In The Four Loves, C S Lewis said that the only place where one could escape the pertubations of love was Hell. Unfortunately it's true. Streams of consciousness have been flowing rather rapidly the last week or so and the influx of words on the screen is just one way of damage control to the banks of the river running through my brain. For if the banks of my mind overflow, I might find myself having to cope with disillusionment or worse, delusion. Internal monologues are synonym to packing and repacking labelled ideas and trains of thought and have proven the most efficient programme to ensure the docking of new ideas do not interfere with expired products to be thrown away. It keeps me sane when the world refuses me access to basic rights such as spell checks, blocking pop-ups and deleting previous meticulously planned blog entries. Why do we stand by and accept these chains, indoctrinating us to believe that we do not deserve instant spell checks in whatever language we wanted, English or American.
On a cheerier note, I met up with HS today to talk about the death penalty that is still available to some legal systems in this world. I wanted to meet up with M as well to talk about euthanasia but it looks like our time tables clash and we'll have to make a date in January.