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Perhaps (in Marc’s Bring a Daughter Home Dreamland, for instance) … when that 50-thousandth post
is sent, when a DBISer has the notion to *stand a post and post a stand it will come in the warm afterglow of
some noble politicians (in the company of some truly courageous & noble captains)
having given the songwriter artistocracy of the songwriting world a
perfect reason
NOT to write anymore songs like this one, EVER…ever…again,
about future history’s events after 2008 and beyond. …But surly I jest, as we are Ire, Inc.,
it seems, as our notion of “nation” bathes in the bloodlet of the worst•warring•ideologies.
Angst that could be (from more than mere singular perspective) brought to good terms.
…so without furthur ado, something songwritten in remembrance of lost hopes:
50,000 Names by Jamie O'Hara; performed by George Jones
http://home.comcast.net/~singingman7/TNOTW.htm
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In AC this weekend I stood at the boot of the gigantic solemn statue of a standing Marine
lamenting into a dire bronze handful of dangling dog-tag memorabilia @ the Korean War Memorial
beside the boardwalk…after having felt a wave of ghostly something-or-other zephyr through my living flesh upon entering on the stone walkway in 90-some degree afternoon sun. My father’s name is not on that wall, as he didn’t die in Korea but there’s little doubt he helped carry far too many of those remembered dead
off the killing hills, fields, & ripped-up streets of Korea, ’53. He came home from “the forgotten war” and married a woman and fathered three children, as the lingering effects of the Korean War helped to take him many years later, after almost 30 years of slow deterioration and some pretty-good days when the pain was only present … but manageable. His …generation didn’t speak of pain, but they didn’t mind medicating …& taking it out on those they loved and guarded over diligently. As of this weekend, I’ve seen my
fill of war memorials, and I’ve said goodbye to my father for the last time. ...See ya, pop.
http://www.state.nj.us/military/korea/gallery_3.html
Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam, where the dear and the antelope play, where seldom is heard
a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day. ...Or just simply give me a home where
the sum total of all human knowledge CAN & WILL be used on behalf of humanity & Earth
to rid us of the arcane war machine ... and it’s peddlers & politicians in formation.
i have a mind to travel to Wounded Knee, drop to my knees in the circle, hands raised up
into the hawkwind in a “V”, relinquish all my theories and philosophies and yell prayers!
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http://www.sdgs.usd.edu/geology/index.html
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we live in a time & place where everything is subject to scrutiny and far too many people
actually can't give chit for shitstorm what goes down on the yonder side of the wall much anymore
on the boardwalk in atlantic city this past weekend, the two of us wandered in the scorch beside every kind of living human from all walks, credos, languages, colors, distractions & smells both familiar and peculiar, …& a good example of the waste, the chasm, the blight, the narcissism, the grandiosity of certain semi-sentient beings with good-sized bank accounts & egos to match, was the cold air wafting out of doors open wide to the sweltering outside. No exaggeration ~~ cold wind that actually hit us in our entirety as we passed by the cream of the cream of unyielding monuments to capitalistic carnality & caricature in 90-some degree sunshine. We looked at each other, simultaneously awed by the amount of energy escaping out into coastal airs ~~ then later that night, having taken a short-cut back to the hotel, we walked beside a homeless lady, very pretty accept for the lesions on her face and the putrid smell of everything she owns wrapped around her (no way she wasn’t once just a pretty girl in AC) … and a homeless man trying to sleep it all away under roadside brush against a stone wall built to decorate his community, thinking, “we’d like to give them blankets …” but, no, not acting on it. These people who’ve got the blues like none of us have
got the blues, barely getting by on their last gasps, at the stoic feet of
these monoliths to billions goin’ trillions.
……& the beat goes on……..
& given the loneness of songwriting (in general), what should not be enough to settle-up?
C said she can see it blossoming into something contemporary …not too soon after today.
*stand a post & post a stand: Those of us responsible for others, we all stand posts of one kind or another. …Maybe not flashcard, bootcamped, n uniformed posts but posts of apt importance nonetheless. A mom looking after her child at the playground is standing a post, a father havin a meaningful catch in the park with his son is standing a noble post. Even though there are those present (names withheld to protect the ego) who claim 2 be all for this war regime & it’s bloodbath machines but who’ill not likely b heading off 2 Parris Island or San Diego or … Camp Wolters any time soon.
… & it’s still the greater hypocrisy, rube.
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Power over we, why?
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