The challenge of enduring through ordinary objects amid this constant awareness of something screaming and you think what you want is a beginning you can call after the screaming stopped but naming it reveals the error. No, that is not what you want, that sudden silence. Only the still living can scream. What you want is a beginning you can call when the voice found some rest in the endurance of other voices to sound its siren, when the sound of this was all, and we lived inside it, becoming so unlike ourselves that music would recognize what we were, and play us again.
