As much as I want to be a wholly joyous about the fact that Henry Kissinger is finally fucking dead, as he deserves... There's a lot of me that can't help being upset with. With the fact that he lived to 100 years old. He got better medical care, better housing, and a better, more stable life for those 100 years than billions on this planet ever going to see and he did it specifically through exploitation, state sanctioned murder, and lies. He lived to 100 years comfortably on a legacy of violence that rarely threatened his personal comfort. I want to be joyous that he's finally dead, because the world IS better with him dead, but the reality is he won a long time ago.
the ninth doctor always goes crazy to me because he wasn't an ambivalent god. he was the benevolent, scarred, and cynical god who cared because he couldn't not. when no one else did. because if he didn't do something, no one else would. he was the one with the power, the responsibility, and it hurt him constantly. every life he watched burn out was a tragedy -- a loss. he kissed a servant girl on the head who no one would remember. he closed the eyes of a dead man. he mourned a pig the military shot. he cared them all, no matter how insignifigant and fleeting their lives could have seemed to his. he was a little mean and a little rude and a lot angry (at everyone at everything) but he also had so much joy. he loved knowing he'd lose. and when he regenerated, he simply looked to rose with that big grin on his face and told her she was fantastic -- and so was he.