Date: Fri, 22 Oct 2004 06:49:02 EDT
Reply-To: THX0001@AOL.COM
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: George Goff <THX0001@AOL.COM>
Subject: WHY?
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I am in a strange state of ambivalence swaying from sorrow to contempt. In a
few hours, I will be laying a flower on the casket of my sweet nephew, Aaron
Rusin, Lord have Mercy, Lord have Mercy, Lord have Mercy. Some faceless soul
in a white gown (in my day, they wore pajamas) singled himself from a crowd in
Iraq and popped a cap up Aaron's 19-year-old ass.
Aaron was a quiet, studious kid, but not sullen. All he ever wanted was to
find a way to becoming an architect, so he was a sucker for the red, white and
blue lies fed to him by the recruiters promising him a stint with the army
engineers and a path into college when it was done. Scratch that career track.
I have to brace myself for all those hollow words of praise I will hear
later. All the bullshit spoken by those whose idea of sacrifice is how much
disproportinate suffering the disenfranchised are willing to bear.
I guess this is turning into something political . . . how could it not? All
the details can be argued until the end of time, but the choice comes down to
choosing between a campaign based on fear or one based on hope.
It's hard to believe that this was written 41 years ago:
Master of War by Bob Dylan
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead
Please think about where we are, how we got here and where we are headed.
George