In the history of foreign occupations, American occupation of Iraq distinguishes itself by outward demand for "free speech and expression." The belief in abolition of former repression often brings about the censorship of any voice to the contrary. The new "freedom" comes with a user's manual: the "freedom of speech" may be used only to oppose the old regime while letting the occupant preserve his illusory position of an outsider.

If the first sentence were only the birth of the next one, setting it down on paper would not be so difficult. The reason for my avoidance is rather that it shuts the door to a number of other sentences, a moment earlier still possible. Possible, yet not known to me, and so, equally impossible. And yet, that first sentence -- each sentence, since each is first -- is the death of a next one. The first sentence reduces me to silence: whether or not I write it.

If I write a sentence, it is because I shrink from writing another one elsewhere. The first sentence. Because the first has already half-given birth to the next, and, it seems, if I write one here, instead, I will have escaped the deadly choice.

Frost and dream are formed of the same matter. I freeze, zamarzam, and cold dissolves the diphtong, "r" and "z" chatter as teeth. Marzę, and the dream dissolves the glacial brume. Sleeping body lies frozen in the ice sheets. Marznę, I am cold, and refuse to awake. The dream holds me captive. It has its seasons.