I don't sing much anymore. I can't bring myself to it. The past few days, I've tried. I've tried to create music but I can't. I've tried scrounging up some of that stuff we used to call hope but it's just not there anymore. Not for anyone. Not for me or you. Not for the Americans or Europeans or the Israelis or the Lebanese. Not for the Asians or the South Americans. Not for the Canadians, not the Russians. Not the Africans. Not the islanders. Not anyone.
It's not there. We fooled ourselves in the first place thinking that it was, or that it might be.
The world's not come down to this. It's just what it's always been and we've deluded ourselves for so long into thinking that there can be rules in war pertaining to the "humane" but what's humane at all about war at all? What's humane about anything human? It all boils down to blood. We live for the same thing we die for.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ithaca In Parts: The Oath of Me'usha
Life is not always sweet.
On the plains of Mitra on the planet of Waas, people had been at war for longer than they could remember. I was born one of them, a Lui'embai, as we called ourselves.
Our bodies were anything but human, but all peoples are the same, no matter who they are in the universe.
As a Lui'embai my name was Mah'lo-gua. I was female in the most simplistic of analogies to earth. This was an early life, so I never knew my true name, although afterward, I remembered hearing it whispered in the night air when the battles took their rests; I remembered the trees singing 'Ithaca' and sometimes even the clashing of bodies against each other as we all fell dead.
Here, we struggled to stay alive because why else should we be born?
Mah'lo-gua treasured life. Her sister Si'ynan-undua begged to differ.
I caught her by the fire once, contemplating a knife against her wrist.
"You wish to kill yourself?" I asked her from behind, the fire flickering back and forth between us.
"What's the point in waiting?"she answered.
"You cannot be free if you are dead. We wait for the world to take. Although it is chaos, it is still life."
"The chaos is for nothing. For what is it that we fight? We have all forgotten! We're not born knowing. We don't don't die knowing."
"Spend your life trying to find out. Suicide isn't the answer."
"How do you know? The Clans come and go. Sometimes we're one of them. This world is not for us. Can't you see, Mah'lo-gua? The Lui'embai commit suicide en masse. What's one taken alone? It will die by the Clans anyway," she said.
"You sound like the Clan of the Malo-selo-hul, the Mountains of the North."
She turned to me then, her face cast in shadow, the fire illuminating a wring behind her, creating an illusion that held her slightly above the ground.
"I have joined them, sister. I have taken the Oath of Me'usha."
I stood in place and gaped at her.
"How could you?" I gasped. "How could you, Si'ynan-undua?"
"It is the way to peace," she answered. "I will be of the other Clans, too. But I have taken my Oath. We must stop this ravaging of Waas. We have been nothing but a blight upon ourselves and the planet! We must finish it off!"
"We already kill those who come from the chaos. But there is something worth preserving among all of us! Please! For the children, you must see this," I argued.
"I swear to never harm a soul by creating for it a body. The Oath of Me'usha," she said.
"What has become of you, Si'ynan?" I whispered.
"I swear to purge from upon this earth all creatures known as life. I swear to end the chaos, annihilate each Clan in turn. I swear that when my time comes, or when all Clans have been erased, whichever time brings first, I will purge from upon this earth this creature of myself."
"You have gone mad!" I exclaimed.
An hysterical laughter escaped her and she turned back toward the fire.
In the morning she was gone. Over the years, the Clan of Me'usha grew until it took up all of the Northern Plains. It spread to South and the East and West, killing everything in its path that moved.
The Clan of Me'usha only grew by convincing, for they were to have no children without being put to death: both the creature who carried the child and child, so as not to put it through misery. The mothers gave themselves willingly.
One day at the end, the Clan of Me'usha ambushed my own and my sister came upon me. She invited me to take the Oath of Me'usha.
"To take my place," she told me.
"What will become of you that I have to take your place?"
"I have created a body. We must end ourselves."
Of the several thousand members of the Clan of Me'usha, there were twelve to be put to death along with their unborn. I watched from the shadows as they all drove the Knives of Battle into themselves, each bearing an expression of utmost ecstasy.
I took the Oath of Me'usha, forcing my children to take it along with me.
In time, the Clan of Me'usha grew stronger and bigger than the rest. After only three centuries, they had succeeded in purging the world of all other Clans.
Then it was only a matter of time. There were no more children. No more battles. I thought of it as a synthetic peace.
As the last of them died out, I watched. I never agreed with the Oath I'd taken, but took it as a way to preserve life in the only I knew possible.
