Humid, blue, warm skies. Tired, achy, loose body. Humid and tried, blue and achy, warm and loose. There is lightening interference from a storm to my West. I read the news, not making it more than a few paragraphs. "The Israeli missiles struck tents in an area to the west of Rafah city that was supposed to be safe from attack". "[A]t least eight missiles struck the camp – a designated safe zone – on Sunday night at about 8.45pm local time (17:45 GMT). "Witnesses described charred bodies and flames. A doctor said the majority of the victims he saw were women and children". (The New York Times, 27 May 2024) “'We pulled out people who were in an unbearable state,' Mohammed Abuassa told the Associated Press. 'We pulled out children who were in pieces. We pulled out young and elderly people. The fire in the camp was unreal.'” (Associated Press via The Guardian 27 May 2024) Judith Butler asks, “Whose lives are regarded as lives worth saving and defending, and whose are not?” They continue: “One way of posing the question of who “we” are in these times of war is by asking whose lives are considered valuable, whose lives are mourned, and whose lives are considered ungrievable… We can see the division of the globe into grievable and ungrievable lives from the perspective of those who wage war in order to defend the lives of certain communities, and to defend them against the lives of others—even if it means taking those latter lives.” (Butler, 2009)