monday 10 august 2009

Page Fourteen

Greenfield (another hated place)                                 some of our chimes                                                                                                            

There was always so much music in my own life. My thoughts and memories wander, and they are starting now to wander over all the songs, all the compositions we listened to over the years together. They hurt enough when they’re there in my mind. I can’t bear to play our music (the little of it I have with me), or to turn on the radio shows we got music from. Our music, that of my friends and me, that of my own life, is 99% of it now as lost to me as those friends are.

My own world. It’s most of it been stolen from me now, but what little of my own world I can still make is beginning slowly to claim me, as it should. It’s very tough in my living situation to make my own world; I can only do it part-time. But my distaste for the world outside my door, for the way human beings conduct themselves, is greater than ever, my need to withdraw from it and make a world of my own even greater. But animals were always the largest, the most important part of my own world. The last 14 I had were torn from me all in one day, and that has changed, has darkened and bloodied any future relationship I might have with an animal of my own.

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