Deaths, dollars, destruction & disillusion

I have a thousand words to say, but, undoubtedly, will not get to all of them. In the photograph are a few Kennedy half-dollars, symbolic of some of the words in this post. These are not actual silver halves, but, never-the-less, even copper-nickel clad coins are not among those one will find in circulation these days. All Kennedy halves are hoarded. As for the music, the first song is Bon Jovi singing a piece composed by Dion DiMucci reflecting the death by murder of John Kennedy and a few others. Again, this is related to some of the words in the post. The second piece is an entire 1974 performance in California by Deep Purple. If you never have heard music like this live, I feel sorry for you. The last ten or twelve minutes, while Ritchie Blackmore destroys two or three guitars and wreaks havoc on the stage, are the best of it, I think -- in a way. Have you ever noticed the best of many things comes at the end .... hmmm ....

Just one more thing I forgot

A few weeks ago, I wrote these words in a post:

"This probably is the first year since I began my blog in which I did not mention the Marine Corps birthday (November 10) or Veterans Day (November 11). It is not because they were not on my mind; it was because my mind was not on them."

All month long, I have been feeling like there was something other than those two dates which had special meaning for me during the month of November, but I could not recall what it might be. Then, abruptly, it dawned on me. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was murdered on November 22, 1963.

Apparently, I was not the only one to forget the date of this event this year. Did you hear a single word about it on a radio or a television station, or read a single word about it in a newspaper or a magazine or on an internet website? I absolutely did not.

I feel like expressing myself in the language of a once-upon-a-time Marine, but instead I will say it in a polite manner: I absolutely cannot believe this anniversary was forgotten, ignored and abandoned by both public and private America.

Sure, the anniversary date of the murder was the same day as Thanksgiving this year, but to use that as an excuse for neglecting JFK is, in fact, inexcusable.

I watch and read a fair amount of news daily. All week, there was propaganda for and against the arrogant, narcissistic, socialistic president of the U.S. and his lying, corrupt administration. There has been news about the events in Israel and Gaza. There has been political back and forth about the destruction and deaths at the U.S. consulate at Benghazi in Libya. There has been all manner of chatter about the impending "fiscal cliff." And, ever-present was the inane, childish fascination with Black Friday, which has now spilled over onto Thanksgiving Day itself. News, news, news -- but, not a word about the life and times and death of JFK.

Well, I am not a conspiracy buff regarding the assassination of JFK, but I do think there is more to it than the public knows today or, probably, will know tomorrow or even ever. Those words aside, I do not believe -- for a variety of reasons -- that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone shooter, although he might have been among them.

My own thoughts revolve around personal knowledge of people who were alive and present during that era: People who knew Oswald, people who were among the Cuban exiles betrayed by the Kennedy Administration at the Bay of Pigs, people such as an ex-Marine named Gerry Patrick Hemming (AKA Jerry Patrick) and his InterPen group (Intercontinental Penetration Force) and the later Alpha 66 organization.

In any event, I am just a bit ashamed and embarrassed that I literally forget the anniversary of JFK's death this year. It is no consolation to know that apparently most of the rest of the world forgot it, too. I will not forget again.

But, I sometimes do wonder why we remember anyone or anything beyond those we personally hold dear  ....  why?

Do you see what I see? I doubt it

Do you see what I see?

I was looking at three photographs yesterday of the same woman taken within a few minutes of each other, and it was difficult to be certain the photos were of the same woman. Her eyes, her mouth, her expression; there were three different people there.

I happen to know the woman reasonably well. She is more than one person in terms of her personality. Perhaps, that explains the three varied (I will not say three different) faces.

I recall a book and a film entitled, "The Three Faces of Eve." Since that time, individuals with more than one personality -- more than one subconscious individuality -- have been accepted as medical and legal realities. In a personal sense, I do not think I have multiple personalities, but I believe -- as portrayed in the theater masks of the Old Greeks -- that I have two distinct sides to my single personality which dominate my behavior at times: A left side and a right side, a yin and a yang, a Jekyll and a Hyde.