However, from that time forward, I did abide by its promise.
I swear to never harm a soul by creating for it a body.
Now, the planet of Waas no longer exists, for everything dies. But its plains were quiet, and its mountains and its seas. The world was quiet but for the soul who rested in its core. Now even that soul is silent.
Life is not always sweet. But it is a taste, nonetheless.
On the plains of Mitra on the planet of Waas, people had been at war for longer than they could remember. I was born one of them, a Lui'embai, as we called ourselves.
Our bodies were anything but human, but all peoples are the same, no matter who they are in the universe.
As a Lui'embai my name was Mah'lo-gua. I was female in the most simplistic of analogies to earth. This was an early life, so I never knew my true name, although afterward, I remembered hearing it whispered in the night air when the battles took their rests; I remembered the trees singing 'Ithaca' and sometimes even the clashing of bodies against each other as we all fell dead.
Here, we struggled to stay alive because why else should we be born?
Mah'lo-gua treasured life. Her sister Si'ynan-undua begged to differ.
I caught her by the fire once, contemplating a knife against her wrist.
"You wish to kill yourself?" I asked her from behind, the fire flickering back and forth between us.
"What's the point in waiting?"she answered.
"You cannot be free if you are dead. We wait for the world to take. Although it is chaos, it is still life."
"The chaos is for nothing. For what is it that we fight? We have all forgotten! We're not born knowing. We don't don't die knowing."
"Spend your life trying to find out. Suicide isn't the answer."
"How do you know? The Clans come and go. Sometimes we're one of them. This world is not for us. Can't you see, Mah'lo-gua? The Lui'embai commit suicide en masse. What's one taken alone? It will die by the Clans anyway," she said.
"You sound like the Clan of the Malo-selo-hul, the Mountains of the North."
She turned to me then, her face cast in shadow, the fire illuminating a wring behind her, creating an illusion that held her slightly above the ground.
"I have joined them, sister. I have taken the Oath of Me'usha."
I stood in place and gaped at her.
"How could you?" I gasped. "How could you, Si'ynan-undua?"
"It is the way to peace," she answered. "I will be of the other Clans, too. But I have taken my Oath. We must stop this ravaging of Waas. We have been nothing but a blight upon ourselves and the planet! We must finish it off!"
"We already kill those who come from the chaos. But there is something worth preserving among all of us! Please! For the children, you must see this," I argued.
"I swear to never harm a soul by creating for it a body. The Oath of Me'usha," she said.
"What has become of you, Si'ynan?" I whispered.
"I swear to purge from upon this earth all creatures known as life. I swear to end the chaos, annihilate each Clan in turn. I swear that when my time comes, or when all Clans have been erased, whichever time brings first, I will purge from upon this earth this creature of myself."
"You have gone mad!" I exclaimed.
An hysterical laughter escaped her and she turned back toward the fire.
In the morning she was gone. Over the years, the Clan of Me'usha grew until it took up all of the Northern Plains. It spread to South and the East and West, killing everything in its path that moved.
The Clan of Me'usha only grew by convincing, for they were to have no children without being put to death: both the creature who carried the child and child, so as not to put it through misery. The mothers gave themselves willingly.
One day at the end, the Clan of Me'usha ambushed my own and my sister came upon me. She invited me to take the Oath of Me'usha.
"To take my place," she told me.
"What will become of you that I have to take your place?"
"I have created a body. We must end ourselves."
Of the several thousand members of the Clan of Me'usha, there were twelve to be put to death along with their unborn. I watched from the shadows as they all drove the Knives of Battle into themselves, each bearing an expression of utmost ecstasy.
I took the Oath of Me'usha, forcing my children to take it along with me.
In time, the Clan of Me'usha grew stronger and bigger than the rest. After only three centuries, they had succeeded in purging the world of all other Clans.
Then it was only a matter of time. There were no more children. No more battles. I thought of it as a synthetic peace.
As the last of them died out, I watched. I never agreed with the Oath I'd taken, but took it as a way to preserve life in the only I knew possible.
However, from that time forward, I did abide by its promise.
I swear to never harm a soul by creating for it a body.
Now, the planet of Waas no longer exists, for everything dies. But its plains were quiet, and its mountains and its seas. The world was quiet but for the soul who rested in its core. Now even that soul is silent.
Life is not always sweet. But it is a taste, nonetheless.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
If I could have one wish I would wish for the day I can wake up and ask you "What's new?" and you could answer "Peace."
But that will never be.
