*Of course if you want the answer to that burning behind the Grassy Knoll Question, you will have to listen to Lenny. (Listen below after you wade through some serious Lance Horseshit)
Or, I suppose you could just ask Lance, as his erstwhile step-mom worked for Jack (Ruby)
And if you, any of you, breath, yeah breath. A word to my also erstwhile step-sister… well, that last breath, will be your last…
(And, as always, Everything I just typo’d, said, thought… well, it’s bullshit. I was born, rear’d an’ raised in California. Northern California. I have never even seen Texas. Just read about it all.)
Just to make up for all those “Thursday Throwbacks” I missed cashing in on during my recent ‘sabbatical’.
Yeah, I always considered ‘Throwback Thursdays’ something of a ‘gift.’ I mean, if I had nothing to write I could always dig down into those old archives, et voila! There ya go!
(In Some Truth: I just wanted to put up some Lenny Bruce–for Old Time’s Sake.)
And it kind of goes along with thatBrother Dave Postfrom a day or two ago. (See? There is some continuity to my mind)
Believe that? Really? Wanna buy a bridge? Cheap?
************
I generally spend about ten minutes ‘writing a post’. Then three minutes waiting on ‘spell check’ to remind me that I cannot spell ‘cat.’ Then two minutes (except for the upload wait) to upload photos/videos. One minute at the ‘final’ look. Then: Click that ‘publish’ button.
Done.
Rinse and repeat the next day. This bothers me. Why? Because, as all of us (may) feel, we can write so much better.
Alas, I am lazy. I just want to get it out there… Catch the likes; catch the comments. Fuck the quality! “They” know what I mean… Don’t they? I mean, they read me! Not too much need for exposition, ya? ‘They git it, eh?’
Just some musings from an amusing wanna-be writer/blogger. Take with some grain of salt. (And Comment), if you are of a mind to, and have an opinion on the ‘writing/blogging’ process.
Cheers, Lancers
“I have never had an original thought; I don’t live in a vacuum.”
–Lenny Bruce
And if this ain’t poignant for today… Well then. I do not know what is, or could be ‘is.’
Take a listen: All Policemans in NYC might even appreciate. (If they can read, that is)
(But never despair: There is music — and video– down there. Bear..Bare?? With me on this one!)
I am (once again) late for the party.
You have been granted a ‘pass’.
Don’t open this one.
It is depressing, all in all anyhow.
And yes, more now than ever:
****
..And I find it ‘timely.’
***
“Dear (fill in the name) I am so sorry we are apart, but you see, I am serving… something, something greater, something important, something, some power, Uh, My ego. See you soon. Love, Lance”
I am not gonna bore y’all with Lenny and Sarah, and bullshit anymore.
I am gonna bore you with reality.
The Reality.
Stay tuned.
For those of Y’all ‘Fraid of the NSA, well, bow out now gracefully. I have no fear, but I am old and have nothing to lose. And to quote Bette Davis: “Fasten Your Seatbelts; it’s going to be a bumpy night.”
And, Yes! I am not stupid. I do recognize the dichotomy of the diametrically opposed points of the two songs I present below for your perusal. You must sort out your own feelings.
And some tongue in cheek.
And some more… tongue in cheek.
“I am not stupid.”
(“Doth the gentleman protest too much?”)
Now, some would argue, “Lance is just living in his past; he is craving for the days when Revolution was a real possibility”
Some might say that.
I say, “There is no better time than the present, to take it up; because things now, are really fucked up.”
“Wake up!”
Wake the hell up, America!
My Country!
I love my America.
I truly do.
Now… Y’all.
As I am wont to reiterate, ad nauseum: Lance is no dummy. He is not stupid. (even though, He often speaks as him, in some third person… no matter.
My point here is thus:
Walon Jennnings was somewhat deluded. Yes. Deluded. When he wrote that above below song, somewhere way back then… in the Nineteen Seventies. All thinking people know this. But know this about me: I am a cockeyed optimist. I want to believe, and yet, I am an atheist.
Therein, lies some dichotomy, eh?
(I guess I just felt compelled to ‘throw’ that in, just so you’d know…all you intellectuals out there, that I really do READ Stuff.)