There is nothing new about this -- about what I am writing, I mean -- as there actually is nothing new under the sun, as Solomon or his son or his grandson or whoever wrote Ecclesiastes knew and whoever studies history realizes. But, it is a reminder, a demonstration, that there are more interesting aspects to life than Black Friday and Digital Monday or Cyber Monday or Whatever Monday. Pardon me, while I conjure up a futile wish that humanity will someday reach adulthood.

Could the answer be this simple?

How do I know when ....

Some of the lyrics
from "When Its Love" by Van Halen
(Edward Van Halen, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony
& Sammy Hagar, on vocals)

Hey!

Everybody's lookin' for somethin'
Somethin' to fill in the holes
We think a lot but don't talk much about it
'Till things get out of control, oh!

How do I know when it's love?
I can't tell you but it lasts forever, oh!
How does it feel when it's love?
It's just somethin' you feel together
When it's love

You look at every face in a crowd
Some shine and some keep you guessin'
Waiting for someone to come into focus
Teach you your final love lesson

The end of nothing

Due to lack of creativity and just plain being lazy, today's illustration is a photograph of my current workstation looking to the north (as if that were important). Remember, this is just another one of my temporary residences, so I cannot get too comfortable -- a few computers, a few books, a few guns. So, what is missing? Tell me.

The book of our lives

 It occurred to me that most people are recorders of their lives. Some are active recorders, writing diaries or journals or, maybe, simply keeping track of personal events on a calendar. Others do not write, but simply relive their lives through memories and by keeping a firm hold on people, places or things from their pasts.

But, a few people, and I like to think I am among them, are more than recorders of their lives. They are writers of their lives. Each day, they are thinking about and planning their tomorrows. They are writing their futures. The unexpected entry of a special someone or a natural disaster or a bit of bad luck in the form of a potentially fatal illness might alter the plot those writers are creating but, barring the unforeseen, they are formulating a plan for a segment (or, maybe, more) of their lives and then proceeding to live it.

While I have been a writer of my life most of my life, I have been neither a recorder nor a writer the past few years. In essence, I have been a branch adrift on a river, a leaf blowing on a breeze, a pen without paper. Complications enter our lives to alter our hopes and plans and goals, but, I think, it is important to find a way through the  morass of complications we encounter -- most of which are our own creations through bad decisions.

I have written here before that events during recent months have evolved, and that now I actually can see a light for me at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I guess these words are a reiteration of that thought. Barring the unforeseen, the end of my current tunnel -- which is to say my current life and existence -- is only as far away as next spring. And, I am beginning to write three or four possible scenarios as to the direction the book of my life will follow after that point in (flowing, moving, drifting) time.

Some possibilities: Back to Europe for a fourth and, maybe, a final time. (Europe fascinates me, the same way America fascinates some Europeans, and I might decide to stay there.) A boat, a big boat, to cruise upon the river Alph "down to a sunless sea," until an island is found. (In the tradition of Robert Louis Stevenson).  A cabin, by a clear, blue lake deep in the mountains to forget time exists. (After the model of some Nineteenth Century American mountain men I could name.)

 A few other thoughts wander through my mind, but these seem to be leading the pack.

These thoughts aside, the main point is that I want to become a writer of my life again -- not merely a recorder and, most certainly, not a man who waits for .... for what? The end of nothing?

Missing, but not forgotten

This probably is the first year since I began my blog in which I did not mention the Marine Corps birthday (November 10) or Veterans Day (November 11).  It is not because they were not on my mind; it was because my mind was not on them.

 Do you understand the distinction?

 I mean that this year -- for some reason beyond my understanding -- these two side-by-side days did not seem as important to me as they usually do, so I more-or-less just watched as they passed me by. One does not forget those "incarnations" of his life which are imperative to his very being, but one does not always choose to speak about them in public and, sometimes, decides to hide from remembering them just a bit.