lucilla zaidenberg ([email protected])
Tue, 26 Jan 1999 06:38:48 PST
She... Is benediction. She... is addicted to me...
The alarm goes off with its usual unnerving "bip-bip"... (Argh! It
sounds nothing like U2! where's the CD player??) My hands shaking, my
mouth dry, I mamage to put TJT on; WTSHNN starts after what sounds like
an eternity of silence.
Breathing in deep, I start my daily activities humming ISHFWIL while
preparing my first cup of coffee of the day. WOWY makes me stop just to
listen... Meanwhile the coffee has gone cold. Whith a half - muttered
swear I start to prepare another one, but then I look at my watch; no
time! Gosh, I'm late for work! (with extreme sorrow I stop RHMT in the
middele and run out of the house).
Somehow I make it to the bus stop just in time to catch my bus... As I
get in EBTTRT from the AB album is playing on the radio, and I consider
it a good sign... I find a place to sit and turn on my tape recorder. I
know I should study the choir's last rehearsal, but what do I care? I
take out of my bag a tape I made out of U2 live/ UABRS album and sink
into the music. As SBS plays on, I see that the place where I get off is
just two stops down the line. TEC begins, and I just *have* to close my
eyes, under the song's sheer energy. Just enough to miss my stop... I
get down at the next stop, and have to make a pause to change tapes. The
choir can wait. Here. AB. Just what was playing on the bus when I got
in. WGRYWH is my favourite... Well, I'm at the office, at last... My
boss is already looking at the clock on the wall: one minute to 9
o'clock (Pfew! That was close!)... I take off my headphones and sit at
my table. I make another coffee, but have no time to drink it; a moment
later the world comes tumbling on me: letters to write, things to
translate, phone calls to make and receive, costumers to attend to...
Not a free second to reach for the "play" button. I try to cheer myself
up by humming every U2 song I can remember, (there's too much confusion
here, I can't get no relief) while I count the minutes for 5 o'clock...
Ah, finnaly!
To the Internet Club, quick! I put my headphones on again to listen to
HMTMKMKM while I check the Wire and answer the e-mails I got. Oops! Time
to go home (what, already???) I come back listening to the GH, B-sides.
At home I put R&H on, and as I prepare my third cup of coffee I
remember: the choir! No time to drink; I leave the cup on the table and
run to rehearsal (I *knew* I should have studied that tape!) while
trying to remember something, *anything*, from last week. Never mind,
the others never tape anything anyway... At home again, I gather my last
sparks of strenght and manage to put TUF on, my hands shaking, my mouth
*oh, so* dry... As I toss and turn alone in my bed, too tired to sleep,
a vision of Bono takes me by my hand, and takes me to this promised
land... I sink into a warm dreamless stupor to the last sounds of MLK...
(what?!? The alarm clock again???)
And I can't tell the difference between ABC News, Hills Street blues,
and a preacher of the old time gospel out...
All my love,
Lucilla
We're not the message, we're the messengers... The message is love
Wim Wenders
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This archive was generated by hypermail 2.0b2 on Tue Jan 26 1999 - 06:42:12 PST