Mentally, you stand back and watch the chaos of your mind,
  occupy this new found vaccum.

You can’t make a sound.
  You can’t strike a match.
You can’t ruin the night.

The hurr begins again, the lights flash back on.
  You are blinded by the light.
The sounds hit you from every side, obtrusive and repulsive.
  The night is dead. Long live the night.