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Minghella
And the rows. The rows with my friends, my lovers. What
were they about? What did they change? The fact is, the
facts are, nothing is changed. Nothing has been done. There
is neither rhyme nor reason, just tears, tears, peoples pain,
peoples rage, their aggression. And silence.
Look, already its happening here. The weight of words, the
torrent . All the words being said seep into each other. The
rage, the protest all clotting together. Sit and listen to the
wireless. Spin the dial, run the wheel of the tuner. Hear them
all at it, in all languages pouring out. This is, after all, our
first punishment. Babble. Saying so much to say nothing.
Doing so much to do nothing. Because the power to arrest,
to stop us short in our tracks, what does that?
But the silence. Listen. How rich it is, how pregnant how full.
What do you remember when all is said and done? A kiss,
the taste of someones lips, a view? A breath, a tune? The
weight of your grandmothers coffin? the veins on your
mothers legs? the white lines of her stomach?
Dont speak for a day and then start looking. The senses are
sharp. Look at the world about its business. The smell, the
roar, skin stretched over teeth, the madness .
The law is frightened of silence. It has words for the
defendant who becomes mute. The wrath of God. Mute by
malice. But its not silence which is the punishment. Words.
Words are the punishment.
The silence.
(A silence)
beautiful
last year it was cigarettes,