Whisper to a Scream (Birds Fly) by The Icicle Works (Listen to it on Youtube)

Love come down upon us till you flow like water Burning with the hope of insight Feathered, look they're covered with a bright elation Stolen in the sight of love We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are rather helpless Take us forever, a whisper to a scream Birds fly in the eyes of the faithless daughter Broken at the bitter end Wasted sacrificed for a new nirvana Nighttime sends us on our way We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are rather helpless Take us forever a whisper to a scream A whisper to a scream A whisper to a scream A whisper to a scream A whisper to a scream We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are rather helpless Take us forever a whisper to a scream We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are rather helpless Take us forever a whisper to a scream We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are rather helpless Take us forever a whisper to a scream

Whisper's Diary Entry Dated May of 1986

Once upon a time a long time ago" that's how every story begins, right' I lived with my parents in a small apartment off Lake Ave in Metairie, Louisiana. My father was a handyman. He took odd jobs from anyone willing to hire him but he couldn't work full-time. Someone had to take care of me. My mom' well, let's say my mom never should have been a mother.

My mom drank too much, partied too much and was often gone for days at a time. When she was home she was a monster. My mom was an abusive, violent drunk. She used to beat my dad senseless and leave him lying unconscious on the floor. He's been hospitalized too many times to count because of my mom. He always lied to protect her too. I don't pretend to understand why.

Eventually, as I got older she turned all her rage on me. Unlike my dad, I told. I told anyone that would listen. But nothing ever changed. No one ever did anything about it. She just kept beating us.

I always wondered why my dad stayed with her. He would shrug and say "Love, kitten. I stay because I love her. Besides, it's not your mom hurting us, it's her disease." I tried to understand, but it was hard. I hate my mom for her 'disease?. I guess in many ways that's why I left.

Some would say I am a shy girl, a wallflower, an outcast, an introvert. I guess all of that may be true, but I don't see myself as any of those things. I see myself as Princess Leia, fighting for the rebels against a corrupt and unfair Empire; fighting for independence and freedom. Or more realistically: a modern day version of Simone de Beauvoir, fighting for women's rights, for equality. Of course, I doubt that I think nearly as deeply as she did at my age.

Yeah, I'm young. I don't like being young. People don't respect youngsters, they don't listen to us. They don't understand us. They devalue how we feel putting it down to teenage angst or our body's chemistry. Sometimes I feel to be heard one has to scream - primal and loud.

Now that my dad's dead I'm just learning to raise my voice.

Anyone Yazoo (a.ka. Yaz) (Watch it/listen to it Here.)

Fate took a freeway to my room Said to much while he stayed And left too soon. Bright on an evening sea, He washed in with the tide Deep in each other's dreams Where all but dreams had died.

Wretched in your thoughts Gentle hate within the love you bought.

Words fade like flowers shadowed There beneath your wall Wind cries from every angle Dead leaves left to wait for fall.

And in my darkest hour When I can find no light My goals are out of sight And nothing warms the night.

I close my eyes And with such sweet surprise I can be anywhere I can be anyone.

And in my darkest hour When I can find no light My goals are out of sight And nothing warms the night.

I close my eyes And with such sweet surprise I can be anywhere I can be anything I can be anyone I can be anyone.

Whisper's Diary Entry Dated June of 1986

The day my father died was the worst day of my life, followed closely by the day of his wake.

Of course she made it all about herself; her and her bottle of whiskey. She couldn't stop drinking even for a few hours at the church during Dad's wake. I remember feeling as if the world was caving in on me and all I had to lean on was a despicable drunk of a not-mom who couldn't bother to acknowledge my existence. How na've I was at that moment.

She had disappeared for days after he passed, leaving everything on me to take care of. We had no other family left, or at least that's what Pop's told me. Yeah, I called my Dad "Pops' cuz it made him smile.

He hadn't made a lot of money as a part-time handyman. But he was always trying to save some. Unfortunately he spent a lot of those savings on bailing her out of jail. She would go out, get drunk, start bar fights and then get arrested. It was her thing. But Dad had the foresight to invest in life insurance. He occasionally joked about how much more he was worth dead than alive. It made me sad when he said things like that. But in the end I am thankful. At least I had the money to give Dad a proper burial with a little bit left over to share between me and the not-mom. Dad was smart too; he made sure I would get my share and there was nothing she could do to stop it. I am still grateful today - I believe he saved my life.

I had just turned 15 when he died. I wish I could say it was sudden, unexpected, but I knew. Deep down inside I knew. I saw his body beginning to fail, and although he never shared the details, I know he knew too. I overheard him arguing with the not-mom a few weeks before he died. I think he was actually trying to wake her up from her self-imposed checkout. He wanted her to own up to her responsibilities, told her it was time for her to "cleanup her act" and "start being a mother rather than the drunk she'd become". He was very harsh with her, it was the first time I ever heard him talk to her like that. I believe he was trying to protect me. Of course, she just drank more over that week, becoming increasingly more violent until she at last vanished again. She was gone for another week or so afterwards. So, no, she didn't hear him or if she did she didn't care enough to let it sink in.

So I was left alone to deal with the aftermath of Dad's death. The not-mom got her share of the insurance and then I didn't see her again until the wake. Dad didn't have a lot of friends, but those he had were good ones. They were all there at the church with me when the not-mom showed up. She was tearing at her hair, screaming at the top of her voice incoherently. She's always been an embarrassment but that day she outdid herself. I saw the looks of pity my Dad's friends gave me. It didn't make anything better.

She was so drunk that when she threw herself on top of his open casket she and it nearly toppled over. I jumped to my feet and ran over to her quickly. I grabbed a hold of her to pull her upright and stop the catastrophe from occurring. I was bound and determined not to let her beat on him now that he was dead. I was the only protection he had left because he couldn't fend her off himself. She hauled off and backhanded me. Before I knew it I was down and she was railing on me, kicking and punching, all the while screaming at the top of her voice about how I had destroyed her life, their life together. Thank God for Dad's friends. They pulled her off of me, got me out of there and away from her.

That was the end. I never saw her again. Three days later I left the hospital. I took the insurance money Dad left me and moved on.

I wish the next part of my story was as heroic as the last. It isn't. I'm not proud of what I became there for a while. I admit it; I went crazy and was on the path to becoming my not-mom. Drugs and alcohol became my best friends and the party lifestyle of Quarter Rats became my norm. Yeah, sure, I was 15, but if I blew out my hair and put on makeup, you would have sworn I was 22 or older. No one ever carded me and the lifestyle let me forget everything that had happened so far. I was living only in the moment.

I had enough money from Dad's insurance to pay rent, buy food and live comfortably without worrying about a job. I got most of my drinks in the Quarter bars for free. Drugs were given to me like they were candy and I took them without a thought. Sometimes I didn't even know what it was I was taking. Bad, I know. But I didn't really care during that time. I was lost, confused and missing the only anchor I had ever had, my dad.

I think I wanted to die, but it was an incoherent, only half formed thought. And although the Goths looked cool and wore amazing clothing, I related much more heavily to the New Wave crowd.

No, my choices weren't healthy or good ones. But that's what happened. I wish I could say it led me to a better understanding of the not-mom, but that would be a lie. No point in lying in a journal. I mean, seriously, who's ever is going to read this stuff anyway?!

Then one night at Jimmy's Music Club everything changed. I met Shout.