Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Memory can only tell us what we were,
in the company of those we loved;

It cannot help us find out what each of us, alone, must now become. We are all sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skin.

But are we really alone?
those who touch our hearts echo in our thoughts and words and we weave these into our life's tapestry.

We are individuals composed of a loom made of our innate individuality and our tapestries are created by threads of experience. Sometimes we share a thread with another, a shared history, narrative, picture, lesson.

But in the end no tapestry is the same as another. Again people are unique, intriguing, but still somehow we leave the world as we enter. Alone into the great beyond.

Yeah. It's late. I can't sleep. I'm off the final sleeping tablets and the black dog lies next to me. That's where all this sanctimonious nonsense comes from.

I've got to sleep eventually? Right?

"Laws of silence don't work....

When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of silence don't work, it's just like shutting a door and locking it on a house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning.

But not facing a fire doesn't put it out.

Silence about a thing just magnifies it.

It grows and festers in silence, becomes malignant...."

Tennessee Williams, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, 1922