“The voice of sanity is getting hoarse.” — Seamus Heaney, North.
My mind a Cub Scout crystal radio kit, scratching along the coil for signal. Where are the Sanity Sisters tonight, singing in their low, solenoid growl?
I get mostly silence, then static – the Voice of Reason has smoker’s cough, like Edward Murrow WWII broadcasts. Rationality is hoarse with emphysema. Sense on oxygen.
Broadcast storms come in, brainwaves crash on the folds and marl of grey matter. Livestreams of the Cacophony Symphony and Tosca by moonlight.
The ionosphere dances and jitterbugs back what we transmit, swings with our panic and phrases of falling empires. Spectrum from sand to starfields LOL’ing at our hapless bluster.
I scan for solar flares of dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS Diogenes, if you’re out there.
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
So true…..I identify with the SOS signals out in space………help us, please. I love the quote you riffed off. Perfect. “Our hapless bluster”……….nailed it.
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Thank you!
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Diogenes and his lantern have been trampled by LOLcows, I think. A great and witless herd are they, and the Sanity Sisters can rarely be heard above their idiot lowing.
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I have the Sanity Sisters early Motown albums. Also them hacking Dionne Warwick.
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Love this:
“The ionosphere dances and jitterbugs back what we transmit, swings with our panic and phrases of falling empires. Spectrum from sand to starfields LOL’ing at our hapless bluster.”
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“the Voice of Reason has smoker’s cough” That is so true. It’s hard to know what is real and what is a well dressed lie. I search the sky at night at times, but I wonder if I’m seeing stars or the satellite infestation of a billionaire.
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I really love this one. I remember those crystal radio sets. The boy next door had one, and I was so impressed. I love the second stanza and the reference to Edward R. Murrow. I love where your mind takes you, the connections you make.
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I’m so glad someone besides me knows about those radios!!
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All my thoughts, rational or otherwise seem hoarse right now. Lots of glittery-sharp icicle phrases in this–the perfect murder weapons, melting into nothing after the deed. I especially liked “..Broadcast storms come in, brainwaves crash on the folds and marl of grey matter…” All your metaphors are spot on, and the message, doleful and cold, comes in sharp and clear despite the cultural emphysema.
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“Cultural emphysema!” Yes, for sure. Thanks as always. Glad you liked the broadcast storms line.
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