I Still So Much Miss My Sis! I Will NEVER Allow Her Memory To Die.

God’ammit it! Why did she have to die? I Did NOT Giver My Permission To Die. Updated! Some Cali-Bashing! “ABBA, Joni, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, No Class NO Cash! Ne

I am Dying Inside Over My Remembrances of Her

:

“Hey Buddy, CAN You Spare a Dime?”

Yeah! I am trying to occupy (and distract) my mind with Beauty and Music.

(See previous posts if you do not know why this is requisite for me.)

Speaking of posts, and posting, This one is an unorganized, not edited, convoluted…. piece of shit.

(Screw it! I will NOT edit this. It was a ‘stream of consciousness! ‘If I ‘edit’ it, then it is shite, as a stream of consciousness.

And then would ring false. So I won’t fukkin’ edit it.

What you see is what you get. (I may go back and give ‘credit’ for all the vids/images I stole, but that ain’t ‘editing’– that is just not being an asshole.)

Read/Watch/Listen at Your Own Annoyance.

It is impossible to not notice…

To not notice…

How HAPPY Agnetha & Anni-Frid ARE IN this!

They LOVED IT!

And for that,

That STAGE PRESENCE!

I LOVED THEM!

(I suppose ‘The Boys’ were happy too.

But Lance don’t pay attention to the moods of boys—LOL!)

**************

This will be brief (I promise)

I have been (In Light, or in Dark, of my too recent loss)

HATE ASHBURY

I have been pondering…

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

(I believe some smart guy once said that)

Well, I been ‘prospectin’  down into MY Life.

Didn’t find no gold.

Didn’t find no silver.

Didn’t find no diamonds.

(Hangman! Hangman! Meet me at The Gallows’ Pole!”)

(“Bring me your dead sister then.)

Yeah! I am sick… and bitter!

Didn’t find…

No Solace.

Found a box of rocks tho…

Note attached:

It read, and I quote:

“Lance, this is all your life represents. Have a nice day”

—God

“Oh, and never forget: Jesus Saves.”

–G

Saves what?

Green stamps?

“Hey God!

Go to Fuck Yourself!”

(I know the grammar is fucked, but THAT is how Gladys always verbalized it)

“Go to fuck yourself!”

(See Third paragraph for Gladys)

I loved her for her broken English.

Might be continued, but I doubt it…

*******

If you’re California Dreamin’…

Don’t. It was once a Magical Place,

Now it is just One More Shit-Hole! Trust me! I Know! I have been arould the World. Twice! I know most Places are Shit Holes! But California Was Always Different! No Mas! Now it is Just One More Shit-Hole! In a World Full of Shit Holes!

It ain’t the way it used to be!

As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore.

While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit. We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by.

Bye – Bye!! California!

(And NEVER EVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’ In my earshot–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)

And Yes! I have been to Paris France!

No Less Than Ten Times!

If you’re California Dreamin’…

Don’t.

As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore. While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit.

We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by. Bye – Bye!! California!

(And NEVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)

******

Street Cred: Memology 101:

If you are a ‘good and astute observer’ you will see Kamala trying (and failing) to dance.

Free Bonus Track

(But Donations Greedily Accepted)

“I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.

Rich is better.”

–L. Marcom, Circa 2006

If You Don’t Mine, It Don’t Matter

 

There is sand in the Sinai Desert. Lots of sand. There is wind in the Sinai Desert. Lots of wind. There are landmines in the Sinai Desert. Lots of landmines, some dating back to the ’56 war. Most of them are still functional.

When wind and sand collide, the sand moves. In waves. The sand does not respect manmade things. Manmade things such as roads or landmarks, or mine fields. Sand does not care if it inconveniences you. Or puts your life in danger. Sand has no conscience and actually does not give two shits about you or me, or anyone or anything.

Sand is just sand.

These truths about sand were to become blatantly obvious to me one day back in 1978. I was driving my Chevy Van Passenger Vehicle to the Suez Canal to rendezvous with a similar R&R vehicle coming from Cairo. My vehicle was loaded with ten passengers,

all very happy to be headed out on R&R. It was my simple job to get them to the rendezvous point so they could take the little boat across the canal, climb into the other van and head on to Cairo and their scheduled flights back to The Real World.

From SFM Base Camp to Suez is about thirty klicks.

untso_map3

SFM Base Camp Located Between
The Giddi and Mitla Passes

Travel time on average, an hour and change, depending on how long the Egyptians wanted to detain me at the check points along the way. I always brought along some packs of Marlboros to provide them when they insisted on ‘baksheesh’. No big deal. I could afford the bribe. Hell, in our little BX (Base Exchange) cigarettes were three bucks a carton.

This particular day back in ’78 was a day after a particularly savage sand storm. The roads to Suez are passable most days. And safe. Off-roading is not safe.

Stay on the pavement. I can compare it to the line from Apocalypse Now: “Never get out of the boat.”

As I drew closer and closer to the canal the roads began to get more and more difficult to discern. Now mind you, I had made the canal run many, many times, but I am a guy who can get lost in his own hometown of Honey Grove Texas, Population 1800. This is a small town, not too many ways to get lost, unless you are real creative. I am real creative.

I came to a point whereby I just could no longer make out the paved road. I took a turn in the general direction of the canal, hoping to pick up the road again after a few minutes. As I was bumping along I noticed one of those landmine signs:

mines

So did my passengers.

They freaked. I suppose this could be considered a normal reaction. They all started jabbering at once. I invited them to shut the hell up, and then I calmly backed the fuck out of the mine field, carefully retracing my inbound route.

