The Sound of Settling



Usually it starts with crack from a place you didn’t know existed, or rather was capable of cracking. It usually pretty wicked in its guttural-ness, as a pill bottle shifts all its content to one side in a single instant, it releases the pressure of a hundred million tectonic plates under the deepest trench down the furthest hole from the sun. Then, it happens again, this time more in your head, where a few words change everything and the filters of perceptibly quickly reorganize themselves into something more codified into a singular supposition, without real conflict.

The noise that brings so much silence is the settling, the part where ignoring is no longer a viable outlet for obfuscating the guilt of things that happen within. Settling into what is, instead of what can be. A stark division from the traditional impermanent mentality of flux and floating, filled with jealous gloating and longing stares. The silence, its real, as the televisions high frequency ringing available to those ears to drive them to madness, it shuts off and hopes to rehash the truisms of confident old world, thought to be believed untrue.

This is how we settle, into our big arm chairs, with our headphones so warm, we listen to the crispness of music we hoped would always give use truth and solace, yet find that it feels boring as it does not resonate. Not country; not electro, not synthesized alt-rock with a bit of jazz funk thrown in for good measure. The rich Corinthian leather doesn’t have its appeal anymore, nor does the comfort of sitting on the couch that brought you peace and solace, like the music all those years ago. Nope, nothing doing, it makes little to no sense, said assuming it had to. No this is the sound of settling, where to quiet the mind, the body gets loud, ignoring the obvious fallacies without deciding what there is to come, so it runs around finding itself without needing to actually run.

Like jumping the fence or a barricade testing the resilience of the cops, once thought the height of fun, now the looming pointlessness of the arrest becomes apparent, fuck it the old man needs to run. Into the crowd screaming with snakes in their eyes walking them astray from the path they once had. Venom leaking from their teeth revealing the idiots actually had won, as their obvious mindsets continue asking cops if they’ve got Molly. I’m too old for this shit comes to mind, too old to see the same mistakes being made for the wrong reasons, even if they were the right ones. Realizing settling is being ridiculous without the thought “That was ridiculous”  bouncing around the head, as the bare chested sweaty body in 100 degrees swings the wet shirt above the head. So proud.

Settling into being okay with not feeling anything anymore. That sunlight and snow flakes just remind us that we’re alive, but that’s just it whats the point of it if we can so easily settle into the bones we’ve tried so hard to break and mend because its as if we’re meant to, than we can become better, maybe. Like the ways of the world don’t mean anything anymore, but to points to ignore, because they go against what seems to be respected amongst peers.

A yearning for banality and uninspired continuity takes root, where the trunk grows strong with the disgust of shameless blind trust. Realizing that people don’t change they just become more of themselves, magnified by their own reflections compounded by false regression of self soothing. Nothing makes sense so don’t question infinality, it leads to knowing you’re enough to change the world, it’ll always scare, so why bother?

Sometimes the genie’s wishes aren’t enough to remember the thought of happiness once had. It was real sure, but it wasn’t good because it won’t let the relaxation comes, it comes with a goal, but that goal isn’t to be quiet with this black hole that seems to have made its home right above the gut in between the lungs. “Wish for patience,” a thousand years will pass, even than the silt will not set. “Wish for understanding,” the mind will revolt seeking all the answers from the past. “Wish to see the light in any dark,” the light will not bleed. The wishes will fade and the happiness will not be found, still settled with that calming cracking sound.

Wash away the fears of the ghost of today’s regret as normalcy sets in, the waves perpetual in their harmonic oscillation. They’ll repeat til they never sound any different, calling out the whispers too often ignored because of perceived insignificance. The routine to follow ad nauseam, wherein the the numbing will set into itself, and the comfort will again be reached.

The sound of settling into thoughts, hearts, and bodies, so loud it ignores the wails of dreams and goals not yet met. A cacophony so loud it seems to organize the ways of the worlds into an army of ants following strict guidelines for the betterment of the “whole.” A noble deed indeed, without it nothing could stay, nothing would be done. Just floating in space as time bends around the traditional chronomatic time stamps, through the bending of the light and the the velocity of the an object in vacuum without any motion.

Too tired to write; too excited to settle; too fucked up to know if any of it’ll ever get better. Too much dreaming is lost to the constant committal, to the strictest adherence of impermanent stupefaction and three levels of doubt. When the dust begins to settle, from a short life of queries and falsifications, lets find a love seat, sink in and settle.

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