There's no point in any of it. So we keep hoping and I can't help wondering what for.
More die everyday for nothing. The cause has been forgotten and there wasn't really a cause in the first place except for religious zealotry and the false pretense of God.
But this is humanity. We thrive on what's marketable and peace most certainly doesn't sell.
There's nothing to say. I just sat here for five minutes and thought of nothing to say.
All is fair is fair in love and war, right? So what happened to the love? Did it die? Most likely it was a lie. There is no love and never was.
But we keep hoping. There's nothing else to do but fight, is there? And I don't want to fight.
Are they dying for the fight or the love or the hope? Are they dying for anything? Some bastard's pet enterprise? An exploitation of the young as always for the old's forgotten quarrels?
My favorite part is how we look the same. We all look the same. I can't tell one from the other and that should tell us all something: there is no difference except what we imagine.
For once what is real is caused by what's imagined and I'd rather not imagine. I'd rather not dream. I'd rather live and save than live and die. But humanity is its own carcinogen and the disease has spread everywhere.
Now, it's only a matter of time.
But that will never be.
There's no point in any of it. So we keep hoping and I can't help wondering what for.
More die everyday for nothing. The cause has been forgotten and there wasn't really a cause in the first place except for religious zealotry and the false pretense of God.
But this is humanity. We thrive on what's marketable and peace most certainly doesn't sell.
There's nothing to say. I just sat here for five minutes and thought of nothing to say.
All is fair is fair in love and war, right? So what happened to the love? Did it die? Most likely it was a lie. There is no love and never was.
But we keep hoping. There's nothing else to do but fight, is there? And I don't want to fight.
Are they dying for the fight or the love or the hope? Are they dying for anything? Some bastard's pet enterprise? An exploitation of the young as always for the old's forgotten quarrels?
My favorite part is how we look the same. We all look the same. I can't tell one from the other and that should tell us all something: there is no difference except what we imagine.
For once what is real is caused by what's imagined and I'd rather not imagine. I'd rather not dream. I'd rather live and save than live and die. But humanity is its own carcinogen and the disease has spread everywhere.
Now, it's only a matter of time.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
The music went from loud to soft and the blob of people around me suddenly paired off into innumerable couples and I stood in the center alone.
I quickly gave up as I looked around and began to back up out of the crowd.
But then he came out of nowhere.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked me.
"Yes!" I answered.
Because how many times does the one person I'm completely enamored by come up and ask me to dance with him? How many times does that happen? How many times does the one person I'm completely falling for start falling, too?
I liked his long blonde hair and his blue eyes. I liked the way I hadn't had a clue as to where he was from. I liked his accents--completely American when speaking English and completely Israeli when speaking Hebrew.
I liked the way he held me in time and how we swayed in time with the music.
"I'm sorry," he said in the middle of one song. "I sweat too much."
"It's ok. It's only 120 degrees in here," I answered.
And we kept dancing.
For some reason, they played two slow songs in a row and it felt like an eternity that didn't last long enough. Then the music ended and the couples broke apart and scattered their separate ways.
"I don't want to leave tomorrow," I said to him outside.
He shrugged.
"It's good to go home eventually."
"Good-night, ---," I said.
"Laila tov, Aurora," he said to me.
The next morning I couldn't stop hugging him good-bye.
He laughed at me.
"It's not like you'll never see me again. I'll be back in a few years."
"That's forever from now!" I said.
"Aaah. Keep smiling. Forever isn't that long."
I hugged him one last time and watched him walk on the bus.
Through the day, I imagined him walking through the airport and stepping on the plane and going back home to Israel.
I was supposed to send him a birthday present, Dracula, by Bram Stoker because we had an ongoing joke about how he was a vampire and I was the Northern Lights.
So now I don't hesitate to tell my friends that I love them. Because I didn't tell him and I never sent his present because by the time I was ready I'd learned that Time is never on your side and people are snatched away in a moment without any warning whatsoever.
Since the war started last week his face has been flashing before my eyes constantly. I can't get away from it. I can't talk about it. I can't do anything. I dream about him, though, like I've dreamed about him since he died.
Sorry. He didn't just die. He was murdered.
He was murdered for nothing like everyone else.
Because stubborn people can't share. Because people are animals. Because people aren't human, they're savages and they love to kill themselves and anything that remotely resembles life and joy.
He was murdered.
