Youth communicates in abrasive silence, not out of malice so much as out of uncertainty. The search for words is too difficult. Their vocabulary is limited by experience just as their experience is limited by time. One tries to teach them. Nothing.
One is better served by trying to learn from them (they are unteachable) learn their new language, make sense of the mots that have made it into their eyes. If you listen to the way their version of linguistics spins on the rolling surface of their pink tongues, if you inquire into the meaning of their verbal gymnastics, it is possible to understand the gibberish, the poetry, the slang. With patience, you can make peace with the adversary that growls in the cave of their throat.
So much for syllables, so much for memes.... What does one do with the silence? What does one make of a blank stare? The phone unanswered... The email unread... This inarticulate is a vacuum that pulls my voice from my throat. He is cruelty without art. He is a passive trap that I fall into over and over again, having lost the ability to scream.
