Wake up beat. Using coffee to revive. No longer have Mishima's 'morning face.' Dark clouds again.

Hangover from this on-going Iraqi prisoner scandal. It so happens, I am writing a play with scenes from Camp X-Ray. My character, Rashid, is a prisoner, in limbo, shadow of another man, 'The Dreamer,' strange, hermit-like, Howard Hughesish.

I believe I have been picking up something from the margins. Now the cruelty, the hypocrisy, is out in the open. 'Cruel radiance' of the truth. It's hard to look at the truth of the 'human.' No one is spared the crucifixtion of the skeleton rack. Pinned between angel/beast. Can't turn away. Must look and learn. Must see.