"I keep moving to be stable
free to wander, free to roam"*
"His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
James Joyce, Dubliners - The Dead
"It’s getting bad, Dad—A stewardess was stabbed—They seem to have
knives and Mace—They said they have a bomb—It’s getting very bad
on the plane—Passengers are throwing up and getting sick—The
plane is making jerky movements—I don’t think the pilot is flying the
plane—I think we are going down—I think they intend to go to
Chicago or someplace and fly into a building—Don’t worry, Dad—
If it happens, it’ll be very fast—My God,my God."
-- Peter Hanson's last words over the phone
Aborad United 175 Plane
Chap 1, 9/11 Commision Report
Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.
I've said that.
-- By Raymond Carver
She writes and she writes good and she writes real. We've met somewhere in
the void of the net. May be on the referrer page of a blog or somewhere
among the bunch of comments.
Soie is her nickname. She owns a blog with black background and blue text,
which comes down on me like a mist of mystery anytime I visit there. It
reminds of the blue cafe in one of my daydreaming, the cafe with a shade
of blue all over the place where all the broken hearted people, newbie
lovers and romantic Don Juans gather.
It's just like seeing a woman with the wildest hair ever seen, in one of
the most lonely streets of Tehran in mid-winter snow; the urban eve who is
singing for herself and dancing to her own song.
"I like my hair, with all its shadows, all its rages..." (by Soie,
translated by me)
She writes free. She writes painful, she knows that "the real truth cant
be spoken" without pain.
Give her a visit....You might even visit Holden, Seymour and a few members
of Glass family here and there in her blue cafe, her blog.
Do you still think I’m beautiful now that the lights are on?
Do you think I’m the same girl now that the lights are on?
I don’t think that I’m the same girl now that the lights are on
Don’t bother to comfort me
I am comforted by the corner of lonely green walls... I am!
I am a woman now.(By Soie)
"We see a deadly sin on every streets corner, and we tolerate it. We
tolerate it because it's common. It's trivial. well, not anymore. I'm
setting the examples. What I've done will be puzzled over...and
studied...and followed...forever."
-- John Doe, SE7EN