A teacher's voice can be vacant, an echo of itself. She isn't speaking, but more attempting to repeat what she's thought before. It turns out that that's all she can do. She never really does speak, and really, she's not echoing anything tangible, but her own imagination. What she would say. It roots itself in necessity, chanting instead of singing.

Caves offer ambience in sound, but nothing more. The sayings don't have further meaning when cycled again. Hello, hello hello, is there anybody out there? No one pays attention to an echo. No one acknowledges emptiness, the representation of sound. No one talks to the painting, no matter how realistic; it's still just a symbol. The portrait is just a portrait; not the person.

So their words aren't really words, but vibrations, shallow haikus that press against your eardrums and pass away. You know what they're trying to say, but they don't have the talent. They don't have the passion. They aren't the visionaries, but statues: clay busts worth little more than mirrors.

It's a good idea to make sure you have something say before you say it. Have it spark something, give it some worth. Otherwise you're not worth listening to.

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