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Location: Susquehanna Depot, Pennsylvania, United States

Well, if you got here via the bi-chromatic Universe and "Dez", thanks. Their being available means they can be rented out, so to say, to vendors. For example, they'd be great in promoting pastries. Kids love cookies, so do adults. As for that ascending numeral three, it came about by way of ignorance. More than once, I'd see that same numeral with wings or a halo or both even on this or that pickup truck. And, dumb me, I'd think they were like golden horse shoes or four-leaf clovers ... good luck charms. It wasn't until later, I found out those threes are meant to commemorate one posthumously charismatic NASCAR driver. To inspire all those signs of grief, that guy might've had the makings for ... well, that's likely better left to the intuition of NASCAR votaries.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

day.zah.voo, Vietnam

It must be that we human beings make for an astonishing myriad of hairpins ... 'that's the kind of hairpin I am". For all I know, they and I could've formed a mutual detestation society, under circumstances devoutly to be wished for. To repeat in a way, whatever type of "hairpin" that can be imagined, somebody qualifies.

In this case, the "they" I have in mind comprises a returned Iraq combat veteran, and his mother. As she sat on the side of his bed, she wept. Her son had lost most of his legs and a hand. In the remaining hand, there was a chunk of shrapnel. According to competent medical opinion, removing the shrapnel might entail further amputation.

From what media outlet, that bit of information came to me, I can't recall. But I'm still shaken. Well, I'm old enough to remember Vietnam. What's more, I wrote a semi-biographical nouvelle with the title WAR DODGER. Never mind how I managed that feat. That's not important here.

So far as I'm concerned, here's what's perturbing me. But for a chance encounter in a candy store, that woman's son and I might now be sharing the same fate. What (?) were so many of my contemporaries supposed to be fighting for in Vietnam! A couple weeks ago, I was in a rather ratty dollar store, and I came upon cans of fruit that were packed in Vietnam. Every so often, our news media serve up clips of bustling economic activity in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon).

We get to see buildings embellished with logos of transnationals, many of which are nominally American. Sometimes, a native-born stringer lets us in on projects, in which nominally American transnationals cooperate with the People's Republic of Vietnam.

Imagine, if you dare, what could be going through the minds of guys, who returned mutilated in body and spirit from their tour of duty in Vietnam.

No, dear reader, if you've come this far, and no again, this is in no way reasoned analysis. Really, what you're perusing is far from reasoned analysis. What you're reading is much more like a lament.

Dear Lord, how I regret my going on the record with my support for dumb'ya's invasion. What ticks me off is that I should've known better. I should've given far more weight to our president's past business experience. He was given charge over three oil companies that were based in a region, practically drowning in the stuff. And he ran them into the ground. Looking back, I realize that should've told me something.

However he got this country into that Iraq horror, it was a lead-pipe cinch it was going to be botched.

Some twenty years hence, graduate history students will be writing monographs, exegeses, treatises, term papers even, on the differences between the reasons for why this country waged war in Vietnam and war in Iraq.

mission accomplished ... in the pig's ass

. . .. he who is known as sefton

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