Soliloquy

poem

This morning's coffee

reveals no remorse

for deeds done

the night before

1-25-98

I'd written this poem and entered it here because it just seemed to be a good starting point.

Having been a writer now for--let us just say a long time--I've collected my own writing in various little hand written books (asside from my diaries--or the more chick word, now adays is Journal, pardon me). The following blogs--lest anything horrible happens in my small world again--will be taken directly from my own unpublished works: "Soliloquy" and "Something Nebulous Within"

SOLILOQUY

by

Lorelei Bell

Robbins give their last soliloquys for the day . . . their individual voices pumping the air in rythmic sound. --6/12/84

ON DREAMS/WISHES

4-3-2002

If a person dreams or makes a wish, but the dream or wish never comes to pass, what happens to it?

Does it dissolve?

Or does it go into a holding place waiting for just the right moment?

Or does it go to someone else who's desire is more?

Can a dream always be yours, and no one else's? Is it yours exclusively, no one else can have it, or steal it, at least until it comes true for the person who wished it?

Everyone should have dreams, hopes, wishes, goals and desires. It's what life is made of.

We shouldn't be afraid to dream, for fear that they will never be realized. To not dream, or have hope is to become dead inside.

We need something to build on, move toward, think upon when we're doing meanial tasks (like at work-ha, ha). We need something to look forward to, to grasp for, no matter how small or large; no matter how insignificant it might seem, or fantastic.

Ode to Spring

April 27, 1996

6a.m. Sunrise today was an array of pink-purple clouds with turquoise slits. The intense golden orange disk poked its huge head above the horizon.

The bird's songs intensified, strumming the air with their voices, flying back and forth as though realizing they'd not seen this phenomina (sunrise) in a while.

June 2, 1996

We woke to bird songs and a sunrise. The magic of the full moon certainly took care of the deluge we were having. We saw it . . . like an eerie white disk in the west sky this a.m. Clear skies for now.

ONE NIGHT IN THE TENT ALONE

June 27, 1994

So, I spent the night--for first time in years--outside in a tent alone! (Dennis went inside, unable to sleep) It was sort of exciting, a little scarry, because I knew there were raccoons and skunks. But I was safe enough.



I went in only once (bathroom). A Gibbous moon was just coming up over the grove to trees on the east corner of our plot of ground. It was a strangely pale-orange color, and cast deep shadows across the due-blanketed grass.



I lay on my back waiting to hear the age-old sound of the coyote. I did, finally. One lone yip. No return yips. No follow-up chorous that usually comes in after a while in the middle of the morning.



Then, shortly after--maybe a moment or two--I heard this snapping pop,pop,pop! in the distance.



A .22.



I sat up at once. Then slowly unzipped the tent door and looked out into the night. I expected to see headlights, or something. I think it had to be about 1 or 2 a.m. Who would be out at this hour with a .22?



I never heard the sound again.



Nor did I hear the lone coyote. I wondered if I would ever hear it again.

Married to My Best Friend

April 27, 1994

Some women may need women friends--I mean to go do things with, like shopping, or whatever. But you see, Dennis and I share all interests. Besides, I don't have much interest in going off with a buch of cackling women to hear their complaints about their husbands, or hear about their children's achievements, or just women's stuff. Thank you, I get a good dose of that at work.

I'm married to my best friend and whenever I hear a bunch of these women who constantly complain about their husbands, I just want to cover my ears and run away. It makes me wonder why they got married to begin with and if it's that bad, why do they stay?

They can make fun of me all they want (I know they must behind my back, or in front of it). I don't care. I think they're jealous of my relationship with Dennis. We don't leave the other at home and go off with friends, or do things apart.

In fact there was only one night we spent apart--I was in the hospital. Neither one of us could sleep. He'd had wine to try and get to sleep, and they gave me some drugs--didn't work.

The Dreamer and the Lit-Major

I keep on day-dreaming what it might be like for me after I get on the road as "the author" instead of "the writer". I try to imagine how people might react to me as an author.

I had a drop of it last Friday. This young woman came up to the house--I thought she was lost, but she was selling children's books. She had a cute British accent and I had to chuckle as she said she'd show me what she was trying to sell so as to prove she wasn't an ax-murderer.

I replied, sort of flippantly, "You don't have the look, believe me, I'd know since I'm a writer."

She stopped dead and looked at me with amazed silence.

Before she dropped to her knees to worship me, I cautioned her, "Don't get too excited, I'm not published, yet."

She was still flabberghasted to be able to stand in my shadow, explaining she was a lit-major.

Coool. What conversations we could have, I thought.

But the moment was gone. Over. Like a rainbow or a shiny bubble, it burst. POP!

But, I could now say I know the feeling of telling someone I don't know, or who doesn't know me, that I write. I got to watch her jaw drop, eyes become wide with aw. And then I got to see that look of genuine adoration and run away respect just vanish. The whole of what I'd said was defeated, deleted, denied.

I may as well never have said it at all.

MURDER AT NIU BY SHOOTER IN CLASS ROOM

AT 3:00 PM FEBRUARY 14th A YOUNG MAN STEPPED INTO A LARGE CLASSROOM ON NIU CAMPUS AND SHOT INTO A CROWD OF POSSIBLY 120 PEOPLE.

