On the Last Comment

My time is limited with activity whether it be studying, going to events, work, etc. It means, I have no time to sit and stare at my ceiling and read a book for fun. Or sleep.

Hmmm...Friday.

So I had art history and it wasn't so bad. It was quite good, actually. I sat in a different place next to someone named Carter and it's better.

I have work in 22 minutes and should leave. But I get to see Tommy Makem tonight!!! I also have Hillel. I can't wait for Tommy Makem. It's amazing that he's here and I'm so excited!!!

And now I have to go so I'll leave this. *sigh* Does it ever end? The business? I have no time for anything.

Exhaustion Already?

I'm already exhausted. And it's only the second week. That is really sad.

So much reading and work. Work's not bad, but the reading is ridiculous in quantity although great in quality. I finished Oreo and Eva's Man. My thesis for Eva's Man is due tomorrow before class and I still have no idea what I'm doing. So I'm screwed. Yeah. Great. Hopefully I'll be overcome with some inspiration before 2pm.

Hung out with James a lot today which was nice and manipulated him into staying in the UC with me until I got off work at 11. (sorry, but I hate walking alone...so thank you. :-) )

Things with Kate are supposedly "back to normal," and although they are all "normal" on the outside, everything is awkward and nothing can be the same again because I messed up and now she can't trust me and I know that and I can't trust myself with anything.

More problems with other people. Batman stalking me everywhere and driving me insane. Best friend not talking to me for whatever reason. "I'm busy." I told him that his little scheme with calling me on the way to events and never any other times (as in I get two seconds of his time and it feels as if he feels obligated to talk to me) and how it's fine that he calls me for little intervals but bad that he doesn't give more time otherwise. So I guess he felt obligated and now he won't talk. Whatever. His problem.

I just want to do my work and not think about anything else because it's all trivial and stupid but I'm human and of course everything else intrudes.

I should be getting to bed. Long day tomorrow. But Tommy Makem is coming Friday! If I didn't have that awful art history lecture at 12 on Friday, James was willing to give up his invitation so I could go meet him. I told him he didn't have to do that but that it was sweet anyway. Adam got me and Kate tickets and James is working backstage (lucky him!) and it'll be great. I can't wait. So at least I have something to look forward to.

Ithaca Thoughts for Dan

It's simple the way things work in the world. They're born and then they die. And in the end, they Scatter. Which brings us all back to the beginning. The angel wishes to Scatter.

I remember, vaguely, the moment I decided to remove myself from the Scattering, the moment I decided to become of the Living. I have sworn to the angel that I will not Scatter, but I will suffer for Eternity, with him.

What will become Erasmus? He will join it again and I will feel him everywhere but I will still be Ithaca. That's the curse and the blessing of Heaven and Earth--you're always yourself in the end.

Awfulness

Last night was interesting. Went back to my room from Shabbat dinner early because I wasn't in a people mood and watched Chasing Amy. Then I went up on the roof with James, Kate, Adam, Billie, and Sean.

Then, all hell broke loose. Lindsay called and hung up. Billie grabbed the phone and "called her" and blabbed about whatever only she called her house and got her mom at 1 something in the morning! Then I was an idiot and ruined everything with Kate.

After, I went crazy and ended up in Dan and James' room until 4:30 in the morning when Dan walked me home.

So I called Lindsay's parents and apologized. Talked to Kate who says "everything's fine" but it's really not because I ruined it and things won't be the same. So, considering I have so much actual studying and no real time for people, I have a good excuse to avoid people the entire semester except when I'm at work.

Speaking of work, I have it from 10-2 tomorrow and every Sunday this semester. Yay! I love Sunday morning when it's empty and quiet. It's a nice time for me to chill and relax and read and play guitar or whatever. Tomorrow it'll be mostly reading and doing whatever set ups they have for me.

It's been really warm the past few days...60's and 50's. But tomorrow we have a high of 33 and snow all day. Lovely. Just what I need.

Mark's not calling me back or calling me at all anymore. So tough on him. I'm sick of these stupid men everywhere. And girls. (Except for Lindsay and Emma.) I think, mainly, I'm sick of people for the most part.

