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JWR 3.24 - The Sound of Her Voice
And to sit here...it doesnít feel quite right, I think.
1857 1858 1859 1860 1861 1862 1863 1864 1865 1866 1867 1868 1869 1870 1871 1872 1873 1874 1875 1876 1877 1878 1879 1880 1881 1882 1883 1884
I got quite a lot of reaction from that one. I had every intention of starting up at that point, beginning with an explanation for a numerical Rambling. People canít stand to not know. We love a good mystery, and most mysteries start out good, but fall apart at the end.
It had been a habit for me to write a Rambling a week, sometimes more if the mood struck me. It then became habit to not do it weekly, and it was funny to title them Weekly while they really were semi-weekly.
My friend was right: for every sad or angry person, there is a reason for that sadness or anger. All you need to do is take the time to find out what the problem is. Many people will simply tell you if you ask those two simple words: ďWhatís wrong?Ē I maintain that conjoined words count as one word, there is no space, after all. I think that after all should become one word. Afterall, become was once two words, but as soon as people started saying be and come together so often, they became mentally conjoined. Be and come still exist as individual words as well, afterall, language is a fluidic art, like climaxing the Hawaiian Islands on someoneís stomach.
1885 1886 1887 1888 1889 1890 1891 1892 1893 1894 1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 1918
Or maybe in reality, itís not that simple. If I went up to a stranger and offered help or an ear, it would probably end right there. It very well could have been the sweet sound of her voice. There is a tone, an inflection, coupled with those probing, kind eyes that make you want to open up and confess.
So, whatís wrong?
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I know about the sweet sound of her voice because Iíve heard it from many and as recently as yesterday. I know from compassion in sound, the world isnít so bad afterall. Headaches dull and pains subside. The sky looks brighter and the sun feels warmer. The water looks deeper and more clear.
Has is been too long? Am I not the same? Do I no longer have anything to contribute? Are my words random letters on a screen/page? Is there value to be had from mindless ramblings?
The sweet sound of her voice says yes and that is all the motivation I require. I do suppose you may need more, perhaps you deserve more, but I donít do that. At some point I may have. I started and stopped on more than one occasion, the equivalent of several pages of emotion and sentimentality baring all to a group of friends and barely there acquaintances. But itís not me and it never really was, not in this mid-twenties life.
Big T was telling me about a trip he took and had brought several of my Ramblings on a plane with him printed out. The woman next to him and asked if she could read them. Later she asked him if guys really talked like that to each other. That made my day. Some random person made a mental leap of sorts due to words I put on screen/paper. Iím no different than a nut with a manifesto except I have a group of twenty people who I send it to. Note: I did not say read, because I know...I know. The other difference is mine are sent in ďweeklyĒ installments rather than a newspaper getting a package with five hundred single-spaced, nine-point lettered, half-inch margined pages wrapped in kerosene soaked diapers.
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Oh, and Iím not totally crazy: 68% only. So why the...
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The answer is simple. Itís right in front of you. Itís because of the sound of her voice.
Copyright © 2003 John Lemut