(found by the gramophone, the one with the needle pushed down through the record, puncturing it)
Oh god damn this again George,
The neighbors are complaining of the noise again. The noise! The Noise! THE noise! the NOISE!
This is art. This is precisely my point.
Confusing? Who wants clarity? Who wants ease?
I want a firm hand to grip mine while the pair of us walk down a sandy beach. Instead there is noise. Instead there is this.
So be it. Settle into the confusion. Allow it to define the world. It will anyway, no matter how hard you try. Confusion is all that there is. Confusion is all that there was. Confusion is all that there will be.
Like I am the insane one. Like I have never beheld a lover’s smile with my eyes, never felt the warmth within my breast, never felt a glow upon my crown.
Well, I have seen the sun. I have seen a smiling lover hidden shyly beneath the blanket. He was never good for anything anyway. And, of course, such a thing could only have held back the black tide for a short while. Once the damn dam broke, all I had was tears again anyway. Tears and the noise, the noise, the noise.
I just want to stop crying, George. The music, the noise, the confusion – whatever – well, it helps to calm me down.
What am I to do otherwise?
I cannot live without the noise. I need the noise, and the noise needs me.
One day, one day George – one day – we will all understand the value of my noise. One day it will be heard as beautiful music.
Oh, Love and Forever!