It's nice that someone actually cares about me to write me nice notes on my blog. Thank you. It's greatly appreciated because everyone else in my life makes me into a piece of crap. And you make me into something I actually admire. Which is awesome. I love you.

Anyhow, since I have work tomorrow and it's 12:30 and I still have to get ready for bed and finish my chapter in Oreo, I should be going. More later.

Week One

So I've been in class all day. And studied all day yesterday (even while I was hanging out with everyone in my room). In all, the studying amounted to sixteen hours until some idiot pulled the fire alarm at 12:40 am and we all had to take to the hills. Poor Jordana (my roomie) was in the shower. I hiked with Lukas over to Josh's in Bullock and what a pain. James and Dan AND Jon and Matt weren't in their rooms! WTF is THAT!?!?

Anyhow, the classes are amazing. US History Since 1865 with Professor Amy Richter. I went to talk to her during office hours yesterday and it was great! I took 6 pages of notes back and front on Reconstruction today. The reading is intense but great. After that, I headed off to Tzila Bitcharone's class. Went to lunch, went to go pick up Bitcharone's book and she wasn't there when she said she'd be so I had to wake up early from my nap and go fetch. Ugh. Well, at least it ended up being somewhat productive because I finished the homework and talked to her about studying abroad in Israel and setting up the program through Clark for Junior year so that I could benefit from the fifth year program and not have to deal with a separate graduate school (assuming I have over a 3.25, which hopefully I will).

Then I went to Napier's class. He wasn't high today! I don't know if that was disappointing or not. But the lecture was great anyway. I'm on the first student led panel discussion on this book called Eva's Man for the class. Apparently, it's about a woman who goes to jail for biting off her husband's penis. I told a few of you about this already. But WOW. Anyhow, we're reading Oreo now and it's great! It's about a girl, half Jewish, half black and black-Jewish relations in America etc etc. Riddled with Yiddush and black slang. It's great, satirical and laugh-out-loud funny.

And Freud's in a bit. I finally finished most of my reading for tomorrow. Just a bit left for Art History (Baroque) and I think I'll call my family in the meantime. *Yawns*

Home Sweet Home

Back home finally!! I love Clark!

Hanging out with James while he breaks in his new boots. And then going to work at 5. Pooey. But I'll get some reading done and stuff. Before the semester starts and I can't read for fun anymore. The books look pretty good, though. Got most of them in the mail this morning. Oh, jeez. I could hardly believe the volume of them. It was ridiculous. But Billie, Dan D (the first), and Matt helped me unwrap them and haul them back to my room where they are now happily shelved.

I also got a Chabad mug that sings this annoying Chanukah song everytime you move it. Apparently, I won some contest a while ago where I guessed the right number of dreidels?? I think Josh mentioned something about winning, too. I wonder if everyone won.

James is watching me write this. He said so.

Anyway, I got back last night. Separated from Kate who took my bag with her on the limo and I went on to the commuter rail. Well, we went from 70 degree weather to -16. Isn't that great? I got on the silver line to South Station from the airport and this old guy in a long black leather coat and a bright red cowboy hat was sitting in the seat in front of me and kept turning around and staring at me and Marty Jr. He suddenly says :

"Mama say you ain't 'lowed to play no GI-tar hair."

And I'm like WTF.

It was a bit odd. I wondered for a minute if I'd actually arrived in Boston yet...

Then I met Lukas randomly when we got off the train in Worcester. I met a nice guy on the train who listened to all of "Blueprints" which was pretty impressive. Anyhow, Lukas and I went over and retrieved my suitcase from Kate and went to dinner. Then Beth came over after Lukas left. And here we are today. James is leaving. :-(

NOUS II

Haley glided along in the dark, and if anyone had been able to see her, they would have sworn she was floating.

She jumped the fence in two quick movements: a running jump and cling to the fence and flip over, feet first, which landed her crouched on the other side.

As she go up, she adjusted her leg again and checked Chameleon. She reached her right hand up to her eyes and adjusted her Vision, peering into the dark as if it were noon.

"Knight."

She turned quickly around and made out the subtleties of another figure in his own Chameleon. He came toward her and she remained motionless, but every muscle was tense.
"A'Lo co-pa-naah," he said.
"Shin-go-trraa," she answered.

