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One thing I will always remember about my trips to the Philippines is what should have been just an obscure moment.
Eve and I were in a taxi going somewhere, and the cab was stopped at a red light. There was a young girl with a baby going down the line of cars begging for money. She looked little more than sixteen. Both she and the baby were dirty, but the baby looked well fed, while the girl looked very thin. I remember the look in the girl’s eyes, she was terrified. She came to our cab, and Eve motioned her away, but at the last moment I decided to give her something. I looked in my wallet and the smallest local money I had was a 1000 PHP bill, roughly $20.00 USD, and then I had some American one dollar bills. The traffic was starting to move, and there was no time to decide….I handed her a One Dollar bill. She thanked me in English, the fear in her eyes maybe not so intense for a brief moment. I know that one US dollar would probably feed her and the baby for a couple days, but I have ever since regretted not giving her the 1000 PHP bill. It would have made no difference at all to me; it would have made a world of difference to her. I have thought of that girl and baby often. I wonder what became of them, if they ever were able to get off the street. The Philippines and every other poor country are full of people like her. Many are good, honest people but there is no help for them. I like to think they made it off the street somehow, but I know there is little hope they did.
From My First Trip To The Philippines.
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I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious, burning blue, I've topped the wind swept heights with easy grace where never lark, or even eagle flew -And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod the high untresspassed sanctity of space, put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee No 412 squadron, RCAF..Killed 11 December 1941
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The Ramblings Of A Demented Mind.
Don't We Wish It Were That Easy
Tonight I'm going to journey to a distant place and time,
where sorrow and teardrops are unknown
and heartbreak's left behind,
where there's no pain nor any gloom -
the far side of the moon.
where sorrow and teardrops are unknown
and heartbreak's left behind,
where there's no pain nor any gloom -
the far side of the moon.
-- Joyce P. Hale, Far Side of the Moon
A Pair Of Sand Hill Cranes Getting Part Of My Lunch
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It's Raining Tonight
This story has come about because of the persistence of my dreams. They pursue me, goad me until I can bear no more and am compelled to put my experiences to words.
The years may have dulled some of the memories, but others are so vivid that the sights and sounds will live in my mind forever. The sound of my own breathing and heartbeat as an enemy patrol passes within feet on either side of me. The whispered words of a dieing old woman, spoken in a language I could not understand, that will bind me to her forever, and the stink, the incredible stink of the jungle. It lives in my pores to this day, no amount of soap or scrubbing can wash it away. On a rainy night as I lay in bed, somewhere between sleep and being awake I smell the jungle. I am there again and the rain runs down my face, washing away the tears and I pray, dear God please let this end, please let them kill me. I am not afraid to die, I will embrace it. I fear for what I may become, for insanity lurks near. It peaks at me and grins but I fight on, and I survive and wonder why.
The Opening Page Of A Short Story I've Been Trying To Write For The Past 40 Years.
The years may have dulled some of the memories, but others are so vivid that the sights and sounds will live in my mind forever. The sound of my own breathing and heartbeat as an enemy patrol passes within feet on either side of me. The whispered words of a dieing old woman, spoken in a language I could not understand, that will bind me to her forever, and the stink, the incredible stink of the jungle. It lives in my pores to this day, no amount of soap or scrubbing can wash it away. On a rainy night as I lay in bed, somewhere between sleep and being awake I smell the jungle. I am there again and the rain runs down my face, washing away the tears and I pray, dear God please let this end, please let them kill me. I am not afraid to die, I will embrace it. I fear for what I may become, for insanity lurks near. It peaks at me and grins but I fight on, and I survive and wonder why.
The Opening Page Of A Short Story I've Been Trying To Write For The Past 40 Years.
Flag Of The Philippines
A REMEMBRANCE
One thing I will always remember about my trips to the Philippines is what should have been just an obscure moment.
Eve and I were in a taxi going somewhere, and the cab was stopped at a red light. There was a young girl with a baby going down the line of cars begging for money. She looked little more than sixteen. Both she and the baby were dirty, but the baby looked well fed, while the girl looked very thin. I remember the look in the girl’s eyes, she was terrified. She came to our cab, and Eve motioned her away, but at the last moment I decided to give her something. I looked in my wallet and the smallest local money I had was a 1000 PHP bill, roughly $20.00 USD, and then I had some American one dollar bills. The traffic was starting to move, and there was no time to decide….I handed her a One Dollar bill. She thanked me in English, the fear in her eyes maybe not so intense for a brief moment. I know that one US dollar would probably feed her and the baby for a couple days, but I have ever since regretted not giving her the 1000 PHP bill. It would have made no difference at all to me; it would have made a world of difference to her. I have thought of that girl and baby often. I wonder what became of them, if they ever were able to get off the street. The Philippines and every other poor country are full of people like her. Many are good, honest people but there is no help for them. I like to think they made it off the street somehow, but I know there is little hope they did.
From My First Trip To The Philippines.
Flasher
The Last Time
There is a last time for everything I guess. I remember the last time I flew an airplane, felt the wheels lift from the ground and become airborne…never again will I experience that, and that thought makes me sad.
I am getting old; my last times are drawing near. The last time I drive a car…something I been doing since I was 5 years old, something I have always loved. The last time to be told by someone that they love you…the last time to tell someone that, the last time to feel your hand holding the hand of someone you love.
I fear those all will soon be last times for me. I feel my life is about over, I am just waiting for that last breath, the last beat of my heart, the last pain I must live with.
I am getting old; my last times are drawing near. The last time I drive a car…something I been doing since I was 5 years old, something I have always loved. The last time to be told by someone that they love you…the last time to tell someone that, the last time to feel your hand holding the hand of someone you love.
I fear those all will soon be last times for me. I feel my life is about over, I am just waiting for that last breath, the last beat of my heart, the last pain I must live with.
The Kitty After A Good Supper....He Came To Us As A Stray And Never Left
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My Blog List
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I'm back!11 years ago
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Animals are the best friends anyone can have. They will not lie to you, cheat on you, or try to swindle you. Much more than can be said for most humans.
HIGH FLIGHT
I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious, burning blue, I've topped the wind swept heights with easy grace where never lark, or even eagle flew -And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod the high untresspassed sanctity of space, put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee No 412 squadron, RCAF..Killed 11 December 1941
Jessica Rabbit
Life's Journey
Life’s journey is not to arrive at the
grave safely in a well preserved body,
but rather to skid in sideways, totally
worn out, shouting…
“HOLY SHIT, WHAT A RIDE!”
grave safely in a well preserved body,
but rather to skid in sideways, totally
worn out, shouting…
“HOLY SHIT, WHAT A RIDE!”
The Flag Of Mexico...Often Times I Feel Mexico Is Where My Heart Is.
Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right.
Because their words had forked no lightning they.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright.
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight.
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight.
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height.
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right.
Because their words had forked no lightning they.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright.
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight.
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight.
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height.
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Bitch Stole My Fish
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Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.
James Dean
James Dean
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