And here is ‘some pie in yer eye’: “I have actually been THERE!”
Ya’ll gotta watch the video “or it all just falls apart” Just saying… (Yes! I feign Texan; it is my wont.)
After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.
Within moments, I slipped into that nether sleep, that sleep between sleeps, that semi-conscious state of affairs. Sleep, but Not Sleep.
Then I began to dream things that should have been true. But were not true, yet so true.
Wonderful words words words! Words to sate my unnourished prose.
Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:
““Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”
— “Will Shakespeare in Love”
I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on. Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there! Right there In My Mind. I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish” Mouse.
My finger was frozen.
It would not move.
How hard I did try!
It would not comply!
I lay there in my nether sleep, commanding.
The hand, the one digit, just the finger! Demanding!
(And with apology to MLK for appropriating a great title)
His “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” is some of the best contemporary writing ever… Google it.
Went trolling for JOBs in Afghanistan today: Found a few, so I thought I’d repost this to rein in my reins… Not!
Truth is, I cannot work in the United ‘Stats’. I miss my former life.
I need to be ‘institutionalized’ somewhere far far away. A place where life is tenuous at worst and exciting at best and the pay is good and booze is scarce and the women are… well, usually not to be found, except on the Internet (That is a JOKE, by the way…)
I must redouble my efforts to get ‘back to the Sandbox’, and I shall.
“Here hold this while I do that!” said the Texan to his credulous girlfriend/cheerleader as he handed her his half-pint of Jim Beam and hit the accelerator on his pickup truck and flew headlong into oblivion… “Roads? We don’t need no roads!”
Then they probably both died, as so many did tryin’ to fly, back in the Seventies….
***
This was originally posted 02 FEB entitledLetter from a Southpark Jail. I decided to re-post it as a series of ‘Chapters’ in the hope of making it a more manageable read.
Chapter One: PAX Terminal, Camp Dwyer
The following is a transcribed letter I wrote to a Significant Other while cooling my heels in Kandahar, trying to get my CAC renewed (Common Access Card: An ID card for Civilians working with the U.S. Military). ‘Southpark’ is, for lack of a better term, A Holding Facility ‘soullessly owned and operated’ by DynCorp International for transients, itinerants, sycophants, miscreants, and other sad and lonely temporarily homeless people just trying to travel through, hoping to land somewhere else and the sooner the better… Southpark is understaffed, under-financed, under-achieving, and sometimes underwater. It is also overpopulated, misconceiving, deceiving and just plain infuriating. Southpark will depress you, repress you, digress you, digest you, and shit you out (if you allow it). Writing saved me from insanity there.
(Whew! That was some long-ass’d diatribe!
Read on: it gets grows worse.)
Saturday 28 July 2012, Camp Dwyer PAX Terminal, Afghanistan 1218hrs
Dear Lady,
I’m sitting in the PAX terminal. We boarded the plane, (Sixties-Era, prop job) a couple of hours ago, but they were just kidding. After sitting on the tarmac for about forty five minutes they brought us back here. Seems someone forgot to feed the hamsters which are actually responsible for propelling the plane and hence, they died. We were told not to worry; they are flying in some fresh, well-fed hamsters from KAF (Kandahar Air Field) and once they get those settled into the plane’s power plant, we will be good to go: wheels up around 1430hrs.
So here I sit, thinking of you, Dubai, and Hamster Avionics.
This PAX terminal isn’t too bad, as these places go. (I have seen worse—and better). Like every other facility on Dwyer, it is a tent, but it is a rather enormous tent and they have provided the weary travelers with bottled water and MRE’s. So I am sated, as far as it goes. You see, I really am low maintenance.
Not being inclined to ignore any opportunity to ‘talk’ to you, I am using the tools (pen and paper) I thoughtfully provided myself in the event such opportunity did manifest itself. So here I sit, happily communicating to you using Nineteenth Century Technology. I do hope you are properly impressed.
Page From Original Document
“And what lovely penmanship!” She exclaimed.
“Thank you,” he said.
Looking about the terminal, I have pronounced us a motley crew: About a dozen or so Indians & Sri Lankans, some Filipinos, a smattering of American Expats, couple of Brits, and a few bored Marines behind the counter, whose job it is to search the TCN’s. The counter has a sign which reads: “TCN Search Area.” TCN: ‘Third Country Nationals.’ in case you didn’t know.
