J.J. Smith's "Numbers"

Bloggers talks of Kony. Airwaves talk of Limbaugh. Street corners talk of economics. Moshing teens talk of hangovers. Youtubers talk of “How Girls Do This” or “How Guys Do This” or “Epic Something.”

My roommates speak of weight loss and games. My closest friend, she speaks of administering to animals and cleansing our planet. Another close friend, he speaks of debt and working two jobs and he speaks of much darker thoughts. Other friends speak of breakups, suicide, sleeping in, midterms, finals; somewhere along the line they speak of hangovers and how girls and guys tend to do certain things, and they speak of economics and express some discontent of politics or of radio personalities;

my father does not speak with me, not unless he is desperate enough or crying hard enough;

my cat, I wonder, what she may say if she was conscious enough to do so or anatomically-capable;

what level anyone is speaking to anyone on, I can’t be certain,

for what or why (only to what degree can I be certain, for those well-monetarily-endowed are much louder and more realized, though, the messages they deliver serve little purpose other than to perpetuate cruelty and misery)

while there are those whose words fall on deaf ears, those who do not matter to the Encyclopedia Britannica nor even to Wikipedia, nor to the House and Senate, nor even to those self-declared Voices of the People;

we step down,

step down

and close our eyes, plug our ears

and swallow; hear our throats click, our brain muddle with sounds akin to underwater submersion, the same pressing silence of noise;

we swallow ourselves whole and we can escape whatever this monster is becoming.