Whistleblower

The conversation would have gone like this so I imagine. We were in the studio, two of us sitting there. There was a song on the playlist. A decent song, about being faithful forever to this girl. The guy across from me said that song was selected because of its meaning. Faithfulness. I said, “Have you heard all their other songs? Affairs and yet another lover? So, I doubt your judgment. Your judgment is 1 + 1 = 3.” He looked down on that one, but in a moment, pressed the button and played the song. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It does not matter to what we are doing here.” I listened and saw what he was saying. Yeah, it was just a contradiction playing that song, but I pondered over that. Would someone notice the inconsistency? Would it be wrong? Was not enough thought put into it? Or, indeed, did it really matter to them? I went away that day thinking about the human soul and the intersecting lines through it, but without a critical voice to manage it, who would? I guess when it came to the fluidity of soul it all flushes out and works out in the wash. Tomorrow it will be forgotten, except if the critic appeared, to ruin the flow, a taste of whistleblowing.

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