Category Archives: Seventies
Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket
This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets. To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here: No Bare Feet Beyond This Point.
And Here: TA
And Also Here:
My Mine Field
Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket
This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets. To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here: No Bare Feet Beyond This Point.
And Here: TA
And Also Here:
My Mine Field
Must Re-Post. Sorry–I Am Lonely & Wallowing In Mine Own Self-Pity. So I ‘Drown’ My Sorrows In The Deep Well of Lady Mac-Bee. (And In The Shallow Well of Cheap Vodka)
She Makes Me ‘Happy’–Sort-Of. I Love Her! I Desire Her In My Life. “‘Tis A Consummation Devoutly to Be Wished”
(Sorry Y’all–Wrong Play Reference)
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‘Shakespearean’ Kind of Day. This Here Cowboy… For My Missed Sis: Madelyn, My Lady Macbeth: I Miss Her, Marvelous Much, And I’ll Never Forgive Her–For Dying On Me. Bitch!
“Look like th’innocent flower,
But be the Serpent under’t” or “Come you spirits, That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here.”—
–Lady Mac B
^^^
Out Of All Shakespearean Female Characters
This Cowboy Finds Lady Macbeth
The Most Captivating
The Most Fascinating
The Most Stimulating
The Most Everlasting
Francesca Annis, The Best Lady Macbeth
Ever! and Forever!
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Blond Ambition:
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“Take The Dagger”
She Didn’t Verbalize That. She Didn’t Have To
Just Look Into Her Eyes. Could You Say ‘No?”
I Know I couldn’t.
***
MACBETH
My dearest love,
Duncan comes here tonight.
LADY MACBETH
And when goes hence?
MACBETH
Tomorrow, as he purposes.
LADY MACBETH
O, never
Shall sun that morrow see!
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’ innocent flower,
But be the serpent under ’t. He that’s coming
Must be provided for; and you shall put
This night’s great business into my dispatch,
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
MACBETH
We will speak further
LADY MACBETH
Only look up clear.
To alter favor ever is to fear.
Leave all the rest to me
***
“Unsex Me Here”
***
Why do I hold Lady Macbeth in such high esteem one may ask?
Isn’t it patently obvious?
She is cunning. She is manipulative. She is strong. (Much stronger than her husband)
“Screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we’ll not fail.
”Have You Lost Your Mind? Your Will?”
***
She is intelligent.
She is ‘ambition-on-steroids’.
She is resolute.
She is brave.
***
She is Affectionate and Loving.
(Yes! Oh Yes She Is!—To her husband)
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She is loyal (The whole world of her ambition is her husband)
***
She is broken.
She is madness. (In mind and in deed)
“Out! damned spot! One, two, — why, then ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? – Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.”
***
She is Beautiful.
She is Beautiful.
She is So Very Beautiful
***
In very many respects, she reminds me of Shonnie.
https://texantales.com/2021/06/20/shonnie-just-some-last-thoughts-one-reminisce-2/
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But now she is gone.
“Out, Out Brief Candle”
***
And now for something completely different…
Just a little levity.
‘Tis Good For The Soul.
Street Cred For Vid: Wisecrack
***
Author’s Note (And Two-Cents):
Yes, I know.
Roman Polanski is an Asshole.
So What?
Anyone who ‘reads me’ knows my position on ‘artists’ and art.
If you do not, here is the ‘short’ version:
“I don’t give two cups of warm spit about what they (artists, creators, movie stars, entertainers, et cetera) do off camera, off stage, away from the set, away from the recording booth. Or whatever they choose to do while in their boudoirs.
All I care about is what they create.
Does it enrich my life?
Does it entertain me?
Does it educate me?
Does it make me laugh?
Does it make me cry?
Does it move me?
Or Does It Waste My Time?
These are the only measures of worth I employ.”
***
Anything Else IS A WASTE of my Mental Energy and My Time.
And My Time is the Most Valuable Thing I Own.
Or as we say in Texas (Usually about Land, but it fits even better in this context):
“Time, get all you can.
Keep all you can.
They ain’t making any more of it.”
That door swings both ways:
So, I hope I have NOT wasted YOUR Time.
Cheers,
–Lance
More Two Cents Worth Regarding Art and Artists Here:
Below Please Find The Relevant Text If You Do Not Want To Follow The Link To The Complete Post Above.
***
Now I am cognizant of the fact that there are myriad ‘Madonna Haters’ out there in ‘Radio Land.’
Here is My Philosophy, (Well-Documented in some of my posts) and some advice:
You don’t have to love the ‘artist-person’ to love the art. There are lots of performers I detest because of their off-stage persona or antics, or just piss-poor personality in general.
But… That does not stop me from enjoying and appreciating their art.
