this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war and other disasters
cross-posted at DailyKos, Booman Tribune, European Tribune, and My Left Wing.
this is a retrospective of the first 299 diary posts at dKos in the series. images for days 251-299 and selected poems below the fold.
Days 1-50 here.
Days 51-100 here.
Days 101-150 here.
Days 151-200 here.
Days 201-250 here.
Note – Several images depict graphic scenes of death and mutilation.
Day 251
Two photos taken on the same day last week — one of a grieving New Orleans survivor, the other of President Bush in flagrante photo opp in San Diego. Photoshopped together, they reveal what the horrific scene at the Superdome might have looked like had the president actually shown up there. Link to full-size. (Thanks T. bias, via Wayne Correia’s list)
photoshopped image via boing boing
a comment about this diary
I don’t try to be cute with this diary series, because there’s something about grief that, to me, is sacred and beyond snark.
I also swore that I’d never – ever – feature an image of that absolute waste of skin who currently takes up space in the White House.
Having said that, I’m breaking both of my pledges today because I’m at my wits’ end in a way that I haven’t been since I started (today’s entry is #251 at dKos), and the songs of Randy Newman, along with humor – that most serious of emotions and close cousin to anger – have been getting me through the news lately.
The images and events in Iraq, and New Orleans, are as heart-ripping as they are relentless. But what brings me to the brink is not just the thought, but the very clear realization, that the people we depend on to help us through times like these simply do not care.
“…psychopaths have little difficulty infiltrating the domains of…politics, law enforcement, (and) government.” Dr. Robert Hare
Day 252
Day 253
Day 254
Day 255
Day 256
Day 257
Day 258
Day 259
Day 260
Day 261
Day 262
Day 263
Day 264
Day 265
Day 266
Day 267
Day 268
Day 269
Day 270
Day 271
Day 272
Day 273
Day 274
Day 275
Day 276
Day 277
Day 278
Day 279
Day 280
Day 281
Day 282
What kinds of aircraft bombs will be used against me?
There are two types of bombs: fragmentation and blast bombs. Some fragmentation bombs can penetrate armored steel from 50 yards away. Blast bombs include fuel-air mixtures with multiple detonations. The first detonation, 5 to 10 meters above the ground, disperse a concentrated fuel mixture. The second detonation, a fraction of a second later, ignites the fuel while it is in the air. This creates a massive, deadly fireball.
from What Every Person Should Know About War
by Chris Hedges
Chapter 4, Weapons and Wounds
Pages 47-48
Day 283
Day 284
Day 285
How much force does an explosion create?
The detonation of high explosives creates a pressure wave moving at 3,000 meters per second (more than 6,000 miles per hour). The force of the blow is similar to being hit by a truck. In an enclosed space, where the blast is contained, even a hand grenade can cause severe internal damage.
from What Every Person Should Know About War
by Chris Hedges
Chapter 4, Weapons and Wounds
Pages 45-46
Day 286
Day 287
Day 288
Will I be scared when I die?
Possibly not. The endorphins your brain pumps into your body to heighten your resistance to pain may also affect your mood, even if you know that you are badly hurt. This may be why some corpses are found with surprised or peaceful expressions on their faces.
from What Every Person Should Know About War
by Chris Hedges
Chapter 8, Dying
Pages 101-102
Day 289
Day 290
Day 291
Day 292
Day 293
Day 294
What does it feel like to be shot?
Here is George Orwell’s account of being shot by a sniper in the Spanish Civil War:
“Roughly speaking it was the sensation of being at the centre of an explosion. There seemed to be a loud bang and a blinding flash of light all round me, and I felt a tremendous shock – no pain, only a violent shock, such as you get from an electric terminal; with it a sense of utter weakness, a feeling of being stricken and shriveled up to nothing. I fancy you would feel much the same if you were struck by lightning. I knew immediately that I was hit, but because of the seeming bang and flash I thought it was a rifle nearby that had gone off accidentally and shot me. All this happened in a space of time much less than a second. The next moment my knees crumpled up and I was falling, my head hitting the ground with a violent bang which, to my relief, did not hurt. I had a numb, dazed feeling, a consciousness of being very badly hurt, but no pain in the ordinary sense.”
from What Every Person Should Know About War
by Chris Hedges
Chapter 4, Weapons and Wounds
Page 42
Day 295
Day 296
Day 297
Day 298
Day 299
From Day 260
Wanting to Die
by Anne SextonSince you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.Still-born, they don’t always die,
but dazzled, they can’t forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.To thrust all that life under your tongue!–
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death’s a sad Bone; bruised, you’d say,and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.
From Day 269
from The Lotos-Eaters
by Alfred, Lord TennysonIV
Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o’er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and becomePortions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
From Day 279
O Death
by Ralph StanleyO, Death O, Death
Won’t you spare me over til another yearWell what is this that I can’t see
With ice cold hands takin’ hold of meWell I am death, none can excel
I’ll open the door to heaven or hellWhoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another dayThe children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I’ll fix your feet til you cant walk
I’ll lock your jaw til you cant talk
I’ll close your eyes so you can’t see
This very air, come and go with meI’m death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claimO, Death O, Death
Won’t you spare me over til another yearMy mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin upon my soulOh, death how you’re treatin’ me
You’ve close my eyes so I can’t see
Well you’re hurtin’ my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soulOh death please consider my age
Please don’t take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy handOh the young, the rich or poor
Hunger like me you knowNo wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soulO, death O, death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
The Quality of Mercy is not Strain’d
by William Shakespeare
from The Merchant of Venice
Act IV Scene 1
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of VeniceMust needs give sentence ‘gainst the merchant there.
From Day 297
from Have Mercy on My Soul
a reminiscence by Vaughn ShortUnknown, unwanted, and unwept
Far from Nippon’s cheery skies,
In a grave shallow and unkept
My worthless carcass lies.
May the demon imps of hell,
As they shovel the burning coal,
Know that I served them well,
And have mercy on my soul.
Listen to the streaming audio(sorry, but the audio file includes a mildly annoying introduction)
view the pbs newshour silent honor roll (with thanks to jimstaro at booman.)
take a private moment to light one candle among many (with thanks to TXSharon)
support veterans for peace
support the Iraqi people
support the Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC)
support CARE
support the victims of torture
remember the fallen
support Gold Star Families for Peace
support the fallen
support the troops
support the troops and the Iraqi people
read This is what John Kerry did today, the diary by lawnorder that prompted this series
read Riverbend’s Bagdhad Burning
read Dahr Jamail’s Iraq Dispatches
read Today in Iraq
witness every day