Once I got back to the spot where I had obviously taken a wrong turn, I took the other turn and eventually made it to Suez. Picked up the inbound passengers and didn’t even have any shit to clean up in my vehicle, but I think at least one of my passengers had shit his pants.

Now all I had to do was make it back to Base Camp without any more drama. I gave it fifty-fifty.

postcard

Home, Safe Home

More to come on SFM

Here is a related post.

Thanks for reading.

“Landmines Bring me Down.”

(I cannot help it if Stevie Fucked Up The Lyric!)

*****

Added Bonus Below!

Mind Blown! 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

Continue reading

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

Continue reading

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

Continue reading

‘TA’ Does Not Necessarily Always Mean ‘Tits an’ Ass’ My Mind Has Gone Astray–

Wandered Off Into The Wilderness. Someone, Anyone, Please Join The Search Party. I Need My Mind Back. I Was Kinda Trying To Use It.

I’d Love to Drop In More Vids, Bit It Ain’t Worth It

I Just Wanna Die in Peace

***

I Have Lost My Mind.

If Anyone Finds It And Returns It To Me–There Will Be A Substantial Re-Ward.

Trust Me:

I’m With The Government.

I Miss My Mind.

I Kinda Use It Ever’ Onct-in-a While.

I cannot find my Gladys Lehanni Post.

Whoops! Found It!

Give me time…

Arrived Tel Aviv one afternoon Late ‘78.–Sure to be Alone.  Soon to be Stoned, Dazed and Confused and Somewhat Abused. One of my fellow SFM drivers, Perry, a good bud of mine, had convoyed with me through the Sinai Desert and into TA. Each of us driving deuce and a’halfs and at dangerous, reckless speeds.

We checked into the Pal Hotel which SFM had migrated to after

the New Sheraton had made it plain they no longer desired nor needed the patronage of Sinai Field Mission Types, specifically the Texan ones–Which made up about 88 Percent of Sinai Field Mission Personnel.

I/We, preferred the Pal Hotel anyway. (They loved us and our fun-loving ways and how we were always, without fail, Big Tippers to The Hotel Staff)

“Fuck You Uptight Sheraton New Hotel!”

(This sentiment was unanimous amongst all-of-us-Texan Expats)

Of course for both of you Lenny Fans out there in ‘Radio Land’  I just had to drop this audio bit in. It really is not germane (nor certainly not German) to the point, but it do expand on the title somewhat.

It occurred to me that when using the term ‘Tits an’ Ass” some would not know the etymology. Lenny first coined the phrase. (Bless his heart).  He did some jail time too… for his transgressions.

So…when I first arrived to SFM and folks would talk of TA, imagine my confusion.

Lenny Bruce audio below ‘Tits and Ass’

Worth a listen

After settling in, Perry called me from his room, “Hey Lance. Got anything goin’ tonight?”

“Nope,” I replied. “Not a damn thing. You know Gladys done dumped me for that Venzu-walon dude.”

(Some Histoire on Gladys — Or as Bart Armstrong Called her: “Happy Butt”): 

First Israeli Love. Her name was Gladys Lehani and she spoke French, English, Hebrew, and Lies. I was instantly enamored. She worked nights at the Tel Aviv Sheraton in the ‘Kum Kum’ Lounge, a bar. During the afternoons she was a cashier in the little lobby area of the hotel. A place where one could look out the huge windows at the Mediterranean, have a cocktail, read a book, and flirt with her. I spent many hours there doing all four.

“Come on up to my room.” Perry said, “We’ll smoke a bowl.”

“On my way,” I said and hung up. We smoked a few bowls of hashish,

(All we could get in The Middle of The Fucking East–Which we would have Killed For In Texas, But after a few Years of NOTHING But Hashish, We Missed Good Old, Old-Fashion Pot)

drank some Amstels, and decided to head over to Dizengoff Street to check out the action. And sate some munchies. Just yet another night in TA.

dizengoff-cafe

Dizengoff Cafe

We stepped out onto Hayarkon Street just after sundown and proceeded to float on toward Dizengoff,

a few short blocks away. We were stoned beyond repair. As we tried to navigate across the busy

Hayarkon four lane, we noticed more than the average number of folk on foot. As soon as we had arrived on the leeward shore of Hayarkon, a teenage girl came running up to us and smacked us both on the top of our heads with a little plastic mallet.

Then said something unintelligible in Hebrew and ran giggling away.

“What the fuck was that?!” I asked Perry.

“Dude, I gots no idea, but look yonder!” he said pointing up the street. Sure as shit, there were people everywhere; all armed with similar plastic mallets, just wailing the shit outta each other’s heads.

“Dude! We gotta sort this out. This is just too weird. Must be some kinda religious ritual.”

 

his is what my hashish soaked brain was telling me anyway. We made our way to Dizengoff, after having our heads bonked repeatedly by overzealous religious fanatics. I spied a street vendor displaying the plastic mallets with aplomb.

“Perry, we gots to git one ah them for self-defense.”

We purchased one each and went to whackin’ pretty Sabras about the head. (Great way to meet women, I must confess—Kinda Neanderthal—but what the hell?) Later

I was told we had experienced some joyful Israeli Halloween-Like festival. Mardi Gras, it weren’t but dammit! I had fun. (But I didn’t get any beads)

Nor Did I get laid that night, In spite of me whacking the heads of so many Pretty Sabras.

To this day, I do not know the holiday, or festival. Are there any out there who would care to enlighten me? Tis one-of-those-unknown-things that still haunt me today. Perhaps if I had not been stoned…

banner_purim_sm[1]

Purim

My Jewish Friends: Was it Purim I had experienced? My enquirin’ mind really do wanna know.

 

 

TITS AND ASS BIT: LENNY