The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Yes! The magnificent monotony and searing sufficiency of silences have been loading down my occipital lobes of late, as well!

To wit:

Often the quasi-theo/philosophical meanderings contained herein have swelled and swollen and ebbed and fallen with an inherent monotony that was (if I may say so) incredibly tedious to behold. Our blathering inanities (commonly referred to as signifiers) smited the blighted minds of the insufficient, bending their brains to meld snugly into the jell-o-mold-like matrix of Monotony. Blah! Blah! Blah! Feeling chipper, Skipper! Feeling chipper, Skipper! Cordovan! Diesel! Fool! Words of great monotony, all, no doubt.

But too, it should not be forgotten, there exist awful, awesome swells of a most monotonous nature within those very silences that we so often overlook in our search for the next monotonous phoneme. Within any number of our rhetorically retarded rants, the stringy stretches of audio-nothingness widen, and, as the monotony-seeking members of our Microregion lean their wax-encrusted ear to listen for the tedious phraseology to come, a precipitate matter becomes apparent inside the very silence itself. That theoretical matter exists, to put it in simple terms, as shapely mounds of soundless monotony!

Yes. Our ears, dripping like colorful candles on the sides of our craniums, lean further in, and we, waiting, distinguish within the greater matrix of that thing called "silence," minute particulate units (i.e. monotonous units of soundlessness).

To wit:

As shown supra (and, it should be said, supra were they exaggerated for effect), the monotonous contours existing within a silence can be likened to the breathtaking topography of such family-friendly tourist attractions as Idaho, Nevada, and possibly even Cape Verde.

Love yourself.

Goodbye forever. Thank you for your time.

That is all.

The end.

I love you.

That is all.
I wrote that.

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