And the last thing he ever saw is something I can only imagine. Because maybe he was looking out the window at the countryside of the Galil. Or maybe he was talking to a friend. Or maybe he was looking inward and remembering his dreams or looking forward to the day he wouldn't end up living. But mostly when I imagine, I imagine fire. Fire because I know it was the last thing he ever felt even if he didn't see it. Fire because that's what happens during a suicide bombing.
He talks to me all the time in my dreams, so maybe ghosts are just our imagination or maybe they really are the imprint of someone who used to be. Maybe he really does exist somehow, which means he really does think of me, really does visit me, really does love me, too.
He's the reason I'm terrified of anything real. That's the secret. The people I love the most, the people I admit to loving the most are the first ones stolen away. So I don't admit outright, even to myself, because I can't. Because I don't want them to die.
I don't want them to die.
Unfortunately, the rest of humanity wants everyone to die because people are never good. They're beasts. And beasts are selfish and care for nothing except the survival instinct and thrive on the inherent hatred of every other living creature known to them.
I'm sorry I'm one of them. But I try as best as I can not to be.
And I still don't want them to die.
It's funny, though, because even though it hurts in the morning when I wake up and realize that he's not really alive, I want those dreams again and again. Because I still love him. I still miss him. I still think of him every day.
And I love it when his face flashes in front of me and I get caught up in it for a moment and believe it's not a dream.
I quickly gave up as I looked around and began to back up out of the crowd.
But then he came out of nowhere.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked me.
"Yes!" I answered.
Because how many times does the one person I'm completely enamored by come up and ask me to dance with him? How many times does that happen? How many times does the one person I'm completely falling for start falling, too?
I liked his long blonde hair and his blue eyes. I liked the way I hadn't had a clue as to where he was from. I liked his accents--completely American when speaking English and completely Israeli when speaking Hebrew.
I liked the way he held me in time and how we swayed in time with the music.
"I'm sorry," he said in the middle of one song. "I sweat too much."
"It's ok. It's only 120 degrees in here," I answered.
And we kept dancing.
For some reason, they played two slow songs in a row and it felt like an eternity that didn't last long enough. Then the music ended and the couples broke apart and scattered their separate ways.
"I don't want to leave tomorrow," I said to him outside.
He shrugged.
"It's good to go home eventually."
"Good-night, ---," I said.
"Laila tov, Aurora," he said to me.
The next morning I couldn't stop hugging him good-bye.
He laughed at me.
"It's not like you'll never see me again. I'll be back in a few years."
"That's forever from now!" I said.
"Aaah. Keep smiling. Forever isn't that long."
I hugged him one last time and watched him walk on the bus.
Through the day, I imagined him walking through the airport and stepping on the plane and going back home to Israel.
I was supposed to send him a birthday present, Dracula, by Bram Stoker because we had an ongoing joke about how he was a vampire and I was the Northern Lights.
So now I don't hesitate to tell my friends that I love them. Because I didn't tell him and I never sent his present because by the time I was ready I'd learned that Time is never on your side and people are snatched away in a moment without any warning whatsoever.
Since the war started last week his face has been flashing before my eyes constantly. I can't get away from it. I can't talk about it. I can't do anything. I dream about him, though, like I've dreamed about him since he died.
Sorry. He didn't just die. He was murdered.
He was murdered for nothing like everyone else.
Because stubborn people can't share. Because people are animals. Because people aren't human, they're savages and they love to kill themselves and anything that remotely resembles life and joy.
He was murdered.
And the last thing he ever saw is something I can only imagine. Because maybe he was looking out the window at the countryside of the Galil. Or maybe he was talking to a friend. Or maybe he was looking inward and remembering his dreams or looking forward to the day he wouldn't end up living. But mostly when I imagine, I imagine fire. Fire because I know it was the last thing he ever felt even if he didn't see it. Fire because that's what happens during a suicide bombing.
He talks to me all the time in my dreams, so maybe ghosts are just our imagination or maybe they really are the imprint of someone who used to be. Maybe he really does exist somehow, which means he really does think of me, really does visit me, really does love me, too.
He's the reason I'm terrified of anything real. That's the secret. The people I love the most, the people I admit to loving the most are the first ones stolen away. So I don't admit outright, even to myself, because I can't. Because I don't want them to die.
I don't want them to die.
Unfortunately, the rest of humanity wants everyone to die because people are never good. They're beasts. And beasts are selfish and care for nothing except the survival instinct and thrive on the inherent hatred of every other living creature known to them.
I'm sorry I'm one of them. But I try as best as I can not to be.
And I still don't want them to die.