I do not give two shits about their politics, arrogance, religion, sexual preferences, et cetera. If their art entertains and enriches my life, I am good with them.
On the other hand, they can be as wonderful and charming as all get out, but if they have no true performance talent, I move on.
Here is the advice part for anyone out there who may need it:
Do not be so narrow and small-minded, and full of your own morality that you prevent yourself from enjoying good art.
***
Want a Second Opinion?
Watch this from Critical Drinker
So Fukken Poignant
If Not, That loss is yours.
And yours alone.
Believe me, the artists, the great ones especially, don’t give a shit if you boycott them or not.
Try to remember:
“Life is a Cabaret”
Enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t deny yourself value and enjoyment in your life just because some great performer pisses you off due to their persona while off-stage.
***
Cheers Again!
Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket & Then Promptly Fell Hard For A Sabra (He Never Fully Recovered)
Back Then I used to walk around The Quiet Streets of Tel Aviv at three A.M.
I Had no reason to feel apprehensive
Fiddler on the roof – If I were a rich man
And Yes. No Shit. I Love The Old Jewish Culture
This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets.
To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here:
“No Bare Feet Beyond This Point” (This is a ‘Re-Constructed Old Post.’ No Alcoholic Beverages Were Harmed, Nor Consumed While Operating The Requisite Heavy Machinery For The Successful Completion of This Project)
********************
Me and Boeing’s 747 partners: Wheels Down at Ben Gurion Airport semi-close to Tel Aviv Israel late one afternoon, October 1977, just a couple of days before Halloween, found the Talmud. I mean tarmac.
My final destination, however was not Judea; it was The Sinai Desert, to live for eighteen months-plus on a mountain-top base camp,
Dubbed ‘Caddo Mountain’, (In deference to the Texans who built it and ran it and to whom I would soon become a compadre) some shit-hole between the Gidi and Mitla Passes: Historically, the only two routes armies could pass from east to west or west to east across burning Sinai to thwack upon each other’s opponents’ heads.
I was 40 days leeward of twenty years and a little more than apprehensive. (These Two States, Egypt & Israel, were still technically, At War)
I knew some of the history, but I couldn’t be bothered that day about ‘Ancient’ History (Yom Kippur War, Six-Day War, ‘Suez War’ of ‘56, Holocaust.
Nope: I was here for ‘New History’, ‘My History’, ‘My Adventure’:
A Dangerous Desolate Gig (my first). I had never been out of CONUS (Continental United States) before.
And I was stoked. A fresh-faced, bullet-proof Texan Kid newly escaped from Louisiana and cock-strong! Fuck did I care for Mid-East Politics? I am here! Step right up! Texas has arrived! “Step aside, Son!”
Gathering my luggage (my father’s old sea-bag left over from his USMC Korean War days) and a few other bags, laden with tennis shoes, workout gear, books and magazines… way too much superfluous shit, I scampered to find my liaison, struggling with all my kit.
Finding him, a tall, skinny, thin-haired, gaunt-faced, ‘Middle-East-Hardened’ Texan Veteran (four months here previous to me, I discovered later), man who spoke with an air of, ‘Oh, you’re the ‘New Kid’… Follow me’ he said laconically.
He looked an old thirty-five to me. (Later I found out he was twenty-nine, but we were all so young there. Back then.)
Ignoring his attitude, I tried very hard to ‘get into the groove.’ It was hellishly hot, even for an October—a Texas October. I had jet lag and fatigue like a pup that had been crated too long.
Even though I was ‘stoked’, all I really wanted was a gallon of really cold orange juice, an air-conditioned hotel room, and a bed.
The ‘plane ride’ from Dallas to Tel Aviv had robbed me of some (I thought) important part of my young life and my health. I was severely dehydrated, completely spent, and pretty much left wondering if I had made some horrible mistake.
But, I sucked it up.
After a hot and hotter and even hotter bizarre drive (The Road signs looked so foreign to me, some form of hieroglyphic—never having seen Hebrew before—had not at that point read the Old Testament) from Ben Gurion Airport, through the busy streets of Tel Aviv (me resisting the urge to ask,
“Hey! are we there yet?”) we arrived at the Mediterranean Sea and the Sheraton Hotel.
My ‘liaison’ deposited me at the front desk of the ‘New’ Sheraton Hotel on HaYarkon Street Tel Aviv, telling me in parting,
“The R&R Vehicle leaves at 0800hrs; meet here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Goodbye.”
“Thanks Asshole.”
I checked in, and got me that room, such as it was. It was more a closet than a room, but it was cool and clean, and there was that bed tucked away in the corner…
I hit it, and slept like the dead.
To be continued…
Kinda Slightly Up-Dated. “How I came to live in the Shit Hole Garage Apartment which was not really a garage apartment, but only a Shit Hole underneath a garage apartment”
“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”