Chanson de Geste for a Fallen Hero.

I come from the land of the Troubadour. We are giving to embellishment and when we pay homage it is usually with panache, after all that is the land of Cyrano de Bergerac and the birth land of the Chanson de Geste.
After 9/11 I wrote the following piece, from the bottom of my heart. I passed it to a few family members and somehow held on to it, afraid somehow to open it to the outside.
I realize now, that homage, like an apology or a declaration of love, is of little value if kept for oneself.
If you read this post and find it of no value, please go on to the next blog. If you share my feelings, join me in my homage. If your Son, Daughter, Dad, Mom, Loved One is one of those who perish in the rescue, this homage is for him or her and be assure of my deep gratitude for his or her sacrifice.

Rest, little brother…

Looking over the harbor, staring in disbelief at the cloud of dust and smoke rising over Lower Manhattan, the Spirit of Liberty, very sadly, hunched a little bit, slumping her great shoulders.
Slowly the Spirit freed herself from the bonds of her glorious statue. As if coming out of a giant cocoon, deliberately, she left behind the wonderful sculpture forged of copper, steel and tears. As beloved as her statue was, she knew that earthly symbols rise and topple, but she would always be. Eschewing the weight of a monument, she deployed her wings. Those are the great wings that Freedom granted her, when the best of men decided to give hope a chance and bring Liberty to another corner of this little green planet of ours, those are the wings that allow her to soar
However, on this day, this flight was to be a solemn one. Another Child of Man had paid the Price of Freedom. Liberty has to repay the debt. She started flying in direction of what had been the pride of New York. Her torch was dimming a little, her arm was not held so high but her flight of slow, long and deep strokes had the grace of an archangel
She reached the wreckage, shook her head and a tear rolled down her verdigrises cheeks. A sigh shook her chest. She gently parted some giant pieces of rubble, shifted a bit and gently, oh! so gently lifted the lifeless body of a young firefighter from within the chaos.
The brave was covered with dust, soot, and blood; the uniform in tatters but one could see the handsome face, peaceful as if only sleeping. Gently, without dropping her torch the spirit swept some of the debris off the face and body. Like a rag doll, in the full abandon of death.
The Ghost of Liberty stepped out, holding him carefully, with reverence. With majesty, she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and her torch, brighter all of a sudden, was raised up high. Then she started moving, slowly, ceremoniously but in a determined way. Deploying her great wings, she flew, rising toward the heavens. The sky parted as she made her way in what was obviously a holy mission. Giant eagles flew by and dipped their wings in sign of respect, blaring their great cry as if to warn ahead that a sacred flight was on its way
When she reached the Great Gates, there was a double line of the fallen firefighters of yesteryears. The Old Ones, from the Chicago fire, from the San Francisco Earthquake, blackened wet and sooty heroes of Pearl Harbor, sailors and marines killed fighting the fires caused by the Kamikazes aboard the Warships of the Freedom Armada, the brave, beautiful, heroic Fire Jumpers killed defending the Great Forest they loved so much, were there. They were all quiet and solemn: One of their own was coming home.
The Spirit of Liberty whispered “ He gave his life for me” then walked between the two lines of proud men and women fallen to the fires. They presented their hooks, axes and Pulaski in a silent salute as the ghostly figure passed and finally came to a stop. They all formed a large circle around a stall of the purest marble where the Ghost of Liberty gently deposited her charge.
He lay there, lifeless, covered of soot, blood and dirt that somehow looked like a badge of courage and spirit.
They were all silent. Slowly an old Fire Chief, himself covered with the burned badges of his own courage, approached the body of He who had been one of New York’s bravest. He dropped down on one knee, slowly reached out, and rearranged the position of the young hero as if trying to make him more comfortable. He took off his helmet and bowed his head for a moment. He reached out with a callous and blackened hand, moved away a lock of sweaty hair, bend down even more to deposit a gentle kiss on the forehead of the young men. As the young hero slowly opened his eyes and tried to rise, the old Chief gently restrained him and said with a chocked and gravely voice, “ You can rest now, little brother, we’ll guard you. When others cowered and feared, you gave it all and made a nation proud”
September 13, 2001

Bring the Candide back into the Candidats

I'm not Martin Luther King admetidelly, but nevertheless I have a dream.

I dream that some day a politician will stand on a podium and will answer a "People wants to know" question with something like "Yessir, in my youth I ingested large amount of alcoholic beverage, stuffed a bunch of various material up my nose, frenetically used my reproductive system for hopefully non reproductive purpose, drove like a maniac and used foul language at the drop of the hat, I said amazingly unkind things about the ROTC ! Those were the days! I have not one aiota of shame or remorse and if I was back in the same situation I pretty much would do the same thing again! So what is it to you Bozo!. Now by any chance would you happen to have in your microcephalic upper part a question relevant with my ability to motivate this country forty years later and steer it into an intelligent planned course?"

