The Loud and the Silence

In the beginning there was the megaphone, orange like a citrus galaxy. This was before star time. Now, was only the megaphone. But there was no one to shout into it. There was nothing to amplify. No breath to bring forth a joyful noise. The megaphone felt itself hollow. Certainly it felt hollow, but this feeling was more than a coring out of space. This was a stood up at the bar all night and waiting for the phone to ring hollow.

Then the megaphone amplified its desire and Princess Bird Girl appeared. She was not basked in absolute perfection, but she was the first amplification and must be thought of as an early, though seminal work. A decent first try. Consider Princess Bird Girl as the crayon portrait adhered to the fridge door of creation. Primitive, but necessary. There was nothing of color in her, not even in her chicken legs. Her pinafore was perfectly tied with the precision of a freeway cloverleaf traffic jam. Her crown, of course she had a crown, she was a princess and all princesses must have crowns. Her crown was cut from left over gold wrapping paper.

So let it begin. Let Princess Bird Girl approach the megaphone in the middle of the eggshell void. Let her pick it up with two small feathery hands. Let her place its short end to her lips and as she feels the touch of electricity as all ordained first kisses generate, let her hold it to her lips for an eternity as she thinks of the correct first word to be amplified.

And Princess Bird Girl said that word, “Hello.” And it flew out of the megaphone and repeated itself in the void. Hello Hello Hello. And nothing else. Then she though that was the wrong word. The void does not want a greeting. But a statement of purpose. She picked up the megaphone and said the right word. She said, “Echo.” And the universe reverberated echo echo echo. And from the megaphone came a branch of the first tree. And as the word echo bounced around the void, the branch continued to push out of the megaphone. And on the branch was a black bird.

Emboldened, Princess Bird Girl shouted more words out. Like Louder. Faster. Bigger. Rounder. Feedback. Oscillate. Din. Cacophony. Tinnitus. And from the amplification an orchard fell out of the megaphone with Princess Bird Girl shouting out like a preacher of a mosh pit tent revival.

The Orchard took with stately red humming fruit that sounded like an orchestra tuning up or a formula one racer revving at the starting line. And the black bird took one of the fruit in his claws and flew up into the void and dropped it and it exploded into a riot of sound and when the ruckus settled, there were the stars and chamber music.

The black bird dropped another fruit and from it came the oceans and fado. The third fruit the bird dropped created punk rock and the mountains. The fourth gave us opera arias and the women to sing them. The fifth fruit gave up the blues and the men to suffer through them.

And when the world was alive and aloud the black bird turned its wing and flew into silence. And Princess Bird Girl put down the megaphone and heard all the traffic and left out the side door into silence. And the untended orchard went fallow and settled into silence.

But the megaphone is still here. Waiting. Like an amplifier seconds before sound check with a question burning on its unmoving mouth, “Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Am I loud enough? Can you hear me? People in the back, can you hear me now?!”

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