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Date:         Fri, 22 Oct 2004 19:45:37 -0500
Reply-To:     Paul & Becky Oliver <oliver8@TDS.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Paul & Becky Oliver <oliver8@TDS.NET>
Subject:      Re: WHY?
Comments: To: THX0001@AOL.COM
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"

Sorry to hear of your loss. I too have lost a nephew in Iraq in 2003. All I can say is that we nolonger live in a world where oceans seperate us from the hatred of others.

Paul ----- Original Message ----- From: "George Goff" <THX0001@AOL.COM> To: <vanagon@GERRY.VANAGON.COM> Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 5:49 AM Subject: WHY?

> 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


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