Ten Minutes (Radio Voice, Listening and Waiting)

Pic of the day:   Evening Bell, Mii Temple, from 8 views of Omi, by Utagawa Hiroshige



Sometimes I think it is a great mistake to have matter that can think and feel. It complains so. By the same token, though, I suppose that boulders and mountains and moons could be accused of being a little too phlegmatic.

Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan (1952)


The voice on one side of the room droned on to itself for no readily apparent reason.  The man was speaking in a somewhat lyrical tone, sing song is perhaps a better characterization of his voice.  He spoke like a man trying to sell something, because he was doing just that.  His voice was deep, but not so deep as to sound unnatural, and rose at times to a volume and a tone that sounded excited and angry.  The deep timbre of his voice had a slightly ragged edge to it, giving it the exact sound that radio stations paid millions of dollars to.

And the man who the voice was attached to was paid well for his voice.  Millions in fact was the amount of money he was paid.  He didn’t like to talk about how much he made though, as he thought of himself as an everyman, and as long as people didn’t now how much he made they treated him like a friend and he liked that, frankly.

He said “I really need you to understand exactly what is going on here.  They’re trying to take your freedom  They want you to give them the power that s by right yours.  But we can take it back, America.  We can do this but you need to follow the right path.  They want you to give them a fight so they can feel like they’re fighting.  They want you to be uninformed though, so when you go to defend yourself you do it on their terms  Don’t let them do it to you.  That’s where I come in.  Where my brothers and sisters come in.  We don’t believe their lies so we don’t tell them.  When they tried to pass legislation that…”

“Blah, blah,blah.  Same old crap, don’t you have any new lines,  Bubba?”  Came a retort from the man sitting on the dusty hardwood  floor leaning against the off beige stained wall on the other side of the room.  As he reached for the remote control he said “I didn’t mind you blah blah blahing there when you were yelling all funny and whatnot, but dammit if you  gonna be boring, I’m not gonna be bothered.  It started out good, but here we are 20 minutes in, and dude, ya lost me.”

The kid turned his eye for half a second away from the tablet he was working on, and looked at the tv in the corner.  It was playing an internet radio station, and he hit a button and the channel changed.  He wasn’t much interested in what he was hearing, he was busy. The presets were set by his roommates, and he was only marginally interested in what he was listening to.  The next station on the list was the police preset, as was the next one.  He found himself interested in what he would hear, but there was only silence.  He said “Guess they don’t want to broadcast to the world what they’re doing.  At least not here anyway.”  and turned to another station, and found himself listening to some old jazz, real old, from the 1960’s.

He kinda liked the offbeat odd frenetic angry tone of the music, though he didn’t know who he was listening to.  It wasn’t what he normally listened to but that made no never mind to him.  He liked it.  He hoped she would get there soon though, there were only so many games he could play on his old tablet.  He had texted her enough times he thought, the next move was hers.

The phone sat next to him and continued to not make any noise whatsoever, continued to annoyingly not receive any messages of any kind from her.  He stared at it, but that did no good.  The phone persisted in its silence.

He waited patiently, or as close to patient as he could muster.


Thats it from here, America.  G’night.


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