And they both relaxed.

"What have they got for us tonight, Knight?" he asked her.
She motioned with her head to the side of the building. He followed her. From Chameleon, she pulled out a roll of parchment from one of the compartments in her right thigh.

"Here," she pointed. "57. Male," she glanced up at him. "You move around the perimeter. I move in."
"You'll get him from the front."
"Yes."
For a moment they stared into each other's eyes and then, as if it they hadn't been there at all, the each disappeared in separate directions as they moved inside through vents in the cement alongside the building.

Haley moved quickly, forgetting about Mac, her small body fitting through air shafts no one over twelve would be able to make it through.

Then, she saw it: Destination. Simon Packsar sat with his back to her, pouring over stacks of papers.

Silently, she twisted out the screw of the vent and let herself in, then put it back into place just as noiselessly.

She was gliding along the outskirts of the room when she noticed Mac poised upside down on the ceiling above her.

She put a finger to her lips and sensed Mac smile at her, then moved directly in front of her subject.

There, she reached out a hand and released a paper from the bottom of its pile so that it floated to the floor.

"Damn it," Packsar muttered and got up to retrieve it.

He made it to the other side of the desk and bent down to pick it up. Only when he had straightened back up did the Black Knight move.

"Don't move."
"What? Who's there?" he said, looking around.
"If you use your eyes, you can see me."
"What is this? Some kind of joke?" he said, still peering around the room.
"I'm here!" she yelled, turning off her ChamSuit.
He looked at her, dressed in black, coming up to no more than his elbow.

"Why, you're nothing but a child," he said.
"Aye," she said. "Eight. Seems like you've got some years on me. That would be, thirty-nine, wouldn't it?"
She saw Mac protesting this conversation on the ceiling abover her but shook her head just enough for him to notice and for her subject to fall oblivious.

"What is this?" he asked again.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I like to know people first. And to let them know what's coming while looking them in the eye."
"What is this? How did you get in here? Does your Daddy work here? You have to leave now."
She shook her head and he began to back away.
"Don't move. Look at me," she said and stared him in the eye.

She had a way with staring at them, so that when their eyes locked into hers, they noticed nothing else. As he stared into her dark brown eyes, he didn't see her lift the 9mm to his chest.

It was over in a moment and two pulls of the trigger. Simon Packsar fell forward like a collapsing tower, a look of surprise mixed with concern on his face.

"Now," she called up to Mac.

And they were gone, slipping out the door and through the building until they walked out the front door and onto the courtyard, then out the gate and onto the street.

Brother Noah

So the dishwasher broke. Joyous. Wow am I glad I'm leaving in two days, which means I hopefully won't ever have to deal with it, or at least won't have to deal with it until the summer.

However, it made for a nice excuse to have a little cute hang out time with Noah. I told Sam to go shove off until we were done washing (me) and drying (him) the dishes, etc, at which point Sam would come in to wipe off the table, sweep the floor, put the dishes away and take out the garbage. Oh, and put the salad in a bag. He didn't exactly end up doing that in full but I left for Kelly Long's house and didn't have to deal with it.

Meanwhile, Noah dried the dishes while I washed and we danced around the kitchen singing and talking and sucking on ice. He is so cute. Really. In all ways. Not just the cheeks and the eyes and the hair, etc etc. His little "I love my food" song really kills me. And he's just an overall good, sweet person. It was nice washing dishes with him. I'll miss both of them when I leave again. Two days. Almost one day. My little brothers.

:-(

NOUS I

She felt the back of his finger glide down her cheek. Her hands were outstretched, palm face down on the desk.
"You know what to do," he said.
Her eyes were wide, staring up at him. Of course she knew what to do.
He removed his finger from her cheek and though she felt a slight relief wash over her, she wanted it back. It was rare when anyone touched her, other than the case she was eliminating.

Times like these were when she thought of her family. The family she'd left behind, been torn from.

Her eyes wandered to the 9mm on the desk between them.
She swallowed.

He rose. She put her right hand over the gun.

"Will I be meeting with anyone?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Where will they be?"
"You'll find them. They'll see you." He put extra emphasis on the word 'see' so as to indicate another NOUS member.

