Things I have to think about (another work in progress) Will I ever finish any who knows

When I see lightening on the horizon I have to decide is it lightening or is artillery fire.
When people use Acronyms have to decide wether they are Military or not.
FUBAR and SNAFU are the natural parts of life
Some people don’t find Skippy’s List funny.

Published in: on June 15, 2011 at 05:28  Comments (2)  

Veteran’s day thoughts (wip)

This past Veteran’s day started me thinking about life and death and things in general for veteran’s. You know who they are, or maybe you don’t. There are fewer of us today per capita of the United States population than ever before.

We no longer serve as indentured soldiers to the political whims of our friends and neighbors. The last of those individuals are pushing sixty. I know my brother was the last one who received greetings from his friends and neighbors in this county. He did not have the privilege of being cannon fodder in Viet Nam for Johnson’s Oil Dreams or for Kissenger’s peace prize. That was my honor. When the Demorat’s pulled the plug in 75 they simply said Oops game over and sorry about that.

When the Vet’s from that little debacle for both us and the Vietnamese was over the and started serving in the halls of government we became cannon fodder again. We were losers and as Patton said America would never abide a lose Well he was correct about that

Published in: on November 13, 2010 at 08:56  Leave a Comment  

13 SEPT 70

Once again one of my writing mentors has written something that I must respond to. The last time I did this with RG it was to a story she wrote 30 days before she met me, now I have a some observations written in 1970. The only significance to the date is I was 19 and in Viet Nam which is currently where RG resides.

Here is her poem The Yawning Gulf of Love. Here is mine

13 SEPT 70
2245 HRS.

        You stand here listening to the gentle rain fall on your bunker. For some odd reason it pleases you. It’s just a quiet little rain and you dig it. It reminds you of home in the summer time. It’s like the cleansing rains that use to wash aways the smells of winter and brought spring to life.

        You think it isn’t really that much different over here either. It will clean the air of the stink of the rice paddies and life and death and most important of all the War. You are glad, you want to escape the War for a few hours, minutes, seconds. You think to yourself a man can’t smell the War constantly or he will go crazy. Just a respite is all you want. When it rains you can cover your sixty and other gear. It makes a lump. It hides the bitter reality of death waiting to happen.

        At least for a little while, you can sit back and dream your dreams. You can believe you are back home and going to see your chick in a few minutes. It is cool and you ere thankful for that. It adds to the pleasant illusion. You almost believe it.

        It stops though like all good things must. You come back to the reality of your bunker and your job. You uncover the carefully wrapped sixty, and make sure it is dry. You check everything over to make sure it is dry and will operate if and when the time comes.

        You are ready to work again, but the feeling is still partially with you and you want to regain it all. You can’t though cause the magical element that was there is gone. So you content yourself with what you have now.

        With each passing second though, the illusion is leaving. With each second it becomes more fleeting. Until finally it has gone the way of the winds.

Some additional notes. We weren’t allowed to carry writing material with us. So this was more than likely written on a c-ration box, The sixty I refer to is the M-60 MG, a constant friend . Yes I did notice the date it was written, just noticed it.

Published in: on September 12, 2010 at 10:32  Comments (4)  

In bound rockets F-4’s taking off

This little story has been knocking around in my head for about 40 years. True events was remind of this by a Poem called Lit from _Monocle_ at. He generously allowed me to try my hand at a different point of view. So here is a poor piece of work.

Rockets coming in
Yellow trails into the night
Lost in the clouds in flight
You scream over the net
Sirens wailing the warning
Up Up and Up they go
F-4’s Roaring down the Runway

The rockets impact
Flares up

F-4’s lift off into the air
avoiding your flares
into the clouds on pink tails of hot spiraling light
Glowing kerosene smell in the air
warmth from the engines
warm first time this night
You sight in on the launch site
You have permission you fire
You can’t reach them cause they are long gone
You feel better
Quickie team responds
fires 90 lighting up the world with its light

and so it goes

F-4 Phantom Night Preparation

Published in: on June 17, 2010 at 05:30  Comments (4)  

