and if you're so clever...

I've been listening to the "25 most exquisitely sad songs in the whole world" all day at work. It's not as morose as you think--most of them are too dramatic to really trigger any depressive episodes. This song, "I Know It's Over", by the Smiths, is one of the most beautiful songs ever written, and so I've included the lyrics below and hope you will find a copy of it and listen to it. I know you'll love it very much. I especially love Smiths lyrics because they read like poetry--Morrissey is always very careful to include parentheses for the really biting lines. It brings tears to my eyes just reading the words, let alone hearing the song.

I Know It's Over

Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well. Enough said.
I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Oh ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(Though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over, la ...
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said :
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...

speechless

I've been without voice for two days now. I spent the whole day yesterday screaming in whispers, literally, because my vocal cords or larynx or whatever it is (which I bet I should know, since I'm into sound productions of the vocal tract, just not really the actual vocal tract...new project perhaps?) have decided to throw in the towel, at least until I start having something worthwhile to say. Imagine your body protesting your mind. That's kind of what I think is going on with my insides at the moment. I was sick as a dog last week, and finally started to feel better over the weekend, but I suppose waitressing isn't really the best way to recover from illness.

Not speaking has sort of thrown me into an odd period of suspension. Last night, unable to sing, unable to talk to myself over matters of the everyday, I laid in bed staring at the shadows cast on my walls. I tried to read, but found that with one of my four elements on hiatus the others sat out in protest. Even solitary, I need to know that exchange can occur. I've spent the whole day silent at work, suffering several awkward encounters where I must motion that I have lost my voice, and the other person either apologizes or whispers their request to me. I'm really good at facial expressions. My hand gestures are superb. Body language is the new rhetoric.

So why am I questioning my entire being today? I've been scouring the internet for masters' programs in Amsterdam (dare I afford?) and research positions in big American cities. What does linguistics mean to someone who cannot speak? Is it time to put life's ambitions on the line? Does it count if I draw the line myself?

I'm all ears.

skin-deep

I don't take good pictures because I have the kind of beauty that moves.

Who am I--the mouth that ate itself?

"Often when I'm alone and it is raining and the wind is blowing, or when I'm on my own at night and the moon is shining down on the land, I can hear the many voices gone, the many voices now living, the many voices to come, all singing to me in whispers. At times like those I feel I am just about to catch the tune, the rhythm, and the theme of the music I have always longed to write. But it drifts away, carried on the waves of the wind. I seize pen and paper to write down the messages of the voices before they are carried away by the wind."

Do I delight in shocking my elders?

Did you know that 11,000 faces identical with Christ's are growing thinner in the federal prison? They had no money and no guns, and their trousers were not creased. The policeman grows fatter each day and rivals the new tanks. He blots out the doorway of the little cafe. A couple seeing him spills the milk at the counter, remembering what they did under the bridge last night.