That would make my voting choice much less painfull.

Behind revolution.

There is something amiss!

I have stumbled on a little thing that is, in my opinion, pointing to one of the most evil plot of this century yet, (last century as well!)
I do not know if you have noticed, but most of the time, if you isolate yourself for some well deserved relief in a corporate rest room, you will find, at the level of your eyes, on the dividing wall of the stall, a toilet seat cover dispenser. So far no evil plot detected.
The little thing that triggered my suspicion is the statement printed on the dispenser “ Provided By The Management For Your Protection”.
You might think that I am overreacting to a laudable intention from the part of the management providing the facility. They are just being nice, right?
Wait a second before indulging in gratitude.
Just consider that other danger are not given the same level of attention:
No helmet provided in case of roof collapse.
No safety belt to prevent you from falling from the seat in case of earthquake, sudden torpor or accidental slip.
No stirrup provided for stability.
No vision goggle to protect from accidental flash.
No earplug to protect from loud noise.
The partition wall stops at a few feet from the floor thereby exposing you to evil and (generaly!) unwanted intrusion from the feet of any wide stancing Member of Congress, and so on!
What’s going on there?
Why is my rear end judged so valuable by the management to justify the expense of special protection?
Is there dark plotting involving the Vice President, Master Rumfeld, Homeland Security and the shadow of a Politico-Corporate Evil Empire?
Fellows Restroom Users Unite! As far as I am concerned I will follow (hmm Paraphrase the great Charlton Easton) by standing for my butt and shout loudly “(“I’ll give you my butt when you take it from my cold, dead backside”),

Of Flags and other symbols.

I went to the Temecula Farmers Market yesterday. Among all the people selling their crafts, fruits and vegetable was that lady selling birds in cages. Among the canary and other cockatoo were three doves in small cages. I do not believe that birds (and other animals) belong in cages. It is a prostitution of nature for the benefit of our ego. The temptation is to open the cages, however the poor animals do not have any of the necessary skills needed to survive in the wild.
The sight of those poor doves also brought back the indignation I feel every time the subject of dove hunting is approached.
The cruelty and stupidity of the entire exercise is enormous.
I will never understand why apparently civilized people will all of the sudden turn into bloodthirsty savages at the opening of the season.
Most of those people off course are part of that group that take great offense to the burning or any other type of desecration of the flag, on the ground that this flag is the symbol of America and that we owe respect to it because of the sacrifice of so many to defend it. However the same people do not have any qualm butchering doves that happen to be the universal symbol of peace. If we believe the recounting of all the war we undertook as a nation they were all for the return or protection of Peace. The same people who died for this nation died for the flag no doubt, but they died to bring back Peace, symbolized by the dove, as well!
Lets talk of the wearing of military style camouflage when partaking of the enlighten assassination of a Peace symbol. The dove eyesight is more oriented to the detection of motion than of shape, Camouflage does diddly to make one invisible to most bird. Beside since we were told that our glorious VP was an accomplished hunter, therefore above average, I know that if I was to go in the open with somebody above, at or below average in the hunting field and that said somebody was carrying a gun, loaded, with the definitive hitching to use it, I would not, under any circumstance wear any kind of camouflage whatsoever. Give me bright pink, red, electric lime green, bright yellow, with flashing lights, twirls gizmos, sparkler, even a siren or two for good measure!! Why the fascination to play soldier to kill the symbol of peace?
Now to deepen the absurdity of the subject you have to realize that one of the justification is that you can actually eat doves, they are supposed to be a delicacy, while a flag might be a rather marginal culinary subject. If that argument must be accepted logic would take us to the next step or steps.
Argument number one, off course, would be that if the hunting of dove is in fact a quest for food, the packing of sandwiches and other snack as part of the hunting paraphernalia depict a defeatist attitude from the part of the “Sportsmen” at the least!
Argument number two relating to the gathering of food justifying the slaughter, lets talk efficiency, can we? Spending a whole day driving to, hiking, and hunting in order to bring back the carcass of a few animals weighting only a fraction of a pound does not make sense. If the justification for the kill is morally correct lets go for the economy of scale! Switch only one thing, take out the hunting gun, replace it by a rifle and let go kill a mustang! It’s a wild animal, the kill will bring a thousand pound or so of meat on the hoof and we can fill the freezer with several roasts, ribs and other cut of meat!
What do you mean, that’s a crime? Why. Oh…. You mean the horse is an American symbol that we must respect and protect. Oh, OK it is a symbol of the American Spirit…..but I thought that the dove was a gift from God to all mankind and a symbol of Peace among nation…. You mean…that does not count?…….Where did we go wrong as a civilization?