(no subject)

I remember when the Gulf War began. I knew less; I feared more.

I fear less now, for I have seen what they think is the worst. I know it is not the worst.

Brother against brother. Sister against mother.

That's what they're trying to do to us.

Terrorist attacks piss the united states off.

I'm babbling. I'm probably half drunk now. I haven't felt this sober in years. If I don't get some chemical sedative in me, I won't sleep. My eyes are almost ready to bleed. I have a paper due tomorrow. I can't write analysis paper tonight. I don't know if I'll be able to write it tomorrow morning.

It feels as if there is something I should do, something with my hands. I should be carrying water to people lifting shards of concrete. I should be lifting shards of concrete. I should be singing the souls of the murdered to at least a temporary rest until proper services can be arranged.

That, at least, I can do from here.

I was called once before. I was helping Sis move into our apartment, that day when we were moving, and we were driving the rented truck back to the place we'd rented it from when I saw an ambulance speed by on an overpassing road. My mind was instantly seized in a migraine headache, and I felt the life slip from someone. I had never met them. I did not know their name, or even if they were male or female. I just knew that they had died, and I was the clergy on the scene.

I sang them onward. There was nothing else I could do, but to leave that undone would be beyond contempt.

Sis noticed my pallor, and we stopped and got me water. After I'd had at least half of the bottle, I told her, in subdued tones, what had happened. She nodded.

It seems as if everyone in our calling is selected for that duty unprepared at least once.

Keep your goddamn cool.

From Komarr, by Lois McMaster Bujold:

"So the difference between a criminal and a hero is the order in which their vile crimes are committed. And justice comes with a sell-by date. In that case, you'd better hurry. You wouldn't want your heroism to spoil.

business as usual

School today was subdued but normal. I stood with Neighbor for a long time, talking about the events of yesterday and how we were still feeling the after-effects.

After you wake up from the shock, it's still the same life, the same world, only you realize that someone has shoved a pair of sunglasses on you, so now you can see the things that were obscured by the glare before. They were there, you were just so concerned with the sun in your eyes you didn't see them.

I want first the truth. Who the hell did this? There are theories all over the place. The most popular one I have seen is that it was this Osama Bin Laden guy behind the attacks.

Then there's the theory that it's American terrorists. Or someone else from the Middle East. Or it's Bush behind the whole thing, desperate for a war. Or it's someone completely different. Pick a conspiracy, any conspiracy. Fnord.

Don't give in to hate. Don't hit someone who never hurt you. Don't start randomly slashing out at anyone near enough to hit. Save your anger, bottle up that mighty force, use it to hunt out the true villains, and then release it upon them, once it has been proven who is truly responsible.

If you hurt innocents, then who's the terrorist?

Terrorism does not justify violence. Terrorism justifies justice: maybe not swift, maybe not direct, but once the target is finally found, then justice will be given.

If you hurt innocents, then who's the terrorist?

Terrorism does not justify violence. Terrorism justifies justice: maybe not swift, maybe not direct, but once the target is finally found, then justice will be given.

Not a life for a life. There are not enough guilty parties to exchange on that level, no sense in making a martyr. In my cruel anger, I would wish that each guilty party should feel upon himself the exact agony he or she dealt out, whether directly or indirectly. The excruciating death of those thousands upon thousands of people, those they should feel. The fire, the choking dust, the terror as the airplane aimed for the building, the terror as the airplane loomed and crashed, the agony in the hearts of friends, neighbors, lovers, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, aunts and uncles as they saw, or heard. The free-fall out the window. The shock, the endless replay on the television screen. All these, they should see, and feel, as if they were those who were sinned against.

That would be justice.

Stress

I guess it's a measure of my humanity that I'm smiling again today. I figured out what was wrong with me -- in Final Fantasy 9 terms, my hit points were down to 50, and my MP stood at 0 or 1 ... and while my HP crawled up to 200 or so overnight, my MP was still down around 10 or so.

It turned out to be leaking off towards other people who perhaps needed it more. I corrected the unrestricted flow, and will henceforth only be firing off bursts of white light when I've got the energy enough to spare, rather than leaking it bit by bit and not taking the time to recover myself.

I woke up this morning with red and green eyes. My eyes are normally hazel and photograph as brown or black, but this morning I woke up with the irises of my eyes this lovely shade of teal blue/green, and the whites of my eyes blazing pink.

After several hours, the red has died away, leaving me looking more like a college student and less like some Creature from the Depths of the Weird Planet.

I still haven't cried.

From an interview (2000?) with Eric Darton, author of Divided We Stand, a book about the WTC

"But the most frightening aspect of these men is that they appear incapable of connecting their actions with real world consequences for other living, breathing human beings. To them, people are insubstantial - the plan is what is real. When you think like this, whether on is a futurist or a fundamentalist, it becomes possible - even desirable - to push aside whomever and whatever gets in your way. One can justify yourself without ever falling prey to doubt, or guilt. One comes to believe that one actually knows what is best. One grants oneself a monopoly on truth, and no amount of reality-checking can challenge it."

You're right, spacemummy. Irony doesn't even begin to cover it.

Alaskan Joke

When is it *not good* to have your dick sucked?

( Read more... )

Work??

I'm sitting at home today. It's too soon for telephone research people to be calling around asking nosy questions, and thank the gods, the clients have realized this and have called off their projects, seeing how the country's doing.

I'm off today, and it gave me the chance to ask the administration office to screw with my schedule and make it so that I was not scheduled for any days but Saturday and Sunday, because of the babysitting situation.

Sitting here alone at home, it becomes a grave temptation to go to the refrigerator, pour myself a nice big glass of milk, add chocolate syrup, and add Bailey's Irish Cream and just get plastered.

So I guess I won't get plastered. I may have a glass, but I won't get plastered.

I need my mind.

sleep knits up the ravel'd sleeve of care

Took a nap. My eyes are no longer pink. Darkside would be happy that I am getting sleep. He seems to think that it's something we should be doing every night.