Just because I put a reeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaally long post on KitsuneHiguchi, this is here, so I remember and so people can know. XD

Yanno in The Cellblock Tango? The lady who can't speak English? It's really Hungarian--

Mit keresek, enn itt? Azt mondjok, hogy lakem lefogta a ferjemet en meg lecsaptam a fejet. De nem igaz, en artatlan vagyok. Nem tudom mert mondja Uncle Sam hogy en tetten. Probaltam a rendorsegen megmagyarazni de nem ertettek meg
And means--
What am doing here? They say my famous lover held down my husband while I chopped off his head. But it isn't true, I am innocent. I don't know why Uncle Sam says I did it. I tried to explain it at the police station but they did not understand me..   Yey for the intranet. I love you.

Long time no post. This is lame, and like I said in my main xangar, it's fractured... Just 'cause some of the names are the same doesn't mean it really happened. I'm typing out what my hand wrote, no more than that... I also feel bad about neglecting poor KernsFaileas.

If I had to pinpoint that moment, that one moment, the turning point...  The last concert of the year. The seasons changed that day. My lips flushed and dried out, getting redder and warmer and burned like fire. Nor matter how much chapstick I used or how careful I was, they just got worse and worse.

My tongue had been cut on my saxophone reed, and the blood was crisp and salty and I hoped Matt couldn't taste it as we hid, wrapped together in a hidden no-man's land corner... Never mind that he bit it a bit harder and caused it to bleed more. I could never tell him if he hurt me.

Back to the concert. It was, surprisingly, the best we'd ever plated. I couldn't stop grinning except to play, and even then I could just barely make an embouchure. The walls, the rafters, the sky and stars listened to us that night. But it ended, and everyone knew we'd never play that well again and I still couldn't stop smilingsmilingsmiling. Caitlyn looked back at me with this great grin, and as I grinned back, I literally felt my lips rip. I tasted my mouth fill with blood, Caitlyn's grin disappeared in a blur, and suddenly George, always afraid to touch another girl in case Casey got mad, grabbed my shoulder and turned my face to his and called out, in alarm, just as Caitlyn did the same.

Thewallsshudderedthelightsflickeredthewindhowled and it was blackblackblack in my head except for that rush of red, a crimson streak branded across my brain and eyes and cleanfreshlyironedbuttondown white shirt as I tried to stop the blood but really just wanted it to flow on and on until my lips grew pale and drained and emptyemptyempty.

That's all. Call it whatever you want, think whatever you wish... That was one of frenzy writings, which usually are crap. But I don't even think about what I'm putting down until its there on the paper and in my brain and I can't get it out of it. I'm so afraid to put it up here that I'm having to go on and on to explain myself. Because I don't know what people will think of anything I ever say...

Here's a poem that I found in our Literature book. I really, really really like it.

Sympathy- by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!/ When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;/ When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,/ And the river flows like a stream of glass;/ When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,/ And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--/ I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing/ Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;/ For he must fly back to his perch and cling/ When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;/ And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars/ And they pulse again with a keener sting--/ I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,/ When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--/ When he beats his bars and he would be free;/ It is not a carol of joy or glee,/ But a prayer he sends from his heart's deep core,/ But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--/ I know why the caged bird sings!

And I think one of the worst parts is I don't know why. And that I'm not mad at him at all. I think that most of the day I was in a bit of shock. I didn't cry, even though I felt like screaming until my throat ripped. And when a bench was cold, I didn't feel it, a door was hot, I didn't feel it, the room smelt and I wasn't bothered... Most of the day, my legs were shaking and so were my hands.

I somehow got the courage to call and ask why. At first he just said that he didn't know. So I asked if he didn't know, or didn't want to tell me, and told him that I wasn't mad at him... And he said that that was weird, because he would be. I asked again, and he said that it was just a bunch of stupid stuff that would make me pissed... So after a few seconds of silence, I just asked for him to please tell me... And he said it was too much. By then I was trying hard not to cry, he doesn't need that, so I said, "Ok, never mind, I'll just... Bye."

And then I finally cried. Blasted music, got under the covers, and cried.

I just. Really liked him. And I still do. But... I'll live. I just wish I knew... I wish he'd tell me.