Noise

Noise is anything that enters uninvited.

It startles, scatters, stretches you thin.
And it’s everywhere.

Around me, noise hangs like dust in the air,
never settling, never leaving.
I rarely get a moment quiet enough to write,
to hear myself think.

What I crave, more than productivity or praise,
is a moment without irritation.
A stretch of silence
where my mind hums with clarity
and my hands move with purpose.
In those rare pauses, something electric stirs:
a quiet energy, an aliveness - a motivation to stay active.

But here’s what often stands in the way:
The inner chatter, a mind that won’t sit still.
Then there is the impatient scream of horns,
just out my window and always nonstop.
Phones that ping and ring,
slicing through thought like a dull knife.

Voices from reels, loud and coarse, trying too hard to be heard.
Not just bad audio, but bad tone and vocals;
the kind that demands attention without offering connection. I miss the old radio days—
when voices were warm and meant something;
the kind that never demands nor bluffs.

The fan’s endless whir,
like a soft drill in the background of everything.
And the invisible noise:
clutter of facts, opinions, algorithms,
the heavy saturation of too much,
all the time. Just too noisy to handle.

In a world that never shuts up,
silence feels like rebellion.
And clarity?
A rare and precious gift,
almost sacred.