dar_williams erin "What Can You Hear in These Sounds" I don't go to therapy to find out if i'm a freak, I go and i find the one and only answer every week. And it's just me and all the memories to follow, down any course that fits within a 50 minute hour. And we find out all the mysteries, explicit and inherent, and when i hit a rut, she says to try the other parent. And she's so kind, I think she wants to tell me something, but she knows that it's much better if i get it for myself. And she says "what do you hear in these sounds?" I say I hear a doubt with the voice of true believing and the promises to stay, and the footsteps that are leaving. And she says "Oh." I say "What?" She says "Exactly." I say, "What, you think i'm angry, does that mean you think i'm angry?" She says "look, you come here every week, with jigsaw pieces of your past. It's all on little soundbites, and voices out of photographs. And that's all yours, that's the guide, that's the map, so tell me where does the arrow point to, her invented roses? What do you hear in these sounds? And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think, that it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink. But oh, how i've loved everybody else, and i've finally got to talk so much about myself. And now I wake up and I ask myself what state i'm in, and I say "Well I am lucky cause I am my East Berlin." I have this wall and what I knew of the free world was that I could see their fireworks and I could hear their radio. And I felt that if we met I would only start confessing and they would know that I was scared, they would know that I was guessing. But the wall came down, and there they stood before me, with their stumbling and their mumbling, and their calling out...just like me. And the stories that nobody hears, I collect these sounds in my ears. That's what i hear in these sounds, that's what i hear in these sounds. 000904 what's it to you? who go blather from