More memories

[kyrasantae]

30/9/2002

Lumessakahlaajat Se pommikoneiden aalto Yllä tuon uinuvan maan Ajoi hiljaisen, harmaan kulkueemme Lumeen kahlaamaan Ensin sai jokainen nähdä Sen maailmanpalonsa Oli miehen jokaisen poltettava Oma talonsa Aina kun tulitus loppuu Taas jatkaa taivallustaan Ryhmä vaivainen, joka ehdi ei Jäädä taakseen katsomaan Kun loppumattomaan lumeen Hautautui pikkuveli Taivaan verenpunasta kuvastui Se naurava pyöveli Kuolemanpataljoonat kulkee takana Edessämme on maisema kuin lakana Meidän leirimme täytyy Muuttaa uudelleen Joko rajan yli tai taivaaseen         [–Timo Rautianen & Trio Niskalaukaus, written for the refugees in Bosnia or something.]

"Waders in the Snow" The wave of bomber planes Over the sleeping ground Drove their silent grey caravan To wade in snow But first everyone had to see Their armegeddon Every man had to burn down His own house Every time the shooting stops They go on their journey A miserable group, with no time To look back When in the unending snow A brother is buried The bloodred skies Reflect a laughing executioner Death squads walking behind us In front of us a landscape like a blank sheet Our camp has to Move again Over a border or to heaven                  (with thanks to JTzeteen)

Dear Onno [DK#1]:

There is always one stamp for international postage sitting on my desk, and I didn't think I would have to use it so soon. I also hope that this won't be bothersome to you, as I know you're busy and you don't want me so involved with you, but I really don't think this belongs in my diary; I'd like to get it off my chest. Some people would rather write something like this, then burn or bury it, but I would feel better if I knew that someone was going to read it. Maybe I want sympathy too much in a world that doesn't offer it.

I actually wasn't even expecting to write a letter to you again (except for your birthday, but that will be more of a note than a letter), and I find it a little awkward writing in print again (in general) ever since I've written all summer in cursive. But the situation arises.

*Certain* people remain skeptical of your identity even when I have no doubts about it; it's not like I've never considered the possibilty, but we know each other well enough to be sure that I am who I say I am and that you are who you say you are. It's just to some people the world outside remains an unknown and therefore a dangerous territory. It isn't or how would I have landed the job with Paul at his fries store? If you "can't trust" people you "can't see," how do you know that you can trust people that you can see? The truth is, not only deviants or perverts look for friends (or "victims," if you will) online. We all do.

They also have a problem with sharing my diary -- if it weren't because I share it with you, I would not be writing it. Some reason for writing this letter. I don't write for blind eyes or for record. I wrote for people. A lot of people keep diaries online, espeically people with the mental issues like I have. Those are fully public. Perhaps we are all searching for that release or sympathy that isn't there? There's far more that goes on inside my head than the stuff I wrote down; my diary is subconsciously censored to tell you only what I want you to know. They don't want me expunging (is that the right word?) my entire personality to the world. I don't. They just think I do.

It's just the state of the world, what is it all coming to?

1/10/2002
What makes a diary a diary? In Chinese there is no difference between "diary" and "journal," it either is a 日記 (rì jī, lit. "day memoirs") or not. Maybe having two words for this same thing is an English feature; the word "journal" comes from the French "jour," for day, so essentially the two words mean the same thing. But popular association associates "diary" to "written in every day" and "journal" for something more like a book of thoughts.

Should there, or are there, any rules as to what goes in such a diary? I don't think so. My dad thinks that it isn't a place to write about what happens every day, it's a place to write down your reactions (not feelings) to what other people tell you. Makes it sound more like a paper confessional for your sins instead of the little cell in the church, or so it did when he said it to me. I would not agree. Anything that could go in Anne Frank's diary could go in mine. I read the darn thing for a reason.

I feel like I've been corrupted. I feel like I have to turn to things here illegal to escape from the pain of it all. But you and I know it doesn't work. However the thoughts threaten to dominate, and if morality is defeated, then fortunately the physical vices shall hold back the best. I'm trying hard enough not to let myself down -- I think it's just a little more important than not letting others down. And I can't let myself down. It's all that's left for me. Sadly I think I'm getting to the point where the moralities are breaking. The laws fall meaningless about me. There's just barely enough to say to myself, "no, wait -- hold back," but for how long?

4/10/2002
But as they say, they call it the lure of the forbidden -- the more forbidden it is, the stronger is the desire. So as it were, if it would be more prevalent around me, such would not be as tempting or to the same degree. And the longer you live without, the more you long for it.

I don't know who I am. I don't know where I belong. I belong to no place, no home, no family that they say I'm in. A mindless wanderer looking for some kind of solace where he can be heard and be free. How can one not feel useless if people around him say he is?

[unfinished]