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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Monday, October 20, 2014

[Silence On The Line]

The sound was deafening
Cutting through me like one long pin
Piercing skin and maneuvering past bone
Straight through my left ventricle
Penetrating spine and nerve bundles
Electrically shorting me out
Till I hang from my puppet strings limply
The will to listen to it anymore long gone
All I want is words
But all I get is

[Silence On The Line]

Slamming down the old black receiver
Ma Bell's best outsourced handiwork in Bakelite
I contemplate ripping the dialing wheel from its face
So as to wipe that sneer away
That smug 'Oh look at me, I'm a fucking telephone' attitude
But I shouldn't blame the phone
The phone didn't call me and not speak
Leaving naught but random clicks and taps
I'd kill for some heavy breathing
To break the monotony of the

[Silence On The Line]

Sinister in an old glossy coat
The model 500 called out with tinny bell
Rang incessantly by tiny electric hammers
No doubt run by even smaller electrical gremlins
And so I stared
Watching the almost imperceptible quivering
That was the soundless accompaniment to the sound
Wishing that the little rubber feet on the bottom were not there
So as to see the infernal machine vibrate across the table and onto the floor
Where no doubt it would land unscathed
Courtesy of an overbuilt undercarriage and shell
But that wouldn't happen
Nor would the ringing stop pinging throughout the room
I grasped the receiver once again
Putting it to my ear
Ready for the painful

[Silence On The Line]

Before I even heard the nothing that came through loud and clear
My physical form imploded into dark matter
Sending the now untended receiver clattering to the floor
Allowing me a moment to take advantage of my new form
Condensing into dark matter impulses
I dove into the microphone input end
Through those sexy circular holes
That have seen hundreds of lips brush them by
Imprinting their feel upon everyone's brains
Even if we have consciously forgotten
I chased down the spiraled copper wires
Into the Western Electric stamped frame area
Then back out the backside
Into the wall plug
Using dark matter instilled senses
Which nobody can prove do not exist
To run a hunt and a chase upon the

[Silence On The Line]

Down the wires I flew
From pole to pole
Riding the roller coaster arcs
Point tension to gravity sag
Disturbing the directory assistance
Dropping long distance calls
Coming at last to the central exchange
Where my search ended at last
With the sighting of a bio-electric switchboard operator
Moving ghostly hands and fingers
Connecting calls that were never made
Open lines of silence
Clicking and ticking
To a symphony of cries
"Hello?  Hello!  Is anyone there?"
Sung to me like a choir
Drawing my microscopic ire
An anger that must be quenched
With a dark mattered limb that formed as I thought it
Moving at near light speed
To tear into the living electrical gremlin
Shredding its being
Begetting a roar of triumph from deep in my compressed soul
Sounding more like a near imperceptible squeak
As I murdered once and for all

The [Silence On The Line]