Since we moved to this side of town J has been going to the closest barber shop to get her hair done. It's right opposite the mosque and the barbers are all Muslims - long beards and robes and all. One day she came home with an evangelistic book her guy had given her. I didn't even know there were evangelistic Islamic texts - i thought it was expected that you read the pure unadulterated Qur'an in Arabic to get the true message. I guess it makes sense, though, to present the religion to kids and to people in countries outside of the Middle East. Before i went to Boston i had no books so i tried to read it, but it was very difficult. It reminded me of those Hare Krishna books. I bought one of those in LAX once because the guy wouldn't leave me alone and i was tired and it had a pretty picture on the front. It's like this kind of weird circular writing that tries to explain something while coming from a background where that thing is considered completely self-evident. Unpersuasive. I was thinking, though, that i probably sound the same way when i write sometimes. In fact most people do. You write about things filtered through your own views and life experiences. Truths you take to be incontestable may sound quite bizarre to others. I didn't want to wake up this morning. When i finally did i lay in bed crying for hours. My body was hurting but so was everything else. But why even try write about it when i know people don't see the world the way i do, when their sense of reality is so different? They don't know how distorted everything has become because they're a part of the illusion.