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<livejournal>
<entry>
<itemid>141024</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-11-11 13:06:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-11-11 18:06:02</logtime>
<subject>Here's To The Lost Ones</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other Is there any group More exploited by Dark Powers Than Veterans For Ill Conceived Gain By the Hijacking of Good Will Maybe Widows and Orphans Perhaps. These brave men Don't usually consider themselves brave. They know you can't really understand what they've been through. Some appreciate the honor. Some don't. There is nothing new in this. For what higher testament of loyalty Can one give Than one's life? As long as there has been war There have been those who died for the sake of others. Sometimes Justly. Sometimes Unjustly. It is easier to remember the clear wars The wars of self defense The wars of true liberation. The overthrow of a tyrant. It is harder to speak Of the veterans who have died So Company A could control the Banana crop of Haiti Or the Oil production in Country Y Or because Admiral Yellow didn't want his career sullied with another loss. Anzacs Vietnam The Charge of the Light Brigade The list goes on and on These men Sometimes willing Sometimes unwilling Still paid the same price As the heroes we often sing about. They are no less heroes No less victims. But if you ever ask a soldier If you really ever listen to them They will ask Whispering from their graves Not to glorify their fighting But to ensure that their fighting was never in vain. Less wars Better still No wars at all. And never let those who would use them falsely Who would exploit them for electoral Or Financial Or Political purposes Have another restful night of sleep again From the fear of the long arm of justice That never sleeps Never ages Never weeps. If you truly love the soldier Make sure justice is served.
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<entry>
<itemid>141103</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-11-12 05:00:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-11-12 09:59:47</logtime>
<subject>My White Elephant</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other I have been traveling with a ghost in my car For a few weeks now. It all started One night in Boulder As I wandered through the glorious Vibrant Meticulous Empathic Downtown Mall And enjoyed the people I had some pizza And whilst walking to my next destination Was asked by some college age students If they could have it Not wanting to be a dick Since I wasn't really even hungry I said sure. Turned out they were ravenous Even for students. One of them gave me a duffle bag. He insisted. An army bag belonging To Captain Barak. At first I thought it belong to him But he was clearly too young To be a captain. It was obviously well worn And I suspected it had been overseas. It had holes But it obviously mean something to him And could still function. But it seemed important somehow For words I could not say And a feeling I could not name. Too important to use for my own. Too important to throw away. Like it was meant for something. So the ghost of Captain Barak Whomever he may be Has been riding in the passenger seat All the way to Portland To Seattle Back to home Through the site of the Battle of Little Bighorn. Through South Dakota Through Iowa Near Chicago Back to Atlanta. It has only been moved twice As I've carried people briefly in my car. And today On Veteran's Day The Ghost has become particularly vibrant. I have finally figured out what to do With my elephant Too valuable to give away Too troubling to use or keep. It shall be of service to others As I think it once was To a young man who was A bit too overly enthusiastic About receiving a left over slice of Pizza. It shall continue its journey. And I bid the shade of Captain Barak farewell. It has been nice to almost meet you. God be with you.
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<entry>
<itemid>142014</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-11-13 10:38:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-11-13 15:37:46</logtime>
<subject>A Little Perspective Please</subject>
<event>
By Redwin Tursor Maybe they're right. Maybe you will never get what you want. But the last thing you need to do Is feed the Concern Troll. You will always be your own worst critic. You don't need a cheerleader For the voice of darkness inside of your own head. There will be light times And there will be dark times. Do the best you can with what you have. No one can ask anything else. But you can change If you want to. Odds are You already have. You probably just don't see it the same. Take a look at all you have done. Realize the victories that you now take for granted. And if they're wrong That's just one more thing You can take for granted later. Or better yet Not. Don't take anything for granted. It's going to be alright. If you let it.
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<entry>
<itemid>142152</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-11-21 02:52:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-11-21 07:53:18</logtime>
<subject>On Brassington Bald</subject>
<event>
by Emmit Other A gift Has been given unto me And I hear the whispering of the moon. And she is subtle That mistress of the tides In the doors she opens up in my mind. Little things That I had always known before But now see a different way Than I did before I climbed up the stone stairs Of Brassington Bald The highest geographic location Within the boundaries of the State of Georgia. Where the fog has rolled in And the glimpse of the mountains And the mountains beyond the mountains Shows itself for just a minute But I take a picture And it lasts In my mind Forever. And I shall always hear And the word of power is Destiny Meant to Be Supposed To Be How many times have I heard it? Every day Whispered Again and again Natural It explains everything. It answers the final questions Answers I knew But now see in clear light As the sunlight changes As the sun moves across the sky And the twisted trees Covered in moss Where even the moss sleeps Shows me the error of my ways And the true meaning of "You were set up to fail." Oh indeed I was. Just as I have now been set up to succeed. Destiny. And everything about it. That shall be my focus And my trade For Destiny And everything about it Is everything I'm looking for. But lunacy Is an infectious disease And I should avoid letting the prattled musings Of a hunk of rock That several astronauts shuffled about on Before dumping the defections of the lunar lander And then heading home And yet I do In measured doses For what does the Moon and her children, and Cats and me have in common? We come in layers. For it is the inner layer most worth knowing And the outer layer most worth looking upon. Tis the middle layer Where mystery is just a cop out for fear Where coolness is just an excuse that you're just a dumb animal And boredom and harshness are the legacy of a culture of fear and deprivation Conceal something worth seeking underneath. You can no more wash it away Than you can change the stars. But Destiny... Destiny writes itself. Especially when you shut up enough To listen And let destiny write itself. You just have to find the missing pieces.
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