All music has silences

          When I listen

In a quiet room, my head is full of noise. I see a second version of myself, a third, a fourth, and the mirrored walls accommodate the rest of me. I see too much of myself, my dreams, my millions of years of existence that flash only in the fluttering moment when I awaken, and then every memory of the odyssey has vanished. I am lost. I am home again. Somewhere in the past it seems I knew the sound of epiphany. She was the most temperamental goddess I’ve heard sing.

In a quiet room, I am filled with music. Some notes are birds anticipating a season, while others bubble to the surface as the sounds of steam. I am an alchemist, attempting to change myself, but instead of silver or gold I have been altered to some denser metal, resembling stone. I am alone. I am the central figure of this space, hunched over a blank page, dying to create. In this quiet room, silence has a pitch. This is the sound of my hand as it writes.

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About Jason Allen

Jason is currently living in upstate New York and pursuing a PhD in creative writing at Binghamton University, where he is an editor for Harpur Palate. His work has been published or is forthcoming in: Passages North, Paterson Literary Review, Contemporary American Voices, Cream City Review, The Molotov Cocktail, Oregon Literary Review, Spilt Infinitive, and other venues. He hopes to one day meet Tom Waits and buy him a cup of coffee.
This entry was posted in Portland Writing, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to All music has silences

  1. Susan Reese says:

    Living to create. Living. Create.

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