Distractions distractions

Lately my dreams consist of an amalgamation of the massacres in Syria, and Gaza, with a little of Iraq thrown in for good measure, videos/articles/books manifesting into gruesome, graphic nightmares.

The creepiest part of these dreams, are the bits that flash to Vurld Leaduhs, gathered 'round the Round Table and plotting out the next assault in sterile, precise terms--unfettered by sympathetic, human consideration. Unaccountable, unstoppable. Then there's me, impotent, inexplicably connected to it all.

Others I've confided to, have told me the exact same thing: they've mentioned dreams of dying families, people suffocated in the rubble of shattered buildings, a kid waking up to find herself an orphan. Bits and pieces of the news we've read, the pictures we've seen, the history we know. Strange, isn't it, that people of all ages, are just as in tune to this madness, and just as affected?

When you wake up, the nightmare taints what would have otherwise been an ordinary day. Routine hangs around like unwanted dead-weight.  Like moths' carcasses, hanging in a spider's web, long-devoured, with only the wings remaining.

 I feel so much is unnecessary trash, if it was shaken off, I'd find the answer. Some way to help, just a little. I asked so many people whether there was a way just to get Egypt to open its borders, stop sending back or stealing from aid, etc. Petitions? Rallies? Letters? What? I mean what more can you do??!?

So as catharsis, perhaps en route to summat constructive, I'm writing this out. That's how I used to think things out when I was younger, writing and a walk.

I don't feel anger, at all, just a deep urgency to H.E.L.P.