Posts filed under ‘Memento Mori’

The US role as superpower

and Trump, and Obama.  Since the ending of World War II the U.S. has a (self-) generated program to “Bring the American Way to the World” as one commercial had it a year or two ago.  We narrowly avoided making Vietnam a territory of ours.  It would probably have been brief.  The U.S. started shipping troops out before I joined the Navy; they heavily intensified that process a few years before the end of the war.  Indications I read were that they were being staged at Guam for Afghanistan.  [I have never been able to find anything to contraindicate that–knowing that all military news that is government generated comes from the PAO, which has access to unclassified materials only.  At this time I don’t think it’s wise to point out something that should have become very obvious with that statement.  I remember running over a captain (who tried to have me court-martialed) to grab a TS  message from a PAO (Public Affairs Office, TS=Top Secret; nothing above that was put into the local computer system).  However, I did know what to look for.  The news, since Dunkirk, has been regarded as a tactical weapon.  End of heavy hints.]

 

Korea, Vietnam…the Middle East.

 

There are a number of things I could say, but none of them would be wise.  Those who were in “my” guild Unity could probably decipher that easily.  I have been trying to make this simple while avoiding direct statements.

 

Bringing the American Way to the World, however, has been defined as imperialism by others.  We have started wars because of the way that people were being treated in their own lands.  Obama was apparently attempting to leave the judgment to the UN, which I doubt Trump will support in any way or fashion other than the obligatory.  I do feel that a war against ISIS is justified and is self defense.  Attempting to profile and catch existent residents will catch more innocents than targets.  Our action in the past has been to confine all of a certain race during violent outbursts, of many races.  The Republicans are bursting with pride that Gitmo (Guantanamo Bay) will be left open, and are trying to kill any diplomatic relationship with Cuba at the same time.

 

Our president is convinced he’s better at the game than a master spy.  The timing of his marriage seems interesting to me.  Finding classified material and broadcasting it to the world has become the easiest way to be a hero.  Trump himself conformed to broadcast expectations as I recall.  But then I’m surely wrong.  All of his supporters would tell me so.

 

As far as his personal life I’m frankly indifferent.  It’s how he does the job.  Judging by statements, his choice of Cabinet members, and his reaction to suggestions by assistants, I lack hope.

 

Glenn (Samwise Davies)

 

I actually wasn’t going to write this.  There are a good many things I don’t tell.  I have never known a rich man particularly sympathetic to what he regards as the poor.  For one thing, if he became too sympathetic he’d join them and it’s happened.  Most NFL quarterbacks retire poor.  (Not after retiring from the NFL.)  Many people we “instinctively” think of as rich weren’t or became poor quickly.

 

 

January 4, 2017 at 4:20 pm Leave a comment

The Classical Blog, Starting With Meta

I find myself changing to just that; a diary rather than anything centered around a GRAND PURPOSE of (one presumes) imparting knowledge.  In fact, for one thing, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m if anything an idiot; born and years of practice and all that, you know.  This is variously inspired.  My wife engineered my meeting my erstwhile and presumable family, by which I mean the bastard–me–‘met’ [in Internet terms, no quotidian clasping of sweaty palms but rather the notional replacements for ‘RL’] was able to “meet” one, actually of my (presumable) half-siblings.  Whom I would guess I immediately and then variously disgusted.  I was a sailor and did what sailors did, yes; I was half or more than a spy and…yes, part of my life sounds like a rather bad novel.  When I said diary I didn’t mean easily penetrable by all, at least from what I’ve been repetitively told.

The meeting lasted a few days and then dwindled to silence, at first unendurable and then quite comfortable.  The parents I knew ensured variously that I couldn’t know or trust them, and when they professed love were about to perform cruelty.  My true mother’s last words to me were “Oh, Glenn, I’m so glad I couldn’t have you aborted,” repeating what she’d said just before being carted off to Montana.  My actual reactions were somewhere between “Oh, Mom, too bad you couldn’t have” and “Oh, Mom, how nice and how lovely that you’re leaving!”  Then about 4 years later the military decided I really did have the job I’d claimed, was a Vietnam (war, not era–it mattered very much to them, you see) veteran, really did see the sorts of [censored, so that I don’t pay for this later] I claimed because of the security clearance I so boringly babbled about–I was obviously narcissistic–but then again they weren’t quite sure about what I knew, they had to admit.  Which was sort of a hint to not babble too much more; in light of just that I won’t detail why.  Ask Snowden or someone knowledgeable.

