The Damnable Hum

The Artist D
The Artist D

And I hear the sounds of silence. That which is not silent at all. The rustle of the trees, dry and crisp in true Summer. The birds and creatures making little noises. But no hum. No damnable city-like hum. Only the sound of the truth.

I’ve been driving for a little under five hours and it feels like I just left. All I can figure is that this is the sign of unwinding a very tightly coiled self. I listen to books, podcasts, and music as I go. And it really helps shake me back to who I really am. Or at least who I presume myself to be.

This time it feels like I could do with five more hours before arrival. Five more hours of podcasts and books. That’s how much coil is left within to be shaken. Either that or I’ve finally acclimated to traveling far distances, again. I had ceased distant travel many years ago and eventually became impatient with it.

It is hot, but delightfully so. I have missed this so much. This time it may take me four full days to fully explain. To rattle out the words onto the paper and into the typer.

I run into a lot of people here who have very strange conversations with me…

Read the full story at The Artist D’s Bloody Typewriter!

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