"When I get there, I'm turning off the suit."
He turned around to face her.
"Just get the job done, Knight."
"I don't like this, Lauder."
For a moment his eyes softened.
"Put up your barriers. Like you've learned."
"I know, Sir."
"Haley?"
Her eyes shot up to his.
"Yes?"
"Watch yourself."
"I always do."
"Yes."
"It will be Mac?"
"It will be someone."
"And then can I go home?"
"No, Haley. You know you can't go home."
"The memory modification wears off too often. I remember too much."
"You're too strong-willed."
"Do they miss me?"
"No. You know that."
"The clone is well?"
"Yes. The clone is well."
"What will happen to her when I'm through?"
Lauder looked down at the girl and shook his head before leaving the room.

She grasped the gun, opened the compartment in her hip and snapped it in, adjusted her leg setting and turned toward the tube opening before turning on the ChamSuit.
Just as it adjusted, she marveled at the way her body seemed to disappear in front of any surface, then brushed her curiosity from her mind and dove into the tube and into the night's assignment.

Second Chances

There's a reason I don't give second chances: there's no point to them because people always blow them. But of course I end up giving them anyway, millions of chances, not just seconds. Well, one person gets lots of chances because they make up for the shit. But some people don't deserve a first and I give a second and now I'm done.

I can't believe I called myself his best friend. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. And he called me, his. But when it comes to judging people, that bit about judging a man by his friends...now look at me. Look at me. I'm disgusting. I'm foul, abominable, revolting. I make myself puke. And I know I'm not crying as much as Amber because I didn't waste my heart on him like that. Not at all. Not for years. Not in the same way. But I've never given my heart to someone like that, so it's the worst thing I've done. Because I give my heart to friends. I give my soul. And he decieved it twice. And because he got away with it the first time, he thought the second would be easier and that I'd soften my heart eventually no matter what. But five months now will turn to years and years and years. He can go shove his Ivy League head up his Ivy League ass and eat it.

No more chances. No more chances. I can't believe he got her a ring. Decieving her, too, no doubt. Decieving everyone. He's a monster. A demon. There are no words. I can't describe what I feel.

And on top of it all I have to live with the fact that I actually cared. That I loved my best friend who wasn't ever a friend at all to anyone. And I'm crying. I shouldn't be but I am. I'm crying. I can't believe I let my guard down for one second. And look what he's done to the girls who are in love with him. I'm glad I'm not in love. I'm glad I never was. I hope I never will be. At least with some despicable puke bucket or anything remotely resembling him.

Preparing

I got my songs in yesterday and now am separating them into their respective albums. For the most part, they sound good. Except "Only in America" and "Red Door Payment" have huge and slight glitches, respecitively. Not a problem. Just remix and burn and test out again. So there are Nine songs on each because I added that most depressing song "Perdition's Dirge" (most depressing title, too, huh?) and then put in the old recording done in the actual studio with the Amazing Chris Kirkendall of "Aisle 10+5."

I've been listening to them all the way through just to make sure for a while now. Hopefully there won't be anything else wrong with any of them. Of course, "Perdition" is playing now, making me remember my Tin Soldier again. I've been thinking of him a lot lately. Dreaming of him. And since I saw "Munich" it's been more intense.

I suppose it gets to me. The fact that I know there will never be peace in Israel. Or anywhere in the world for that matter. There'll always be some shit going on about nothing and everyone will die for nothing like we always do, because with all of our sentiment and good intentions for peace, we really don't want it at all because we're greedy, savage, belligerent animals.

Even though he's dead, I still see him. Whenever I see the soldiers on the news I look for him, like I looked through every face of every soldier when I was in Israel even though I knew he wouldn't be there. Maybe he's just my excuse. The reason I'm so bitter about love or anything to do with it. I finally let myself be caught up in it and then he dies. Blown up for nothing. For some brainwashed terrorists hope of 72 virgins in heaven when there's really nothing at all. For a cause that doesn't really exist.

Golda Meir was definintely right. And with all the 'torture' that goes on on both sides of the line, the difference between the Arabs and the Israelis is simple: one group fights to die and has no respect for life, and one group fights to endure. "We will have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate [the Jews]." Sadly, she is right. And even more horribly, they'll never love them more. Never. And more innocent children will be sent off to kill themselves and the unsuspecting people around them. More children will die, their last vision that of fire, a hell on earth to send them into nothingness. In that moment, I wonder what they think. "There is no justice. There is no judge."

