ALL FUCKED-UP

And when he gets to Heaven,

to Saint Peter he will tell,

“One more soldier reporting sir,

I’ve done my time in Hell.”

***

Don’t believe, or even pretend to, that everything is going well. Because the truth is, nothing is going well.

Nothing is.

***

In World War Two, there were two acronyms, “FUBAR” and “SNAFU”, which meant the same thing: “fucked up beyond all recognition” and “situation normal, all fucked up”.

By the late 1960s, the soldiers and marines in Vietnam had altered the wording and the meaning. It was somehow worse by then, and the shortened “All fucked-up” was used to convey that a troop was dead.

It could alternately be used to describe one who was severely wounded, usually a casualty with his face shot away, missing a limb or having head wounds so obviously serious that if the man lived through transportation and surgery, he was still a dead man.

Mostly, though, it just meant dead.

Back home, nobody but the families of those fighting the war or those who served, then rotated back to the States, knew this expression, and war correspondents who did know it couldn’t print it or repeat it. Yet far too many men and women in the service went over to answer the draft or a call to aid, and they, and far too many civilians, ended up being “all fucked-up”.

On the home front, two general factions emerged to march in political protests. One was the Antiwar movement, generally but erroneously associated with hippies, when in reality the movement was mixed with hippies, college students and faculty, moms and dads not unlike TV parents, and even clergy.

The second hated those protesters with a mix of bile and venom. They too carried signs, but they were often filmed in parades with convertible automobiles, god-knows-who sitting on the deck lid, feet on backseats, with hat, tie and the constant waving at the crowd. Most had nothing more to do with politics than being in the Kiwanis, Lions or Jaycees.

Misguided by White House hype, full of the terror of communism and the lingering hatred of Asians from WW II and Korea, they did their fair share of twisting the minds of teens with guilt until they volunteered. Or were forced to outwardly oppose the war.

The change did not happen in any fast or dramatic manner. It was gradual at first. But as the evening news showed the casualties of the war for the first time without heavily edited newsreels for theaters, folks began to think that perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all. And when a POW being “interviewed” blnked his eyes in morse code and spelled “torture” things became less bearable.

That interview took place courtesy of a Japanese crew. It was 1966. And Jerry Denton was a U.S. Navy admiral.

At the time, a wider public wasn’t aware of it. Like so many things about the war, no one was always getting informed of some events later.

But that was a different time, a different generation. You’d have thought, from old movies, that some brave commandos would have been sent to kick commie ass and rescue an admiral. You’d have been wrong, too. Admiral Denton, who would one day become a senator, spent the better part of a decade faced with some of the most vile acts human beings can imagine.

Men and women in Vietnam and Thailand had to live with what they saw and had to do: a tanker crew (armor) burning kids out of the Bush because they were Victor Charlie and laid booby traps for infantry; watching a villa get torched while the residents cried; having to watch close buddies die in the grass calling to God or Mommy. Nurses and doctors had never seen or smelled what faced them coming in from the Hueys. Bowels completely sprung from the body, bandaged to it like a huge child hid beneath; faces missing, no sound ever to come from it again; septic infections already spreading from wounds caused by VC booby spikes coated in dung… they who survive to this day cannot, and never could have, recovered from those kinds of sights, smells, the sounds of screaming and weeping.

***

On Memorial Day we’re supposed to honor the soldiers, marines, seamen, pilots…who never came back alive.

The ones who got All Fucked-Up.

But it has never been that way, has it?

A stupid, disrespectful parade in a one-traffic-light town where the main street is completely dark at night. The mayor smiles and waves and thinks nobody knows that he dates high school girls. The pastor gives a benediction which means absolutely nothing. The high school girls plot revenge on the mayor; their ex-boyfriends plot revenge on the girls for letting that bloated, disgusting old man get between their legs; and nobody ever thinks about the dead who did not run from serving their country, but answered the call and paid the ultimate price for it.

They used to mean something. They used to stand for something.

The surviving veterans see this in complete comprehension and awareness of a petty, ungrateful community who will soon be firing up grills and cracking open bottles of Pabst and Budweiser.

A wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns: depending on the serving president, it could be an act of the most severe disrespect (Donald Trump) or the highest and most emotional regard (Clinton, the Bushes, Obama, Biden, Carter).

In the bleachers a crowd watches and laughs at the guards, the elite of the elites. The guards order silence. The crowd quiets but does not understand. “Respect” and “honor” are mere words without meaning.

Blogs are posted. Editorial pieces written. John Wayne marathons on AMC and others. Except John Wayne never served. We’re All Fucked-Up. Steaks at 40 bucks a pop (not kidding) will sizzle over charcoal while community swimming pools open for the season. They all might as well go piss all over Arlington National Cemetery. But hell: they do that every day. Just by the stupidity in their lives, the pettiness, the hatred, the shooting of mass civilians in stores with guns that should be illegal…

The Supreme Court has been bought and paid for. What used to be the republican party is trying to bring on the Fourth Reich. Global warming is unchecked, out of control and facilitated by a greed, a lack of restrictions and renewed zeal by petroleum conglomerates to keep finding new sites to drill.

The war in Ukraine has made even infamous neutralities-Finland, Sweden, for two examples-begin to take NATO membership far more seriously. I warned months ago that Finland was in jeopardy; but I’m glad that I was not the only one to see it.

