The Sounds of Thought

The sounds of thought come in unceasing waves. Harsh bombarding waves. Light, subtle waves. Waves that can cluster or annoy. As their noise resounds, I feel the dramatic echo and then wait for the repetitive cry to bounce and warp within the caves of my distracted brain. As it does, my foundations are upset, and I frantically work to bolster the supports.

Yet sometimes the sounds do not reverberate. The slimy algae absorbs the shock, the echo dies, and all is undisturbed. Although the building stands strong, it feels artistically incomplete. It becomes savage and vulgar, nasty to any worthy onlooker, and repugnant to the frustrated architect. One can only listen with head-cocked in the fray, and await for a chance recurrence.

It takes a special sort of ear to hear the sounds of thought. It is the eternal internal ear, and its auditory canal is purged of wax. The sounds pour across the eardrum. The cerebral cortex struggles to interpret. This is the prophet's informer, and he is never silent. All information gained engenders the seeds of power whose deceptive chutes eagerly blossom and ominously sway--to The Sounds of Thought.