![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jun. 29th, 2001 10:01 amAnother early morning monologue
Where do the child martyrs of wars go? When they see the spectral highways of the Otherworld, with its currents of regret and loss, will their innocence of endings and failure protect them, or will the reality of no Paradise hit them like a bully's punch? When they see their enemies, the men they are told kill children without remorse, sitting along streets of cobweb and drinking air, crying over fighting wars when they could have dived for pearls, they are not evil to them, are they? Maybe there is no place to go after death, thought patterns dying like fireworks. I am curious about neurological signatures, but wonder if there is a reality beyond the head, a place for the stray currents and spindles to go.
On brighter notes, I found out on a belly dancing instructor will be on campus for an intensive class tomorrow, and I am looking forward to going, even if I have to eat breakfast late. I am still having gunk come out of me, but I feel awake and alive. I had a good breakfast of frozen caramel mocha and chocolate crossiant.
I had to hold off calling Arik's show, remembering Pacific vs. Eastern time, wondering if even listening is a bad idea. Crap, it will just go into cycles again. How I can still have warm feelings about this jackass?
Where do the child martyrs of wars go? When they see the spectral highways of the Otherworld, with its currents of regret and loss, will their innocence of endings and failure protect them, or will the reality of no Paradise hit them like a bully's punch? When they see their enemies, the men they are told kill children without remorse, sitting along streets of cobweb and drinking air, crying over fighting wars when they could have dived for pearls, they are not evil to them, are they? Maybe there is no place to go after death, thought patterns dying like fireworks. I am curious about neurological signatures, but wonder if there is a reality beyond the head, a place for the stray currents and spindles to go.
On brighter notes, I found out on a belly dancing instructor will be on campus for an intensive class tomorrow, and I am looking forward to going, even if I have to eat breakfast late. I am still having gunk come out of me, but I feel awake and alive. I had a good breakfast of frozen caramel mocha and chocolate crossiant.
I had to hold off calling Arik's show, remembering Pacific vs. Eastern time, wondering if even listening is a bad idea. Crap, it will just go into cycles again. How I can still have warm feelings about this jackass?
