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Roy's obituary in LA Times and Register: "we were lucky to have you while we did"
This ran in the Sunday December 24, 2023 edition of the Los Angeles Times and the Orange County Register : July 14, 1955 - November 20, 2...
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This is not a drinking fountain. A rarely seen Marcel Duchamp readymade is currently on exhibit at Irvine Valley College. Created a fe...
10 comments:
Unfathomable.
Where's the new clocktower? I thought they were going to assemble it in time for the ceremony.
The event was very classy and meaningful. The speakers were obviously passionate and sincere, except for our Goo, who said his usual, "American by choice" speech. He soiled the event with his insincere prescence.
I did not get a chance to attend this ceremony, but based on the pictures it must have been a touching ceremony.
No matter your politics, our men and women in the Armed services must be praised.
They protect our Civil Liberties and are to be honored.
The only thing that bothers me is Politicians who have never served a day in their lives use our brave men and women as a prop to get reelected.
Let's no forget what this day originally commemorates: Armistice Day, November 11, 1918, the day that fighting ceased in the Great War. The best way to honor soldiers is to cease the violence that destroys them and all of us.
And until that happens, 11:46, thank a veteran for your freedom.
It is the VETERAN, not the preacher, who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the VETERAN, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press
It is the VETERAN, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the VETERAN, not the campus organizer, who has given us freedom to assemble.
It is the VETERAN, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the VETERAN, not the politician, who has given us the right to vote.
Dulce Et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Who's Wilfed Owen?
Wilfred Owen was a soldier and poet who died in the trenches one week before Armistice Day.
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