I don’t know what the point of her–my notional half-sister–meeting me was.  I’m going to give an approximation of what we have in common besides some genes.  Nothing.  I’ve spent my entire life thinking about something relatively complicated which would be utterly meaningless to her.  That’s all.

Meta is or was my sister’s name.  For some reason I feel utterly sure I’ll never communicate with her again.  Oddly enough I regret having even wasted the time trying to communicate with her.  But then it was at my wife’s behest.  I’m not angry with her.  I have achieved forming a sort of necessary pattern.  That pattern is, by the way, absolutely not closure, whatever that is.  Whatever ‘it’ is, is open.  I have never made a pattern of this sort and had anyone else even give me the impression that they perceived it.

I got my precious damned Suburban back (the one that saved my life by being what I drove) and part of the body is loose.  I’m less than happy.  I am positive I have to take it back and let them fix it and that it will take a while to fix.

I am receiving steadily more braces which are steadily more constricting and also affect my balance (not my sense of balance) more and more, because managing one’s balance naturally involves the ankle muscles[/tendons] and the braces will obviate being able to use those muscles.  I am losing the struggle and it’s affecting me badly.  There is no escape from this.  That I can’t manage to stop fighting is either very good or ridiculous.  Go ahead and judge, for I cannot.

June 28, 2016 at 10:48 pm Leave a comment

Back on The Road Again

I have, since my last entry:

 

most tellingly, not written in a blog for which I pay.

Met my father’s daughter.  That doesn’t sound like much, but then I’m illegitimate and from a somewhat horrible family on my mother’s side.  I grew up with…a great deal centered around that, by other people.

My Suburban was so violently rear-ended by a Honda Acura that it did around $10k worth of damage.  Yes, of course the Suburban was drivable.  (That’s actually complete false in its assumptions and premises, by the way.)  It was nearly perfect before.  There were scratches on the plastic, before.  Now it’s a bit surprising the rear door still lifts.

Had the Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome VII confirmed.  Had the rarity of my severity confirmed.  Had the rarity of my ‘condition’ confirmed.  An epileptic with EDS and PTSD (and narcissism by the at least preliminary reports of their psychiatrists and mental or Mentat specialists).  “Oh, no, that is very, very rare” she (“they”) said when I mentioned the timeline of around 70.  Mind you, they’d been telling me how rare my case was from the moment I walked in.  Throw in whatever the Navy saw (and I was at least the most ____ man in the Fleet, but according to the bloody testers one of the most _____ people in the world; I think ______ translates to “destructive” in real terms).

 

All the signs of it.  And on the way back so violently rear-ended I’m still suffering the after-effects; that was Monday, this is Saturday, and the first time I’ve been able to write at all.  I don’t mean from shock over the Suburban I do mean from Blunt Force Trauma.

Tried to drink and threw the bottle away unopened.  Now that’s bad.  I simply don’t drink.

Attempted to start moving toward publication again and was stopped but I think I’ll be able to do it soon.

 

And the pain in my neck (which has led to a headache ever since the accident) has prevented me from doing nearly anything except weak physical labor.  I move my neck or head or something and it becomes so painful I can’t think.  And I was driving a fucking Suburban and I’d just been given a damned death sentence.  Soon.  Yes, I have luck.

 

Certainly I was at fault.  I was driving in one direction in one lane following at the proper distance and paying attention to absolutely nothing else.  I have his name and address.  I’m half-tempted to drive up there and kill him.  Writing this down and putting it on the Net ensures I won’t.  Mind you, I haven’t put name and such down, either.

June 18, 2016 at 8:08 pm Leave a comment

Remembrance

Right now I am finally following back the river of time where I was progressively bound, evidently with my eager submission or else deluded fantasies of being powerless.  Part of it I was.  Part of it was quite assuredly was that submission, although with illusions of coming freedom.  Surely my mother’s marriage…living with her sister…believing whole-heartedly in a cruel God…  But then if I had resisted, how much good would it have done?  Whenever I did, I was punished.  I was punished for doing too well.

I walk, I say, the rivers of time, and backwards, for a while.  I was never going to be a good man.  I was always going to hide.  It seems my thought of both was in error.

August 23, 2015 at 5:44 pm Leave a comment