[Blackbird] Entry in Journal
Must remember to call John Alex now. He is trying to return to what shreds are left of the Old Life and he's calling it New Life. I don't think he got what I meant, most of them don't except maybe Natesa and that's because we are wired the same way: Twitchy. I didn't have it in me to tell him his family was forever denied him, wouldn't know he was getting married because it would risk too much. I'm getting soft. Superstionalist have got to be bad for me. (Self: someday look back at this and wonder that Chandra bloody Storm has emotions, let alone that she bloody blushes at the drop of a double entendre)
Tried to make the point that even if we win, even if we take Control and the Council there will be years of strife; years of guerilla warfare with the two of them at the top of the pile. We will shatter truckloads of eggs to make this omlette and there will be those who will oppose this set of moves and this need to preserve the Concensus. Damned optimists.
Again, it didn't get across right. Too much in the back of my head, trying to silence the ghosts of the past and figure out this damned navigational computation. It's not fucking making sense, even under Inspired Maths cold even gaze. I've got fucking poetry and psalms in my head now, bits spinning around slipping by too fast for me to grasp and rend apart to stop the annoyance and taunting.
~A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.~
Why do they keep bringing up the dead and gone? Why can't they let them fucking rest in peace and keep it out of my damned head? Fucking psalm and fucking poets running around in my head, making it all more complicated than it has to be. If they would let it lie, I could forget and move on. Somethings are better left buried. I don't want to explore myhistory, my feeling, none of it. I'm here to be a thug and damnit, that's easy and I like that.
The greek fucking showed up. She'd been poached by the same fucker who sent me to Aurigii cluster. I've got to work on her, Maxie, Mikey... get them all in the right headspace, even if they don't want it. More and more I believe that Orphans shall inherit and if my non-Eidelon holding self can put the good ones in the right damned place I will.
Can't sleep for dreaming. Fuck this. Fuck thinking about it. I need coffee. And more whiskey.
Tried to make the point that even if we win, even if we take Control and the Council there will be years of strife; years of guerilla warfare with the two of them at the top of the pile. We will shatter truckloads of eggs to make this omlette and there will be those who will oppose this set of moves and this need to preserve the Concensus. Damned optimists.
Again, it didn't get across right. Too much in the back of my head, trying to silence the ghosts of the past and figure out this damned navigational computation. It's not fucking making sense, even under Inspired Maths cold even gaze. I've got fucking poetry and psalms in my head now, bits spinning around slipping by too fast for me to grasp and rend apart to stop the annoyance and taunting.
~A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.~
Why do they keep bringing up the dead and gone? Why can't they let them fucking rest in peace and keep it out of my damned head? Fucking psalm and fucking poets running around in my head, making it all more complicated than it has to be. If they would let it lie, I could forget and move on. Somethings are better left buried. I don't want to explore myhistory, my feeling, none of it. I'm here to be a thug and damnit, that's easy and I like that.
The greek fucking showed up. She'd been poached by the same fucker who sent me to Aurigii cluster. I've got to work on her, Maxie, Mikey... get them all in the right headspace, even if they don't want it. More and more I believe that Orphans shall inherit and if my non-Eidelon holding self can put the good ones in the right damned place I will.
Can't sleep for dreaming. Fuck this. Fuck thinking about it. I need coffee. And more whiskey.