Shellshock My Prespective

Shellshock My Prespective

  • Jan. 9th, 2010 at 8:59 AM

Sometime ago a friend of mine introduced me to an author of erotic literature. I read a few of her works and though good they did not grab. One day wondering through her archives I came across a story called “Shellshock” This story not only grabbed me but transported me through time and space to a place I had never been, but to a place I might have been. As time went on I couldn’t let the story go, and an idea started to form. The idea was not to rewrite the story but to tell the story from the ghost’s view point. I did and after much soul searching I sent it to my friend, I was scared that I might offend her. She being the wise women she is says “post it” So here it is as I sent it to her.

I came to conscious not knowing where I was. It was some place I had never been. The smells though I recognize from over forty years ago. The smell of rice paddies mixed with smell of pollution caused by two stroke engines. An Oily smell caused by their blue smoke.
I look around again and saw the style is a minimum forty of years old. There is a faux oak paneling a bed with a yellowed comforter and apparently clean sheets. The mandatory stalking tiger tapestry a clean but very old and bathroom shower commode sink no bidet. Another smell comes to my mind cheap but honest sex.
I sit up and wonder how I got here. Why am I here. I have never been here wherever here is. I look in the mirror the old decaying mirror and see nothing. I look at myself and see myself as I was 40 years ago. Khaki uniform highly shined low quarters ribbons short hair cut. What the hell is going on?
Nothing comes to mind. I walk to the door and try to leave I can’t I turn the knob and try to pull the door in but I can’t open it I try kicking it out but my foot doesn’t move it. I look at a window and try to open it yet again I fail. The sound of the old wheezing air conditioner is starting to grate the nerves. So I take off my shoes grab a towel spread it on the floor and assume the lotus position. I slip into the position like I was 20 again but that was a long time ago, I decide to wait, wondering what will develop. I would sit on one of the twin beds but the floor with my back against a wall is more comfortable with no one able to approach from the rear. Skills learned long ago come to the fore. So I wait.
I hear a rustling in the door a key has been placed in the lock. The door opens and the bellboy, attendant and a lady enter. She scans the room and hesitates slightly when looking in my direction. Can she see me? If so why how? Again I wait; she tips the boy after he carelessly throws her baggage on one of the twin beds.
I look at her curious, neither young nor old. Just a woman. Dark hair and trim with super natural red lips. Then I look at the eyes, they frightened me, as they are the eyes of a combat veteran. How I ask myself? How can she have those eyes? The stare that I have seen once to often in my life sometimes looking back at me when I forget to forget. I still watch and now I smell. She smells of Viet Nam. A smell that is different from any other county. Which means shower before anything else. It is the first thing a western does after an extended stay in that Country. Shower to remove the stench of the rice paddies. It never comes out in the first soaking and sometimes even after all this time I can still smell that rotten dying stink. She has just found out the radio does work, wonder if it ever did. Disgust on her face. She passes by me and once again stares in my direction. A puzzled look comes upon her face.
She moves to the little bathroom and starts to undress. I see that she is neat by where she puts her clothes folded on top of the commode. I stand watching her do this and I enjoy the scene. A long time since a lady undressed in front of me and her not knowing I am there makes it better. She completes her toilet and climbs in the shower. I leave the room knowing she won’t come out till there is nothing but cold water left. Her skin will have wrinkled by then but the foulness of Viet Nam will not come out of her skin.
She comes out of the bathroom towel wrapped around her and goes to one of the beds pulls the covers down and climbs in to sleep. She doesn’t sleep she starts crying and I wonder why? Is she sad happy or what. I walk over and sit and reach out to touch her. This is a very bold move on my part. I want to stop the hurt. So I touch her shoulder and she stirs just a little and looks in my direction and shakes her head.
She turns over and her hands are under her body, as if trying for some release. But it doesn’t work and she cries a little more. I touch her again she looks my way and finally falls asleep.
