"Biohazard"

That was the word that made me officially just lose it for half an hour tonight.

"Biohazard." That's what the rescue worker or somebody being interviewed on one of the news stations said. And I realized they were talking about bodies. What were mothers and fathers and lovers and friends and children just this weekend are now..."biohazard." That can't even be cleared away because the survivors are so violent.

That was when I wept so hard on L'Ailee's lap--back heaving, gasping, making her need to change her pajama bottoms because I got them so wet.

I don't know why that word made me lose it, but it did.

Lives turned into..."biohazard". So capriciously, at the snap of your fingers. So quickly.

I posted a "memory wall" for people who lost loved ones at the Message Board of Love tonight. To them, the bodies meant more than biohazard. I really posted it because these spirits deserve to let it be known what they were before they became rubbish to be cleared away.

And this song played in my head tonight. Sinead sang it on Moby's "18" CD. Just indulge me.

"Harbour"
Moby/Sinead O'Connor
the street bears no relief
when everybody's fighting
the street bears no relief
with light so hot and blinding
I run the stairs away
and walk into the nighttime
the sadness flows like water
and washes down the heartache
and washes down the heartache
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest songs are played
on the strings of my heart
the heat is on its own
the roof seems so inviting
a vantage point is gained
to watch the children fighting
so lead me to the harbour
and float me on the waves
sink me in the ocean
to sleep in a sailor's grave
to sleep in a sailor's grave
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest songs are played
on the strings of my heart
my heart is full
my heart is wide, so wide
the saddest songs are played
on the strings of my heart