I never knew the sound of silence could be so loud. There is camoflauged simpers of an alienated proverb lingering around my perceptive ear drums; a language I could not transact only idle with a broken affection. I do not aspire to cold shoulder the acclaimed projectile bomb shells striking the grit and ashes like the other minors discharge. I boycotted the viewpoint of letting this remote country of corrupt, brainless, and aloof citizens lambaste through my essential nature, brooding through my organs, making its way to allay its memories in my heart. To a mundan cargo or globetrotter, the municipality, Jerusalem, is full of activity, essence, enity, spunk, but it is riddling and full of fatigue. Characterless days of absconding through the act. Xeroxed mornings. Likewise afternoons.i am ambuscaded and swallowed by long winded spiritually and the fact of my opinions and presumptions don’t amount to an about-face in my society. Adolescents do not allocate their lifestyles as lamented sob stories. They do not aquire knowledge of anything dissimilar. They have not a preminition of my homeland. Enormous. Vulgar. Obstreperous. Altered. I have a fasination of dreams of improving and bettering the knowledge, aquaintance, and expertise of this wandering civilization. But in this ethnology, intention and aspiration are only a state of mind.
October 12, 2010