It's funny, though, because even though it hurts in the morning when I wake up and realize that he's not really alive, I want those dreams again and again. Because I still love him. I still miss him. I still think of him every day.
And I love it when his face flashes in front of me and I get caught up in it for a moment and believe it's not a dream.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
First Let Down
Well, it's not so bad, I don't think. Let's just say not every agency out there can be trusted, so I've decided to terminate all dealings with this one no matter what they say about my manuscript.
http://www.sfwa.org/beware/
http://www.sfwa.org/beware/
Monday, July 10, 2006
OH MY
I sent my synopsis into a literary agency last night.
They answered me first thing this morning and told me they want to see my whole manuscript.
I spent all day putting in last-minute revisions and putting it into format.
And sent it in.
Now I wait again.
But I PASSED THE FIRST TEST!
And this is REAL.
They answered me first thing this morning and told me they want to see my whole manuscript.
I spent all day putting in last-minute revisions and putting it into format.
And sent it in.
Now I wait again.
But I PASSED THE FIRST TEST!
And this is REAL.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Nothing in Particular
So I haven't written on this in a while...Since then I've hung out, torn apart my room which is still happening, attempted to write a synopsis for my book which is still coming...seen lots of people, prepared to go back to Philadelphia for the Philadelphia Folk Festival in August and then go straight to school and stay with Kat for a week before move-in day! I'm seeing Lindsay today at 4:15 which is really exciting! Two days in one week which is almost never heard of.
I finally saw Kelly yesterday and talked to her for a long time and then saw Mr. Clifford which was nice. Only I forgot to remind him of those stupid library books I took out for him on my card and of course are about a year overdue now. Oh well. I made him pay for lunch and then got pissed off because he was ditching me after 2 hours to go see someone else. So much for sensible planning of the schedule. So I said that was fine and that he should just drop me off at home instead of driving aimlessly and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which I personally thought was great. But he came running after me begging for forgiveness and I'm an idiot so I forgave him.
Talked to James again to confirm the whole Philly thing, so I'm going to buy my cheap plane tickets today and he's buying the concert tickets. I also have to send my stinking promissory note in so my tuition gets paid and call Mendel which I'm dreading to remind him that he'll be recieving one, too.
I also found out I have a job dishwashing starting Monday for a while. Hopefully until I leave. It sounds crude but fortunately I tend to enjoy those things. Look at my job at school. If cleaning up puke and walking up to random masturbators and telling them to "Please stop" in the Student Lounge at 2:00am and to "Please find your own room" isn't crude I really don't know what is. So dishwashing should be wonderful. Except my mother is there, of course. But I can deal with that. Hopefully, they'll let me wash to my iPod so I can listen to goodness while I wash away the nastiness and stick my body in mile-wide pots and get shit out of them.
That's all now. Yay. I have to get dressed and clean my room (or attempt) and write the synopsis and see Lindsay.
Well, at least my back is almost all better so I can start walking again tomorrow! I've skipped yesterday and today. Just to make sure it doesn't die on me.
I finally saw Kelly yesterday and talked to her for a long time and then saw Mr. Clifford which was nice. Only I forgot to remind him of those stupid library books I took out for him on my card and of course are about a year overdue now. Oh well. I made him pay for lunch and then got pissed off because he was ditching me after 2 hours to go see someone else. So much for sensible planning of the schedule. So I said that was fine and that he should just drop me off at home instead of driving aimlessly and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which I personally thought was great. But he came running after me begging for forgiveness and I'm an idiot so I forgave him.
Talked to James again to confirm the whole Philly thing, so I'm going to buy my cheap plane tickets today and he's buying the concert tickets. I also have to send my stinking promissory note in so my tuition gets paid and call Mendel which I'm dreading to remind him that he'll be recieving one, too.
I also found out I have a job dishwashing starting Monday for a while. Hopefully until I leave. It sounds crude but fortunately I tend to enjoy those things. Look at my job at school. If cleaning up puke and walking up to random masturbators and telling them to "Please stop" in the Student Lounge at 2:00am and to "Please find your own room" isn't crude I really don't know what is. So dishwashing should be wonderful. Except my mother is there, of course. But I can deal with that. Hopefully, they'll let me wash to my iPod so I can listen to goodness while I wash away the nastiness and stick my body in mile-wide pots and get shit out of them.
That's all now. Yay. I have to get dressed and clean my room (or attempt) and write the synopsis and see Lindsay.
Well, at least my back is almost all better so I can start walking again tomorrow! I've skipped yesterday and today. Just to make sure it doesn't die on me.
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