It's why I worry. Because every time I love someone, in any way, they're stolen from the world and the laughter gone and all I hear is silence. It's why I don't take anything for granted. It's why I hold on when others let go. It's why I hold on until my grasp makes people uncomfortable, but I don't care. There might not be another moment.

So, "Perdition's Dirge." It's really what people thought was heaven. It's for my Tin Soldier who never got to hear it:

Life comes to a seeming dissolution
It opens me to eyes held quite aloft
The time is ripe: follow to Perdition
and my mind, cynical yet always soft.

Now I could blame the world for al its suave
impertenance. And dreams of love and lust.
Perhaps the world's solely an improv:
"Read here! The script!" But only if I must.

You color me pretty I say you will.
Meet me in Hell and then you'll understand.
Another word, you'll find that looks can kill.
Ask "What's Hell?" Meet me in the promised land.

Exactly what is this Perdition's dirge?
The song where you and I and souls diverge.

Fairy Tale

Flying back home in a few days
I guess you've done the same
Wonder how the match went
I wonder who won the game

Crawl into my empty bed
I want to come home to more
than memories
Live my dreams

I want to climb high
But I'm so scared of falling
Oh, I'm so scared of falling
So you hold my hand

I asked "Where's home?"
It could be anywhere
If you're there
But I'm not there

So I put my hair
in a ponytail
Go out running
Thinking of my fairy tale

I search again
But I need a friend
And though the distance
is wider, our hearts are closing in

I fell anyway
I fell again
Not so bad
Not so bad at all

Flying back home in a few days
We've done the same
I wonder who lost themselves on the way
And who won the game

I feel you with me
Home and a friend
I go out running
Living in my fairy tale
Living in my fairy tale
Living in my fairy tale
Living in my fairy tale

On the Brink of...Life. I Think.

Romantic experience.

I really am a hopeless Romantic. And I had one of those today. Of course, I needed the unyielding help of my awesome best friend. I won't see him again for at least six months. A year if I get one of those internships. Which makes me very sad and put out. But I'm leaving again (or parting, rather) with that great feeling of assurance that he'll be there on the other side of the long absence, and that somehow, the distance won't be so great.

Anyway, back to Romantic Experience. As usual, I do crazy things with that boy, like climbing. Or something to do with crazy things that I'd never do otherwise, like run from police or have a reason to. He said we should do that again. I rolled my eyes but secretly agreed. I think.

Today, somehow, he got me to climb on the ledge of the fence of the little porch, pavilion without a roof thing in the back of the park by the little innocent looking stream. I got on by the tree, because it seemed safe to me. But then he made me walk. So I stepped a few feet. Or inches, rather. I shuffled a few inches. And I still held onto the tree and was shaking with fright.

"Come on. Step. Step now! Or I'll push you off!"
"No! NO! I can't, I can't! Don't you understand? I'm terrified."
"I know!" he said. "Do it! Just do it!"
"I CAN'T!"
"Let go of the tree!"
I tremble in terror.
"Here. Hold my hand."

So I end up grabbing both and remain trembling and somehow step and step and step. Until I'm all the way around. But I can't get down once he lets go and I feel isolated and alone and on the brink of death standing like a pillar on the ledge with nothing but air between me and the ground a long way down.

He comes up to me again and I grab his hand again and slide down onto the step that's really a seat. I huddle up in the corner.

"See? This is safe, Mark. See? Safe!"
He smiles and walks around the platform. He goes to explore the bridge being built and tells me I should go walk across the water on the outside of it. No way. He comes back.

"I'll do it again," I say.
"Really?"
"Yeah." To get rid of the fear.
"You know you're the only one I'll ever do this with, right?"
He gives me one of those evil devil smiles of his and that look I can't describe and says, "I know."

I hate it when he knows. But I love it, too.

So we go around again and it's not as scary this time. And then he wants me to go around backwards. I refuse. I refuse. I refuse!