Because no matter how bad Russia looks, it will not stop. To save face, it cannot retreat, and even if it does, it won’t take long before it comes back hardcore.

My Time On Twitter Was A Waste

I think I lasted a month. After a post went sub-viral, I heard story after story from people who lost family to fentanyl because prescription opiods have been suddenly denied. It’s horrific enough that some, suffering more pain than they can bear, kill themselves. A prescription would have stopped that. But as bad is the street drug problem. Heroin, morphine and counterfeit percocet are loaded with fentanyl and, sometimes, carfentanyl, both of which arrest pulmonary function and kill you in minutes. An antidote, called Narcan or Narcalone, can save an OD victim. But in the fucked-up country we live in, it’s harder to get than prescription opiods.

This is a nation: death all around us, the United States dying more every day. There’s no respect to be found. If I go outside wearing my Army boonie hat, one of my neighbors spits. Not aimed at me, but meant to show hatred, disgust, disrespect. He certainly does not have any time in the military. I served, motherfucker. What’d you ever do?

She was all happy yesterday, this neighbor, telling me she was going to the store and asking did I need anything in a syrupy-sweet voice. But She rarely even comes out of her house and doesn’t say shit most of the time. As soon as I saw the unfamiliar vehicle on the lot this morning I knew the reason for her false friendliness: fuckboy was coming to town.

Fake is everywhere. Words, offers, greetings. I know who I can freely love, and whom I dare not. I don’t hate anyone, but I might have nothing to say, either. My words never do any good. My offered friendship becomes hurtful and shames me when I learn that it was falsely accepted and then scorned.

I had one follower on Twitter who found out that I’m a Christian. Now, mind you, I’m not a very good Christian. I don’t go to church, nor would I, not even for a fucking wedding, not that I ever get invited. I’m that one guy you’ll never invite, not to a wedding or a wake. And I don’t even give a fuck.

But the Twitter guy literally created a thread to insult me. He kept going, because he couldn’t think of insults fast enough. He probably had to Google “How to insult a Christian” and came up with “You’re not interested in expanding your knowledge” and told me I was a delusional “magical thinker”.

He then left another tweet “No longer interested in your ideas”.

I’d told him up front I have respect for all religions, or lack of any, considering they’re not harmful. I did not feel moved to repeat it. When insulted in a flurry like that, I simply leave. I blocked him but kept seeing where a fellow “Christian of solid faith” practically chased after him saying he respected him. I thought, Why don’t you ask him if you can lick his ass, you idiot?

I deleted my account. I went to my petition and closed it. I no longer knew how many stories were true or false, and besides, with 101 signatures, it had no chance of being anything I could use to fight such a cruel health system such as we have.

I did not mean to make an issue out of religion. However, once it becomes an issue, I will not back down. I’m not renouncing my faith to anyone for any reason and wouldn’t even do so on threat of torture. I don’t care if it costs me friends or my life, and I still call out assholes like Franlin Graham who’s on Twitter hawking his Samaritan’s Purse, but is rich enough to brag about his material possessions, like a Harley Davidson. What a dick. He doesn’t even know he’s as fake as a street percocet. He’s lost his way. His daddy taught him well.

And the poor woman next door is shallow. She probably doesn’t know it. She’s a physicist. Even her absolutes, maths, observations, all of it, are something she cannot argue with me. Chaos physics says underlying patterns will always be scribbled over as any closed system gets less predictable. Like weather forecasts, for example. Beyond 48 hours, anything becomes less predictable. Storm fronts can change tracks in minutes as variable after variable is encountered.

We get a severe thunderstorm watch. I go see the radar: a line of storms is coming east, alright. I see it, it’s there in red, yellow, purple….wicked stuff. But it’s yet to complete the crossing of the formidable Appalachian Mountain range, and I know from many years of observation that storms can get split into segments, which then lose energy, and my area gets a few sprinkles while in DC, miles away, I hear thunder loud and clear. You cannot predict that sort of thing. Sometimes the clot of storms comes north. Sometimes it splits to go north and south of my area.

People think themselves clever. But truly wise people never believe that they are wise and never even think it. Because wisdom is counter to all vanity, however slight.

The timing for the “tipping point” or point of no return, I suppose, to stem global warming has already passed. Yet I’ve read articles that say it will happen in five years, or ten years, or, as I read recently, 20. Corporations own media outlets, so of course it changes. But we’ve been out of time for quite a while.

That’s okay. Right? You still start your car from inside your house and let it idle to warm or cool the interior while you’re putting on your makeup or having coffee. No big deal, it’s only one car. Your Dasani is only one more bottle. If you toss it in a trash can as you’re walking down the sidewalk, it doesn’t get recycled. But it’s just one bottle. How can it hurt anything?

You may gripe about gas prices and the interest rate, but you’re still borrowing money and running about in an SUV. And you buy a new cellphone every few months because you simply must pay attention to what’s trending. And the old one goes where?

We don’t care. About anything. We’re divided: black and white, religion, rich and poor, the stalkers and the stalked. There’s a dangerous mix coming together, a volatile one that this country will not survive.

And by that, I mean: we will, every one of us, become All Fucked-Up.

This essay is dedicated in gratitude to the men and women who gave their lives in service to their country, to their surviving families who had no choice but to share in that ultimate sacrifice;

On behalf of a forgetful and ungrateful country, I give you thanks and pray that God has welcomed the brave souls into His care, and that He watches over their children.