22 CASUALTIES -- 5 DEAD

As of last word there were 22 casualties. Five dead, one being the shooter. The shooter was a graduate student of NIU in the spring of '07, but not a student since. He was believed to have been a student elsewhere.

My husband and I drive the Huskie buses for NIU, taking students to and from classes. They're all young enough to be our children. Our shift had eneded at 2pm. We were just up the road, on Annie Glidden, maybe about a mile or two, shopping when this happened. We were loading groceries into our vehicle. I noticed that the wind had calmed down some. In the distant background we could hear sirens. That's not so unusual, so we thought nothing of it. We even passed a county police unit on Rt 23, on our way home.

We got home, still ignorant of what had just transpired in an area where we've pulled our buses up, let off students who go to classes in this area. Cole Hall, where the shooting occurred is maybe a two minute walk from where we drop off.

I had turned on the TV a little early for news, and the local stations were there panning the area from above, so it didn't look familiar. But slowly, I became aware of the fact that what I was looking at was NIU campus in DeKalb, showing the bus turnaround near Revis Hall and all the other halls, and Cole Hall is just behind Revis.

My husband and I were in shock, watching this as the news unfolded. First only eight people were shot, then it went up to 17, and then 18, and during a news confrence Dr. Peters, president of NIU, said there were 22 casualties, and five were dead, including the gunman.

Cole Hall holds two large class room, and can hold over 100 people. Students had gathered for their class at 3pm. One girl said she had almost not come to class because she wasn't feeling good, but because they would get credit, she and her friend came, but instead of sitting in the front, like they always do, they sat in the back.

About a hundred people had gathered when the lone gunman burst through a door, up on stage, behind the podium. The teacher stared. Everyone stared. One student said that he thought that maybe it was a play, you don't see someone walking out on stage with a shot gun. One described this and the aftermath as surreal.

Dressed in a black coat, dark pants and some sort of cap, he was armed with a shot gun, and two pistols--one being a Glock. There were reports from witnesses that after shooting, he had begun reloading while people wer crawling or duck-walking out, scrambling to get out. There was such a rush to get out, some people were injured in this way.

For now, as I write this at 3am on Friday morning, the 15th, I'm still trying to come to terms with this. It's wierd how things hit you. All the while it was on the local stations--they never left the story, except for a break--it didn't hit me. Then, when Charles Gibson came on national news and told about it in the opening, I just began to cry. I'm not sure, I guess seeing it, and knowing that everyone knows that this happened so close to where I live and work, it just didn't seem real until then.

DeKalb used to be the quiet place where nothing happened. As my husband, Dennis, put it its just a town in the middle of a corn field. Not a whole lot happened here. Not any more.

Back in December, someone had scrawled on the bathroom wall in one of the residences, causing the campus to go into shut-down mode, and all the news media arrived then. No one is saying that this incident had anything to do with that one. Many speculated that that incident had been a hoax, that it was someone wanting out of taking an exam.

Possibly. Perhaps we'll never know, since that person has since melted into the woodwork. Maybe the shooter took that message into consideration, since he came within an area mentioned on that wall.

We became complacent. We, as people, are trusting. It's too bad that we have to be on guard. But one would have thought that since 911, we would be more vigilant. How could someone walk around campus with a shot gun? The coat which he wore is not described. Possibly it was long enough to hide the gun.

I don't understand--do any of us?--how someone can be so lost, so angry, and so determined to go shoot into a crowd and then take their own life. One witness said the man had no expression on his face. That was a lost soul. Obviously, he was set to go, but had to take some people with him. There is no reason. You can't make sence of why or what goes through a mind that has gotten on this one-way track, and just can't get off, and it's heading for the train wreck.

As a writer, I used to write horror. I haven't been able to write it, or even read it bacause I felt there was just too much horror in the world--and that was before 911. But the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde makes me ponder the duality of man's soul and his inner animal, or beast. It hides in all of us. Sure, we all have bad days. Bad things happen to us, maybe at our own hand because we get lazy, or stupid, or complacant, or just make bad choices. Think about it when you get into your car and open up your cell phone and not turn on those lights, and don't pay attention. Think about it. Don't be lax into thinking nothing can happen to you. It can. It does.

But I'm not talking about that mild form of letting the mind go slack. I'm talking about the mind just going into another realm altogether. Anger feeds on anger. We can't just step off it once we're on that train. No matter the cause, anger doesn't win. Shooting people and then pointing the gun at yourself doesn't get you anything except to put people in terror and horror and get on national news. If you want attention do something good. Do something wonderful! If life is that bad, find treatment. Talk to someone. A friend. A stranger. There are people out there to help you. All it takes is a phone call. Humans have a mind, they should be able to think through their passions, but for some reason passion is too strong. Emotions have always won out over using logic. We are not a perfect being, no matter who you pray to, what religion you claim, or who you vote for. You are the only one that can help you. God gave us talents, gave us a mind, and it is too bad that people get lost in all the hoopla--whatever it is, if you follow a religion that tells you you must kill those that don't agree with you--that is not a religion it is a falsehood. If you think you can't live any more, or you have a big gripe, ask for help. NOW!