"I'll do it," I say.
"Really?" He gets excited.
"Yes. Just so I can say I did. But it's scary. I'm terrified. I mean it! I'm terrified."
"I know."
I climb up again. He holds the backs of my arms. Above the elbows.
"Don't let go," I say.
"I won't."
"Step back. Left. Right. Step. Step."

And so it goes.
I swear I almost fell and died at least four times. But he caught me. Which means I didn't almost fall and die. Because I knew he wouldn't let me.
And I made it around backward.
Afterward, we leaned on the fence and looked over at the stream but not really. I was still shaking from the terror. But it wasn't as bad.

"You know, I don't trust many people with anything," I say.
"I know."
"And I just trusted you with my life."
"I know."
Then we were silent for a while.
"I'll miss you. I miss you already."
"I miss you, too," he says. "You and your stupid school so far away."
"I'm sorry," I say. "But I love it there. It's not my fault it's so far."
"It sucks."
"So if I really get the bug for this religion thing, I'll think about it. And you'll be happy."
"Mmm."
"But I won't. I can't leave. You know that."
"Yeah...I should be home in ten minutes."
"Then we should leave."
"Yeah."

We turn to leave.

I think I hugged him for too long. But it's all right. It makes up for all the ones that won't happen after today. At least for a while.

We got into my driveway. The sad parting place of every friend of mine. We talked a little again but there wasn't any time. So I said, "I'll miss you. I miss you so much."
"I miss you, too," he said.
"Yeah. I should go now so I don't break down and cry."
I hugged him again. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Tal."
"Thanks," I said as I got out of the car.

Before I closed the door I turned around and looked at him.
"Thank you...for being my friend."
"And thank you for being mine."

That was the last thing we said. I closed the door and I couldn't see him anymore because of the reflection of the trees in the window. So I turned and walked back to my front door. I looked back once and he was still there on the street. My hand pulled my keys out of my bag and I looked down at them, then back to where he had been but he wasn't there anymore.

But he'll be there, I think. He'll be here. For a long, long time.

Iquo leaves tomorrow morning. Right now the four of us (kids) are hanging out in the kitchen, Sam being evil as usual with the laugh and Noah reading, me ignoring and Iquo munching Dad's cheese cake that Dad can't eat because of his weird metal-mouth thing.

Still have to write letters to people. *Sigh* I'll miss Iquo. We won't see her for more than a year and that's sad. And I'll miss the little boys, too. They'll be huge in a year. That's ridiculous. But it's about time they grew, so I guess I'll have to deal with it and the lack of cheeks.

YAY! Iquo just gave me one of her amazing head massages. And Noah's cheeks are amazing.
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. HIS CHEEKS ARE AMAZING!!! And his little puffy cuteness. And his puppy dog face and eyes, and freckles.

Sam is included. But Noah has the cheekness. Sam has the Freckly.

Oh, and now they fight.
And Noah cries on the ground in pain and smacks Sam in the back of the head. Mopey mopey.
Then spontaneous laughter because it's all so ridiculous and they know it.

"NOOO!!! Squeeze your own cheeks!"
"But mine aren't pillowy like yours!"

I Love Elisha Anyway--A Letter to David Coyne

Hi David,

I've just finished "As A Driven Leaf."  I suppose the combination of
finishing the book and seeing "Munich" has launched me into one of my
sentimental moods full throttle.

It's funny because I've been searching for something other than the theme
of my own book, searching for another idea to germinate and grow.  But
first I must wipe my mind clean like a blank slate.  Maybe I have to get
rid of the slate altogether and start over completely.  Whatever it is,
where did Milton Steinberg lead me?  Back to "all is pursuit of wind."  My
book.  Myself.  And my world.  So maybe I've got it wrong and I should
continue to create worlds and write them down as I have been, without
erasing or eliminating anything.

Anyhow, in a sense, I am just like Elisha.  For what I think.  For what I
write.  But the world has changed, and now, being a Jew does not
necessarily require faith in G-d (although I have that), or a strict
following of all the commandments (which I highly doubt anyone has or has
had for a very long time--or ever).  And it seems to me that it's only
about loyalty to the root of what the Torah is saying, which is what it's
always been about anyway: be human, teach the world to be human and
continue this until you die and continue this in your children and so on.

