thinking of yet one more friend gone before his time: mostly for Randy

Randy said
David’s gone
and so
one more falls
to a life
lived on an edge
Susu Rob
Judith something
and what about
James
a small group
grown smaller
and I see them
still
the big bear
Rob
teasing about
which way to run
when a grizzly
comes looking
for lunch
Susu’s scam
of a magazine
my first
supposed
publication
and David
his little Indian
pleasing the ladies
and James
ahead of us
a bright star
diminished
by alcohol
others too
I lost track
Randy keeping tabs
upon us all
and mourning
with regrets
we’re running
out of time
he says
our friends
are dying
and how I wish
I could be there
Friday night
to cry with you
old friend
as we watch
the clock
ticking
away

little black dress

little black dress
she wears
that night
and twirls
around the room
you like
she asks
that twinkle
in her eyes
yes
I say
very much
but more
I like
who wears it
she laughs
and twirls
circles
in the room
circles
in my heart
she twirls

on watching John Wayne

he walks
toward trouble
as if it was
of no concern
to him
and trouble
in whatever form
it takes
moves aside
for the big man
it knows
no matter how fast
it draws
how tough
it is
how much abuse
it can take
it is no match
for our hero
who drove cattle
to feed a nation
tamed the West
won the war
was the man
of the hour
any hour
every hour
gave us hope
he would always
be there
when trouble called
until the day
cancer came
and won
the day
as it almost
always does
to heroes
to villians
to us all
outside
the silver screen
in real life
where there are
no rewrites
no retakes
as the cameras
roll
without pause
in our lives

from Lawrence in Arabia by Scott Anderson: what war is really about

It’s a question that has faced peoples and nations at war since the beginning of time, and usually produced a terrible answer: in contemplating all the lives already lost, the treasure squandered, how to ever admit it was for nothing? Since such an admission is unthinkable, and the status quo untenable, the only option left is to escalate. Thus among the warring states in Europe at the end of 1915 it was no longer a matter of satisfying what had brought them into the conflict in the first place–and in many cases, those reasons had been shockingly trivial–but to expand beyond them, the acceptable terms for peace not lowered, but raised. This conflict was no longer about playing for small advantage against one’s imperial rivals, but about hobbling them forever, ensuring that they might never have the capability to wage such a devastating and pointless war.

But defeating one’s enemies is only half the game; for a war to be truly justifiable one has to materially gain. In modern European custom, that need had been sated by the payment of war reparations into the victor’s coffers, the grabbing of a disputed province here or there, but that seemed rather picayune in view of this conflict’s cost. Instead, all the slaughter was to be justified by a new golden age of empire, the victors far richer, far grander than before. Naturally, this simply propelled the cycle to its logical, murderous conclusion. When contemplating all to be conferred upon the eventual winners, and all to be taken from the losers, how to possibly quit now? No, what was required was greater commitment–more soldiers, more money, more loss–to be redeemed when victory finally came with more territory, more wealth, more power.

While the Central Powers had their own imperial wish list in the event of victory, one that grew more grandiose as time went on for the Entente powers of Britain, France, and Russia there really was only one place that offered the prospect of redemption on the scale required: the fractured and varied lands of the Ottoman Empire. Indeed, by the autumn of 1915 that empire was now often referred to by cynics in the Entente capitals simply as “the Great Loot.”