Other Voices

Behind the music I hear voices--and in front. There's something about the weave of them that strikes me, moves me out beyond myself, the seat I'm in, the ground I stand on , the rolls of the ocean. There's something about them.

Maybe it's the sadness behind the notes that makes me happy--I pull joy from the juxtaposition of my own and someone else's grief. It reminds me that i'm not the only one isolated to stagnation and inner motion, that I'm not alone. For the moment, I am not alone and I don't want to hold it, because eventually my strength gives way to empty air and I am left with nothing but memory and then ghosts when the memory fades.

The music's ended, but for now, the people remain, with human voices, not musical notes. Later, when it starts again, I hope they'll be the same. Mainly because I'm tired of losing and letting it all slip away: I'm tired of disillusion. I wish I could trust because it breaks my heart, or what's left of it. It truly breaks my heart because I love them, but I can never have faith that anyone loves me anymore. Too much heartbreak and too much pain prevent too much happiness from growing and later being inevitably uprooted and gone.

New England Winter

I don't know where I'm going or where I am. I'm not smart anymore.

I don't know...life is too hard and it'll be like that anywhere. But the world is forzen, not cold. Just frozen here.

I can't breathe. And when I try it's ice.

It's twelve degrees outside, six up from what it was four hours ago.

The grass underneath is still bright green. It doesn't have time to die and turn brown around here. Just one day it's frozen. Like the woolly mammoths preserved perfectly pristine with food still in their stomachs.

And that's me, I think. Crystallized in time.

Frozen. But still green. It's deceiving because I'm not alive even though I seem like it. It's just a pretty picture preserved of what I was last season.

It's still all mostly the same. I need someone to just sit there and hold me for a long long time so I can forget. But there isn't anyone. There never has been. So I hold myself. So I'm supposed to find that stable in-between place, because supposedly that's all we're ever promised to have.

But I don't trust promises. They're always broken. And I'm tired of making them one-way and finding nothing but space and ice on the other side.

It's time to go back to the heat. The world's too busy with itself, frozen in time--and this year wasn't even bad. No blood shed to compensate for the white. Green, green all around freezing over and over again with the bulbs poking through too ahead of season because the climate's shot. I need to thaw. Go to a place where it doesn't freeze. Find arms other than my own. I'll go back to dreaming for that. Maybe my mind will conjure up another, someone who isn't real, who won't come waltzing in unannounced into my reality.

Ditch this. The pressure's breaking.

Fences

I looked at him through the chain-linked fence.
I said "We're talking through a fence." And he crunched his fingers around the links and looked at me, then said: "We always talk through fences, Tali."

Some people are just too beautiful to capture. So I won't bother. I'll just ponder. And hold it in the back of my mind.

Sickness Ridden

I'm sick. Feverish and all that good stuff. Skipping Freud's even. Had my history midterm today. I really don't know how it went. Hopefully well, but considering I had no brain and was hacking up all organs, I really can't say.

Other than that, I'm trying to not stress over the situation. I will say that I am overly disgusted at the administration, especially considering that the articles have been published as far out as California and they still don't give a damn. Don't they understand that it's not about the fucking Jews anymore? It's about their own stinking reputation as an institution! Well, I suppose not. I asked Jon what the hell the world wants with us other than to see us gone. He didn't answer. Because there is no answer. Other than to see us gone. They don't care because deep underneath, no one really does. I've known that for a long time but didn't want to believe it. With all the flaunting and facades of tolerance, in the end, people hate the difference, they fear the difference, and they shun the difference. And they don't care about reputation because they know it's all a show. Because they know the majority of the world feels the same.

So, stick close to home. Mingle with your own. We'll die out in the end, won't we?

Everything is so complicated now. The more I delve into this, the worse it gets, the more I am enlightened as to the gravity of the situation. I realized last night that it is far more serious than I ever thought. Sitting here, paralyzed at my desk, luckily, a friend showed up. A really, really great friend. Now friends are more precious than ever and I find myself loving them too much to hurt them. So I called my best friend up today after talking to my parents about the situation for over an hour and told him we couldn't ever talk again because it would hurt his career and his life in general just to be associated with me. It hurt. I think it hurt more than anything because I can't even bring myself to realize what just happened--what's happening and gaining in momentum as each second passes. He said he didn't care, that he'd talk anyway, so I sent him to my parents so that they could explain slightly more than what I can to him. The less he knows, the better. As everything piles upon me and as each new fact comes clear, it just becomes more confusing and I sense more and more of a deception and scandal, some kind of plot to which I see no motivation. Due to this fact, I am taken more aback because I realize that I am looking at but a dot of the greater picture, and that picture is absolutely unapparent to me. I must find the answers, but first, I have to find out which questions to ask. My parents told me not to travel anywhere alone. I can't do that all the time. I'm involved and I can't stay put if there isn't someone to walk with me. However, my guard is up more than ever now. Now this: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I hate politics. They're stupid in essence but have an iron grip on this world of ours and once we're trapped there is no turning back and I'm deep, deep in. Luckily I'm still swimming, but I do admit that I fear drowning.

After Midnight

Maybe it's only on the edge of time
that I go
and you flow
into me.

Maybe it's just a little of wasted moments
bottled up in rain and sun
I don't know where I'm going
Maybe I'm already there
But I get this notion in my head that it's nowhere--
that it's nowhere.

I miss the bliss
of imaginary places turned real
No real kiss
So I dream and life keeps turning
I'm stuck on a wheel
And centrepetal motion won't slow
won't slow, won't slow, no won't slow

The future's an afterthought
the song's a release
I'm going nowhere, all right
It's after midnight
And the past is the future
while the present's caught up in a dream

And I know know it's never how it seems
So I wander and I keep
Whatever there is out there
And I struggle my way to sleep

So I wander and I keep
whatever there is out there
and I struggle my way to sleep

So I wander and I keep
whatever there is out there
and I struggle my way to sleep
to sleep
to sleep
to sleep