The Stars and the Cookie Jar

I got a few hours. Better sleep through Foucault... Darkness, darkness, be my pillow, but if that doesn't work, let me grab some French literary philosophy off the shelf. Now, I'm an untranslated lit junkie -- it's the only way I can remember any languages, ever -- but that, sir, is some dry dry reading. It would be dry in Esperanto. In Elvish. (It probably doesn't help that I associate the memory of that class with 'a table in the presence of my enemies...')

So in other words, high literary theory puts me the hell to sleep.

And yes, I should probably back off the caffeine.

But my mood is better for having got all that deep thought out of the way, and at 6 AM I got another hmmm... three pages handwrit in the notebook, which is why I'm going back to bed right now.

I know a fair amount about the armaments, the culture, the bloody war-horses;  it's the theology that's making me go "Yi! Weird beasts!"

Should perhaps have heeded more in Catholic school ...