I remember 1980. People were trampled at an appearance by the Pope, and we were told that sometimes bad things happen, and it’s all part of God’s beautiful, uknowable plan.

And that’s fine, Pork.

Why don’t we wait until he’s actually fucked up, in that case?

I wouldn’t mind carrying a little hope in my ruck…

mikey

All we can hope for is to try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Shit. Pretty forlorn hope.

Not so forlorn – if only one person reads & understands, a young & naive one who was toying with the idea of signing up, to get into “the action” so they could have some cool stories to tell their buddies – reads you, & changes their mind – you may very well have saved that person’s skin, or their sanity.

That would be a very good thing.
Words can be truly magical – especially when they make good things happen.
SHAZAM!

I thus assume that you are in agreement with Driscoll: comparing the stampede/trampling at Wal-Mart with war atrocities such as Guernica is asinine and trivializes war.

(Granted, Driscoll’s Who intro, probably used solely for the song/post title was at the very least unnecessary (though not as much as the attempted take-down here re publication dates). But surely we can agree with the thrust of his post?)

……………………………….Yeah.

Their lives will never be the same, and no one they love will ever have a way to reach them again.

All we can hope for is to try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Shit. Pretty forlorn hope.

Listen to me!! I shout.

And yet, there are more wars, and more reasons to fight.

Which way hope?

mikey

I’ve got no business talking about this, forget I mentioned it and do whatever keeps you clear.

THEY need to know. They need to know what harmless, astingent words like “airstrike” and “firefight” and “war” mean.

We OWE it to make sure that when some fucker makes some facile statement about “taking out” a dictator or invading some “failed state”, blood is going to be spilled, and the ones that walk away walk away broken.

It’s not good. It’s not a good idea. It’s not something noble, nor is it EVER someting that we should do. It’s fucking WAR. I’m not sure what these motherfuckers don’t understand about that…

mikey

Mikey, recounting these things is apparantly cathartic to you but nearly every time I run into one of your memories (of the blood kind), I suddenly feel as if I’ve mainlined 15,000 mgs of niacin. I’m not trying to stifle you here but some of us will never resolve the actions of our past the way you seem to have and reading this stuff is like peeling a brain scab with a jagged can lid.

I’m just sayin’…

But.

Wandering through a bloody perimeter on a smoky morning, GR guys zipping your friends into black bags, trying to bum a cup of coffee and a cigarette, eyes red and scratchy, numb, finally through shaking, you come upon a chaplain giving last rites to a gutted, bled out kid who’s seeing the last of this world that gritty grey morning.

Extreme Unction. I know, mumbo jumbo with a side of gimmicks.

But you stand off to the side, your rifle suddenly heavy in your hand, the coffee now sour in your throat, and watch the light go out in that kids eyes while the chaplain says the ancient prayers.

And you turn away, eyes burning, tears running down your soot – stained cheeks. And as a nineteen year old, you get this huge sense that there’s a LOT you don’t understand about the world, and life and death and choices and those without choices. And you think wow, people are not going home after last night. And some of them aren’t going home ’cause I killed them. And some of them I couldn’t save.

And you go looking for the Doc and a couple darvons and try to forget the way the universe opened up and tried to swallow you. You empty your mags and smoke a joint and go to sleep.

And you never guess what the impact of that sad, dirty little scene will have on the rest of your life.

mikey

extreme unction: The form used in the Roman Rite in the preceding period included anointing of seven parts of the body (though that of the loins was generally omitted in English-speaking countries), while saying (in Latin): “Through this holy anointing, may the Lord pardon you whatever sins/faults you have committed by…” The sense in question was then mentioned: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, walking, carnal delectation.

I think moderate unction must be SPF 40 at the beach. (but not on the loins in English-speaking countries).

When you say something harsh or *gasp* partisan.

…when does one receive moderate unction?

All my life.

And get offa my lawn!

Um….wouldn’t that make bombs a MORE effective strategy?

You surely can’t equate something that actually caused people to start to theorize about Crowd Management in a professional manner for the first time – with something that happened 30 years after lessons should have been learned.

And FWIW, one of the lessons learned by that incident is that the forces that cause people to be trampled are coming from remote locations (i.e., the back of the crowd) where no one is aware of the damage that’s being done. The people whose feet actually trampled the poor guy at Wal-Mart were as unable to stop as he was unable to get out of the way. They were being propelled by a force they couldn’t prevent.

How much acid do you have to do before you have flashbacks,

I’ll take this one.

Heh. I’ll take this one. Film at eleven.