Chorus in the Morning

There is power there. The violins, the viola, the cello--- the singers. This beauty. This power. I'm so tired. This is bliss. This is life. This is love. This is pain and joy all at once and carried in slow eras of change. Eric and Dylan would be changed. I read their journals with an obsessive rush. Rammstein, Marilyn Manson, NIN, we have that much in common. I'm obsessed with Suicide. I wish to go back in time to prevent it. Elliott Smith, those poor school shooters, bullied girls and boys of every colour and creed.
This is my obsession. Humans are my weakness. Boys and Girls, here we are philosophising, and making ourselves sick over much of nothing. I wonder who keeps journals anymore.
Dylan, Eric, why?
Why, why, why? That's the question you wanted me to ask isn't it? Or how, or how could everyone have been so stupid. But, you already knew. I've read the doctrine, I've cried the stuff of humanity. I've hated, I've loved, I've done both so vehemently as to make a nobel comparison.
I've fantasized about lovers, killers, life and death. I've done that. Dylan, I wish you'd let yourself live for her. I know how it feels to be lost to your own best friend. I know isolation. Externally connected, almost externally connected. But, I feel these walls of silence. I don't belong here, where I belong, I don't belong anywhere, not in my own skin.
Skin, haha, I realize now. Your doctrine made us impossible. You would have hated me.
Kathleen's beautiful wasian, human, angel voice, the harmonics on the violin. The sonoros voices of the basses. Build, build, build it.
The power of music. It keeps me on this Earth. I am too small to live without it. I used to feel big. I still feel awkward.
Trill, strings, that frenzied movement. The voices building so cataclyzmic a force I've never known. Devistation.
Break, break, break, slowly. Aural orgazims.
That is music, that is the substance of life, that is the sustanance of humanity, all that is, all I know.
Dylan, did you listen to music the way I do?
Halleigh-looo-yeh. Had to say it. Someone had to say it.
Hebrew Love Songs.
The accented voice of the singer. Kathleen, I could listen to this choir forever. I really could.
Eric, beautiful boy, angry boy, godly boy, that's what you wanted, now isn't it?
Dylan, intelligent, passionate, beautiful boy. Beautiful from the inside out. I am perfectly convinced that you were murdered, whereas Eric was a killer angel, Lucifer, a fallen angel.
Fallen from her grace, Dylan, why?
I wish I could trade places with you.
I was alive, you know, just pretty young. I was a thinking, breathing, wanting being when you still hoped for a reason to believe in something.
Music. Music.
Dylan, you make my soul ache. I've known your pain now. I understand you.
Eric, I understand so little, yet so much of your mind. You were god, the devil, now that's what you want me to think, isn't it?
Dylan, you can't make me think anything but the truth. You were wounded early. I've been injured too. I can't imagine I'll ever meet anyone like you, anyone who kept journals.