Can she really see me am I really in this place? She sleeps and I keep watch, no harm will come to this Lady while I stand guard. I return to my towel and wait.
She awakes and goes once more into the bathroom. She is getting ready to go out. She takes a quick shower and does all those incomprehensible things the female of the species is capable of when on the prowl. This time instead of being careful about the clothes she throws them about looking for the proper items to wear and they end up all over the room. She may not realize but she is definitely going out on the hunt. She looks around and leaves.
She has left the room a mess and I straighten it up. I can move her stuff. Clothes to the desk Towels hung up. I turn the light on to await her return. Turn down the bed and go back to my towel. I wonder if she would be surprised if the first thing I did when on my R&R was go see 2001:A Space Odyssey I think she would find the tale amusing. Everything is ready for return with the pray she has stalked and capture. Somehow I have even managed to get two cold beers into the room. Wonder if she will notice. If so she will be mad there is no Vodka . A vodka woman if ever there was one.
She arrives with the prey. Looks around the room and shakes her head a little. A small fleeting smile. The prey isn’t much but at least its British. However I think it was probably a winner in the Upper class twit of the year contest. Shut up you idiot she doesn’t want small talk. She just wants to fuck her brains out, no making love, just lust. The prey finally realizes this and relaxes and enjoys the assault. Yet she is in control and he doesn’t realize it. She looks to the other bed and acts as if she sees something there and looks back to me. I see nothing I wonder what the image was. I still sit on my towel. The prey is close to spending himself in her and she is riding him as if feel he were a mechanical toy. She is climbing the mountain and he is trying to stay with her. She enters the showers of the cloud and rains he follows she collapses and sleeps. The prey grunts and is too sacred to move he sleeps, I sit and watch.
She awakes and she rolls off him. Gets up pads to the bathroom and when she comes out sees the beer that was sitting there. He eyebrow raises and she looks in my direction. Again I wonder can she see me. I read the thought I was right she wanted Vodka. She drinks the beer and sits in a chair to watch the prey sleep.
She finishes the beer and goes to the other bed and crawls in. She sleeps. The prey awakes and I see him moving. The Lady still lies asleep or just dozing I can’t tell. The prey grabs the other beer and trudges to the bathroom. Shakes his head in astonishment. Drinks the warm beer and empties himself at the same time.
The lady stirs. Sees the prey in the bathroom. She moves towards the prey and attacks once again slower this time. She climbs aboard the prey.
She looks at me Whisper’s “its private” and moves her right hand to shush me out.
I smile and walk out of the room. My towel is still against the wall. I wait.
I think why; this is not my R&R, it is hers.
The Prey comes out dresses and leaves saying something about seeing her again. She answers with a polite noncommittal answer. Finishing her shower. She goes to the bed she slept in. She lays down again. She looks at me curls her finger and motions for me to join her. I do, I lay beside her, she snuggles into me and I relax and sleep.

Published in: on May 27, 2010 at 08:06  Leave a Comment  

22 April 1970 1st earth day

The day I died for the first time.  Climbed on a bird and flew to Nam.  Smelt the Rice paddies and saw the flares and heard the artillery for the first time.  What a way to die.  The little boy was dead and I still don’t know what  replaced it.  No Point Du Huc speeches about me and the 250 that were with me. Hated rice and Chop Suey for years and came to hate peaches even more.   Just remember this  “ I guess we all died a little in that damn war.” Josie Wales

Yes, we did and some of us never made it back.  I did and I didn’t, so that is why I am who I am today.  Take it or leave cause I have been left by to many and wish others hadn’t come in their place.

Darkness was my friend then and still is.  More questions than answers and more bodies than I care to see.

Best minds destroyed cause the weak willed ran and hid and became politicians and presidents.  Best minds destroyed by cheap heroin and strange diseases and cheap booze and cheaper ammunition.  Best minds destroyed by sights that no one should see.  Beside minds destroyed because their body was taken from them and not their mind.

Minds destroyed because Johnny got his gun and knew how to use it.

Bitter yes and mad still.  Some call it PTSD others battle fatigue.  Me, I think of it as death.

Published in: on May 27, 2010 at 08:04  Leave a Comment