...it's just a temporary condition, I'm certain...

For once, I am not going to write this in my usual style, composing in Open Office 2.0 (a fine text-handling/spreadsheet program with many more options than I have use for, and when I get flush, I plan to donate mad cash to their organization as thanks for making this alternative to MS Word available) and then transferring to the html-processor provided by Google. It may make the flow better, and improve the overall flow, but it also slows me down. However, as on this occasion, when I have an actual bee in my bonnet, I feel it best to open the window and wave the buzzer out rather than let it flit about anymore, and give it a chance to sting me.

It is also a rite of exorcism.

See I've got Uighur
on the brain. There is probably a name for what I have; some sort of pathological thing with "itis" at the end. I would call it a merely a fixation because it probably isn't extreme enough to be called a condition. In the immediate analysis, I can put the major mind-lock down to the funny name. It is pronounced "WEE-gur". It makes me go numb and grin every time I say it, or think it. Which I do, too often. This is possibly due to the smurf story in the news simultaneously.

For the complete data package behind this you could hit the links and see for yourself, but the upshot is, in this instance, the strange tale of how innocent civilians ended up in US military authority. I had to look it up because, in all the broadcast pieces on this, nobody bothered to tell me WHY these people were detained, and even here (see link above) there is no explanation of HOW it took so long to free them. EIGHT YEARS? IN PRISON FOR EIGHT YEARS? That should be enough outrage in and of itself. The idea that anyone could be astonished by the government paying 11 million dollars per person to post-patriate them to a Pacific paradise is what drops my jaw.

On the other hand, you have an offshoot of the human species (Hip-o-Campus Goofus) painting themselves blue and being neither commemorators of Pict/Celt/Scot warriors in Woad nor the incarnations of Krishna but of a French comic strip which found a brief vogue in the mid-80's as both a cartoon and a method of Breakdancing. (Which makes me wonder if they were dancing to DJ Kool Herc or Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five or Slick Rick or Kurtis Blow or The Fat Boys or even DJ Jazzy Jay and The Fresh Prince...ah!, those were some fine, fun times...)

This has nothing to do with reason. It does have to do with a free-associative imagination. It is not so much that I want to reduce a population to a caricature, a cipher, a symbol of the "alien"--which is, as far as I can figure out, how they ended up in Guantanamo--but, somehow, I have to, can't stop it. The Weegurs are small blue homunculi with white trousers and gasconne caps, and will soon being to thrive amid the palm trees and coconut groves, in a totally predator-free environment (sans-Gargamel and cat, you see), creating a truly marvelous civilization in miniature which we will then dub Lemuria because of the way they all swarm together like some hive mind...

That is not a Wikipedia definition from the deranged. It is just the way I am, and, right now, I think I need medication.