This must be a confusing jumble of nonsense by now, since it's past 1:30
in the morning, but I like to get my ideas out as soon as they occur or
else they're lost, and the response goes to you since you gave me the
book.

I'll stop rambling now.  Hopefully, this made some kind of sense...or not.
But at least know this: I will not forget this book anytime soon.  And
thank you for introducing me to it.  Each new story has its impact on me,
and thus on what comes from me; but a book of such great impact as this
rarely comes along.  Now, all I have to do is sit and wait for another
story to be woven in my mind.  And for that, nothing is merely "vanity and
pursuit of wind."

When I was fifteen I fell in love. Maybe it was the first time. Maybe it was the last. He was tall with long blonde hair. Big, clear blue eyes. I loved him. I still do. And after all this time, he still haunts my dreams.

I never told him how I felt. But I think he got a hint because of the way I couldn't let go when it was time to say good-bye. I knew.

He danced with me. He is my dancing boy and I felt the heat of him against me and the rhythm of the dance and the vibration of the music as it shivered through the air around us and beneath our feet.

He wrote to me. I was his Aurora Borealis. Luckily, he got to see it. I still haven't. One day, perhaps, I will look in the mirror and see myself reflected in the sky. Still, I imagine the Northern Lights.

And I imagine the dancing boy who made it just two months past sixteen.

I've learned to bury grief because tears bring nothing. I convert it all to anger and channel the anger into madness and madness into power.

I've learned to take explosions and commit them to that anger and let the transformation occur. I've learned not to hate. I suppress the hatred and turn it into sadness each time I think of it. Each time I think of a suicide bomber, or a mastermind behind it, or the population that condones it or says nothing to stop it, I turn the hatred to sadness and the sadness to anger and the cycle begins anew.

And still he haunts my dreams. But we have a home now, yes? And peace is just a dream. An unattainable dream. But for every life saved, so is a world. The price is another world.

Some bargain, huh? But a bargain I'm willing to make. A bargain I'm willing to be martyred for, execute orders for, pull triggers for. So the dream may remain a reality. So the love may not be in vain.

So now I am afraid. Because each time I find someone, they slip away into the Other World. Who will it be next time? Do you understand now why I keep so close a watch? Why I love so fiercely every single person? Why I cry at partings and greetings? Why I strain in between? No do you understand? Because time is precious and too short. And I am afraid to love but cannot restrain my heart.

Tribute to Akiva

"Do you fear it?"
"No."
"Because it's happened before?"
"Yes."
"Will you walk into it?"
"No."
"Try to evade it?"
"How can I? I will do this: only live. But as always, I will be with my people. And we'll survive. In small numbers, in large. The world will still fear us, attempt to purge itself of us."
"You will be a martyr, then?"
"Of course. I am a Jew."
"Are you all martyrs in the end?"
"No. We are all angels."
"Messengers?"
"Yes."
"The world listens, doesn't it?"
"Too well, I think. Like a spoiled child it listens. And rebells. It spits at us and rebells."
"And so you die?"
"One by one. But never all."
"Will you bring the moshiach soon?"
"That's not up to me. It's up to the rest of you."
"But there are disbelievers among you. Heretics. Blasphemers. People who leave you and people who doubt."
"As there are in every group. What is the difference? We are human, too."
"What is the message?"
"Don't you know by now?"
"Do I?"
"Listen closer. It's written all through history. Four thousand years, at least."
"Who will you be like?"
"Like Akiva."
"It's never too late. Correct?"
"Exactly. Like his stone. The water will persist and the stone will erode. The knowledge will persist and pervade the mind. It is never too late to begin."
"And even after a plague, you will persist?"
"Yes. Like Akiva. 24,000 students died. Yet he persisted. And the moshiach did not come."
"A martyr. Tortured."
"Yes. And still, in the end, he recited the Shema."
"Of the Four Who Entered Paradise, he was the only one who really knew."
"Yes. I will name a son after Akiva. Perhaps he will know Paradise, too."
"Perhaps. Beware of the times ahead."
"As always. We remember."

We are more like fish attempting to swim through air than anything else.

This is the objective in life: Do not resign yourself to drowning. Fight against it. Transform your gills to lungs.