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You are writing behind a screen. Two screens. Some call them eyeballs. Somewhere behind them electrical charges speak in a silent voice that churns thought into word transferred to letter and back to word on paper or screen. Another screen. There is always something going on in the background. Some of it you control, most of it you don’t. And none of it is seen or understood, but we trust that the outcome will mostly speak to others. Does it speak in tongues? Will it slip in through their eyes and proceed through the reverse electrical transformation. Stored. Saved. A memory of what you said/wrote. Some say the world will end in fire. But really it will be noise. The endless cacophony of a billion voices and all those words scrambling to get a foothold over one another, desperate to find a friendly eye or a considerate ear to enter. Desperate to rest.

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