MCRD 1967. Pendleton, Iwakuni, Subic Bay, Vietnam Nov 67 till August 69. 3rd Bn, 1st Marines, 7th Marines comm Bn. 50 years of PTSD, VA care in peril from the Republicans. Didn't claim bone spurs.

I sometimes wish they'd all take a trip to Mars on their ships and stay there.

Not in the slightest. I appreciate having you here.

Shit happens.

We escape damage beyond repair
time has lent us a world
yet we cannot find our lost purpose
At the end of this flash of being
we slip into darkness without justice or salvation

We are not stardust.

We are not stardust,
but the last drops of water
simmering under blinding suns
we are melted and hungry
unquenched and reproachful
We are not stardust

We are sand from the feet of weary travelers
tears on the faces of full moon farmers
forgotten sweat and bone
we claim bloodlust
whispering with our final breaths
We are not stardust

We are small growing things
bursting the cracked pavement
our blooms red with blood
our travels through the state of humanity
become an exercise in humility
we are not stardust

We Are Not Stardust
Ed Coonce

We are not stardust
we are made from the leftover rage of storms
found strewn along wild roads
highways without lanes
our feelings disbanded long before
We tell the faces in the rocks
We are not stardust

Thank you! I hadn't considered an illustrated how-to manual.

My choices were limited. I could either (A) destroy the earth and start over, or (B) which seemed a little premature, introduce cities, mass transit, communication systems, beer, clowns and political structures that controlled free thinking.
Hmmm, what to do?

Have a good week!

he screamed at me. “And by the way, Grampa, where’s the girls?!” He stalked off.
“They’re in New Jersey!” I shouted back.
Shit, shouldn’t have said that. I opened the repair manual. There. Page 87, paragraph 4, subsection Q. “How to Divert Attention from Reality.” Yeah, that was it.

and what are you gonna do about it?”
He found out quick what I’d do about it. Pissed, I threw a lightning bolt at Kane. He was too fast though, sidestepped, ducked, and the bolt hit Abe.
Oops.
“Sorry.” I said. “See what you did?!” I yelled at Kane. “Go reproduction manual yourself!”

“Don’t eat this. Stay away!”
I don’t know how it happened, but one day the whole family came to me crying, all with the runs.
“What did I tell you?” I said.
Kane was older now, stood six inches taller than his little brother Abe. “Screw you, old man, we’ll eat whatever we want,

are their parents, who are your parents?”
I told him “I dunno,” and left it at that.
There was one tree in the garden that I had asked them not to touch.. It was a crabapple-lemon/pomegranate hybrid. The fruit tasted awful. Gave me a bad case of the runs when I tried it, so I told them,