Things you need to know:

I was wondering when someone was going to actually come forward and talk about this. With the breakdown of carefully selected walls of silence, regarding Guantanimo Bay (which has been a CIA Terror Camp since... a Long Time Ago, by the way, but only just recently got press due to the whole September 11, 2001 shenannigans), the climate is warm enouh to draw out people to talk about practices. It's a very careful game, though. You have to talk Very Publicly about some Very Private things, the supposedly "available" skeletons in the closet, which we don't talk about with non-family, if ever. We make oblique references and knowing glances, but never do we say out loud that this is what we do, and this is how we do it.

But you have to step up, sometimes, right? You have to say "There is what's Right and there is what's Good, and maybe-- Just Maybe-- the common good, in this particular instance, is being sullied and soiled by a lack of what's right." Yeah? Well, maybe not. But something rolls over and clicks.

From wacko1138: '[A] video lecture on the development of CIA psychological torture techniques from the Cold War to War on Terror.'

'He notes that these techniques have been developed and legitimised by a legal framework that was deliberately designed not to outlaw existing techniques, despite the fact there is no strong basis for their effectiveness and evidence suggests that psychological torture has a similar long-term impact to physical torture.'

Do us a favour, and spread that around, will you?

Dreams of moving around a house's side yard, a very narrow space between the house and the fence. Behind me was a bald man with a goatee. He'd killed a man in prison, and it had broken him. I knew that he was going to the front to kill his neighbour. I got there first, and shoved his neighbour into the area of the front door/basement stairs, as outside was now inside, somehow. The bald guy made it around and he wanted to kill the neighbour, and the neighbour wanted to come out (he was pushing on the door), but I wouldn't let either of them. The bald guy took a girl hostage, and was holding a gun to her head, insisting that I let the neighbour out. I shot him in the head with his own gun (which he was still holding), and let the girl and the neighbour go free. Red gummi worms came out of his head, where I shot him.

Another dream, just before I woke up, involved an improve troupe that wasn't really improvisational, consisting of people I didn't like all that well. There were plants, in the audience, for skit production, and a theme (Monty Python's HolyGrail) which was extolled with all the verve and fire of someone who didn't have any real clue what the hell they were talking about. Embarrassing shouts of "He's the Holy Handgrenade."

This Morning: Individuals have made me very happy.

Groups have made me very upset.

I wonder if that's today, in a nutshell.

We're gonna need a bigger boat. :\

There's so much more I coulda done if they'd a let me

I've been listening to songs about murder, all day. Mixed with other concerns and thoughts, they created this:

'She had this vision of the world as made up of these interconnected roiling snakes, all blood red and gold and black and deep, deep greys. Locked together, jaws on bodies, almost as a tentacled writhing mass. Mothers, fathers, schools and jobs, all together, creating shadows that blot out the light and snake clouds that burrow their way through you, to destroy, to infect, to corrupt. It was in this blinding lightning flash that she realised that all of these things were arrayed against her, against everyone, and they always would be. She wiped the knife on her shorts and put it back in the block. It was as true, now, as it had been, then.

'The only way to take care of them was to punch them out of the frame, one at a time.'

Driving around, tonight, to get to Fry's. Upsetting. I have a twitch in my left eye, now. Hopefully, it'll subside, soon...

Television.

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( The Curse of Milhaven )

]