It was the quick double-buzz of the Facebook Mobile app, indicating that a message had been sent. Even though it was early in the morning, I was pumped. It meant that someone was trying to communicate with me. You probably have no idea what that actually means, but that's OK.
I'm always expecting one or two; I was hoping it was one of those. I used to get annoyed when my phone would ring; now, I'm not sure what I feel. I still don't like talking on it that much, but sometimes The Deb calls, and I don't mind.
Anyway, it wasn't a personal message; it was one of those group messages, and it had nothing to do with me. What a huge waste!
It's probably part of my sanctification process, these long stretches of silence. But I hate silence. At least people-silence. I will take sound-silence any time, with the notable exception of music. One thing I know about Hell is that there is no music. Profound Thought: Hell is the complete absence of Love, so if I'm right about music there, draw the conclusion: To make music is a profound act of love. Even angry music is wounded love.
You meet people sometimes who are not drawn to music in any way. At least that's what they say. I don't trust those people; just to review, I don't trust people who can't cry, and people who neither listen to, nor make music. [What if they are music people, but they can't cry?--ed.] They have a chance.
I'm always expecting one or two; I was hoping it was one of those. I used to get annoyed when my phone would ring; now, I'm not sure what I feel. I still don't like talking on it that much, but sometimes The Deb calls, and I don't mind.
Anyway, it wasn't a personal message; it was one of those group messages, and it had nothing to do with me. What a huge waste!
It's probably part of my sanctification process, these long stretches of silence. But I hate silence. At least people-silence. I will take sound-silence any time, with the notable exception of music. One thing I know about Hell is that there is no music. Profound Thought: Hell is the complete absence of Love, so if I'm right about music there, draw the conclusion: To make music is a profound act of love. Even angry music is wounded love.
You meet people sometimes who are not drawn to music in any way. At least that's what they say. I don't trust those people; just to review, I don't trust people who can't cry, and people who neither listen to, nor make music. [What if they are music people, but they can't cry?--ed.] They have a chance.
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