In the Absence of a Soundtrack

in the absence of a soundtrack to life, we walk silently, yelling, screaming, spitting, fighting & dragging each other through this “nasty, brutish & short” existence, without the all-encompassing symphonies of dramatic films, the eerie minimalistic piano & acute industrial beats of horror flicks, our relationships churn whitewater rock-filled rivers, chaotic & self-destructive, with no death metal or hardcore to accompany--- our depressing, slobber-ridden sob-stories, lay face-down-drunk at the bar carrying no minor chords or cigarette-laden blues to support us, and if we are lucky enough, ever since our hormones began to run rampant, we dance a spontaneous idiosyncratic jazz but neither bird or coltrane are able to come with us in our melancholy--- instead, we take each punch wielded, upside the face quietly, holding not the gritty reality of our entropy found in the frank poetic rhyme of rap, no, it does not form a backdrop of strength behind us when a climatic moment hits, when we could all really use it. in the absence of a soundtrack, our own actions, be them compassionate or murderous, they pound us back into the granules of stardust just as quickly as we came--- the words that come as supplementary do not weave an actual melody, one which we all might try & hum together--- our individual lives are silent movies shelved & hardly watched by anyone but the characters found within--- alone, irrelevant & disappearing rapidly as the credits start to climb, we fade out as curbed mimes persistently trying to make rhythms with the tapping of our tormented fingers.