“What did you do in The War, Daddy?”
“Son, I put my hands all over aromatic TCN’s.”
“What’s a TCN Daddy?’
“Uh…That’s a very sophisticated weapons system Son.”
“Wow! Cool!”
1310hrs: PAX Terminal, Dwyer
Ok, for amusement, I took an inventory of the MRE’s stacked on pallets here in the terminal:
15 pallets
56 cases of MRE’s per pallet
12 MRE’s per case
Total MRE’s: 10,080 (assuming my arithmetic is correct; a rather liberal assumption)
Posted on each pallet are four signs which read:
DO NOT EAT!
Pending Inspection
MRE stands for “Meal, Ready to Eat,” in case you didn’t know, or in this case, Meal, Not Ready to Eat. (“We done been eatin’ ‘em anyways. Hope we don’t die of ptomaine before the hamsters do, causing our Turbo Prop to morph into a glider…”)
1441hrs: Still in PAX terminal
Announcement: “Listen up! We couldn’t get the hamsters here, but we’ve drafted a couple of gerbils and they’re fit for duty.” (‘Now there’s some happy news,’ I mused.) He continued, “For all those going to KAF, this means now you’re flying non-stop,” (Guess gerbils are not certified for multi-destination air duty.) and your luggage is already back on the plane. As soon as we warm up the gerbils, you fly. Those of you who are going to FOB Shindan, you will follow me now.”
Someone pipes up, “Are we walking?”
There’s one in every crowd…
Having a few minutes to kill while the gerbils are doing their warm up exercises, I return to the MRE pile and rat-fuck a couple of the boxes. ‘Rat Fuck’ is a technical term which simply means, “To open several bags of MRE’s and take only the premium items, leaving the not premium items for the next schmuck attempting to do same.” An example of this would be taking all the Reece’s Pieces and chocolate chip cookies, leaving only the cardboard crackers and synthetic peanut butter.
1600hrs: Airborne
Wheels up and airborne and the gerbils gerbilling their little asses off. Time to destination: thirty minutes.
1613hrs: Flying High (I wish)
I am seated in a window seat. Normally I would take the aisle, but I wanted to describe the spectacular view and with all the beautiful details of this rarified vista below:
BROWN
Perusing the in-flight movie list (from the one inside my head), I select Lawrence of Arabia (with subtitles in Pashtun). I estimate getting about half-way through the opening credits before we touch down. I listen to the wonderful Academy Award winning musical score. The scenes of the burning desert are so real inside my head that I actually break a sweat. This Special Effect is helped along quite nicely by the fact that the air-conditioning on this aircraft in non-functional. I suppose one of the collateral duties of the deceased hamsters was operating the A/C unit.
1638hrs: Wheels Down
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Beautiful Kandahar.” (I do not doubt his sincerity, but I did detect a bit of sarcasm in his voice.) “For safety, you are required”, he continued, “to wear your full body armor with your helmet when exiting the aircraft. There really is no danger, but we want you to sweat just that much more. Thank you for flying Gryphon Airlines today and once again, we apologize for the teeny tiny delay we had in leaving Camp Dwyer and we do hope you will… uh, be flying with us again soon.” (As if we will have a choice)
“Dear (fill in the name) I am so sorry we are apart, but you see, I am serving… something, something greater, something important, something, some power, Uh, My ego. See you soon. Love, Lance”
I am not gonna bore y’all with Lenny and Sarah, and bullshit anymore.
I am gonna bore you with reality.
The Reality.
Stay tuned.
For those of Y’all ‘Fraid of the NSA, well, bow out now gracefully. I have no fear, but I am old and have nothing to lose. And to quote Bette Davis: “Fasten Your Seatbelts; it’s going to be a bumpy night.”
And, Yes! I am not stupid. I do recognize the dichotomy of the diametrically opposed points of the two songs I present below for your perusal. You must sort out your own feelings.
Now, some would argue, “Lance is just living in his past; he is craving for the days when Revolution was a real possibility”
Some might say that.
I say, “There is no better time than the present, to take it up; because things now, are really fucked up.”
