Charles Waterhouse, Famed Marine Artist, Dies

always liked Mr. Waterhouse's work.

first time i laid eyes on it -- the museum @ Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego.

with the Old Timers minding the halls.

wrinkled and gray. 

sporting red and gold. 

an eagle, globe and anchor ball cap.

some green tattoo blurred by the sun on their forearm.

looking @ us kids…like we had it all.

it wasn't the best of times -- the DIs just around the corner ready snatch us back.

but it gave you hope. 

a little @ least...

Figured it was about time...

to get a shadow box for the ole pad. Simple. Financially...frugal. And pretty sure it's on the ball. Only wish I coulda hit the 500 mark on the range. Nevertheless, I believe this is what the old NCOs called "salty."

@ rest

been beating a dead horse for several years now.

- the War.

- the Marines.

as if i were still an integral piece of the puzzle.

a cog in the wheel of international relations.

stems from my writing, i know this.

these are things i just know.

struggling to remember, to document, to create.

alas, there comes a time when a Marine's gotta drop his pack.

i'll spare ya the many apt metaphors, but ya gotta just put the whole damn thing to rest.

remember those years of boozing and brawling and globe-trotting, with a fondness only time can present.

otherwise ya might just end up a joke.

a punch-line to some skit on SNL;

a one-beat character on Gray's Anatomy

- choking out the lil' lady, spooning gone terribly wrong.

hoarding spilt-peas and bullets;

trip-wires in the backyard;

begrudging every last civilian who didn't serve.

so it's rest.

night-nights.

- the War.

- the Marines.

a piece of time that defined;

that guides;

that reminds.

- look in the mirror.

sun-burned and leathered.

far off eyes.

hands grizzled.

- connect the scars and remember when and where and how.

and why.

the .50 cal thumb;

the forced march in boots three sizes to small;

blisters faint now, smoothed over by cashmere socks, but so deep you couldn't walk;

toes numb, frostbitten in some fighting hole as ya hamstered sunflower seeds.

back sore, unremitting, nagging like am eastern european mother-in-law.

- 150 pound rucksacks hitching a ride for 20 miles or so did that, i think.

those are the "when's," the "where's", the "how's."

and the "why."

well, you were a kid.

that's why.

real simple, Timmy.

take a deep, deep breath.

chest huge, puffed up.

pulmonary alveolus wide open, flooding the bloodstream with oxygen.

and wait.

just wait.

it'll come.

feel it.

warm and tingly.

hold it for a moment.

just a moment.

a fleeting wonderful moment.

and exhale,

like whisper...

declassified USMC recruiting video

hell, i just might re-enlist...

relations w/Vets

they're complicated. 

because you're different.

just a little, but still different. like it or not.

and perhaps victims of violence and tragedy are the same way. 

you can't be exposed to such gore and insanity without losing a piece. 

the veneer chipped, exposed.

doesn't mean all Combat Vets are.

no. 

not at all. most.

but they've opened a door to a world that civilized American's desperately try to lock. 

or at least mock. 

attempt to desensitize themselves through graphic depictions of violence/War in TV/movies. 

and it works, mostly.

because i can remember the first time i saw a dead man. 

not a nice embalmed old timer with a red carnation pinned upon his breast, but a young man.

like me, only born on the wrong side. probably unemployed. probably patriotic. and unlucky as hell.

had a hole in his head, shot in the medulla oblongata from behind. right eyeball missing. 

big bloody hole - the exist wound from a sniper's 7.62.

remember telling myself, "this looks just like the movies." 

"just like the movies..."

so it's been nearly six years, but he's still around. shows his face occasionally. can't shake him yet.

so i read freud's, "on the interpretation of dreams, " to figure things out. understand. banish the fucker. 

and a certain part resonated with me - just a small passage regarding the rods and cones of the human eye. 

and to paraphrase mr. freud: anything the eye sees; that is registered by the rods/cones, is forever ingrained within that person's brain housing group.

meaning, you see it, it's with you forever. 

hidden away in some fleshly wrinkle. crumpled and desciated - waiting for rain.

and it explains those mysterious people/places/objects in your dreams. some way or the other, that image was seen by you. 

really.

although your conscious mind didn't recognize it, the subconscious sure as hell did. 

logged and classified. 

it's hard to explain this because it's...well...it's cliche. 

everything turned into a joke and acknowledged with a smirk.

but some understand, or at least try to.

and that's what counts.

and when you find one, you should probably keep 'em.

as for the rest, well, try not to stare as they circle the bowl...

on memorial day weekend, an admission

i was never a good Marine. 

always had an attitude. 

wasn't the greatest leader. 

thought my short/unsuccessful stint @ SDSU made me smarter than the rest. 

but i was lucky. very lucky. 

how i left the Corps a Sergeant with a stack of ribbons and virtually unscathed, still befuddles me. 

the gods of war looking over me - a SSgt once told me. 

but i know this - i know i served with some heroes. not all, but many. 

and some died over there. 

up route tampa, where the Tigris meets the Euphrates. 

and Fallujah...

but these Men deserve - no, need,  to have their stories told. 

there's only so many caped crusaders with super powers i can stomach.

i'm sorry.

and i guess that's why i'm here. because otherwise, i'd just be another citizen soaking up rays on Memorial Day weekend. 

drinking beer.

smoking dope. 

munching ribs, without a clue why.

War is a Racket

Major General Smedley Butler. Old school Marine. And considering our nation's current plight, I found a fairly interesting quote attributed to him in Random Lengths (local rag). It comes from his book, War is a Racket. Check it out:
http://www.randomlengthsnews.com/content/view/144/33