this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war
we love and support our troops, just as we love and support the Iraqi people – without exception, or precondition, or judgement.
three images and poem below the fold
A woman looks at the body of her husband at the hospital morgue in Baquba, 65 km (40 miles) northeast of Baghdad September 28, 2006. The man was killed by gunmen and a policeman was wounded in the attack, police said.
REUTERS/Helmiy al-Azawi (IRAQ)
Iraqis mourn the death of their relatives outside the morgue of a hospital in the restive city of Baquba, northeast of Baghdad. The increasingly chaotic situation in Iraq was underlined by another grim statistic, with news that the toll of suicide bombings had reached its highest level since the US-led invasion.
(AFP/Ali Yussef)
An Iraqi woman weeps at the site where a bomb went off in front of the Turkmen Front Party headquarters in the oil rich city of Kirkuk. The increasingly chaotic situation in Iraq was underlined by another grim statistic, with news that the toll of suicide bombings had reached its highest level since the US-led invasion.
(AFP/Marwan Ibrahim)
Dead Man, Dead Man
by Bob Dylan
Uttering idle words from a reprobate mind,
Clinging to strange promises, dying on the vine,
Never bein’ able to separate the good from the bad,
Ooh, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it,
It’s makin’ me feel so sad.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
Satan got you by the heel, there’s a bird’s nest in your hair.
Do you have any faith at all? Do you have any love to share?
The way that you hold your head, cursin’ God with every move,
Ooh, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it,
What are you tryin’ to prove?
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
The glamour and the bright lights and the politics of sin,
The ghetto that you build for me is the one you end up in,
The race of the engine that overrules your heart,
Ooh, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it,
Pretending that you’re so smart.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
What are you tryin’ to overpower me with, the doctrine or the gun?
My back is already to the wall, where can I run?
The tuxedo that you’re wearin’, the flower in your lapel,
Ooh, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it,
You wanna take me down to hell.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
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a personal note: I’ve been listening to lots of Dylan lately. Dylan, and Mozart’s Requiem. It’s been a heavy time.
I’ve learned that a very close friend, a woman who’s been a wise and loving older sister to me for over 30 years, now has extensive liver involvement from the colon cancer that she was first treated for a year ago. I’ve been keeping that news at arm’s length – the first stage of grief is denial.
And while our patients at work are always very acutely ill and injured, they seem even more so these days.
Lots of folks have asked here, in different ways, if posting these diaries was emotionally difficult for me; and have urged me to take care. I always insisted that the emotional toil was minimal – how stressful can cutting and pasting be? – and assured them that I could handle it.
Well, guess what?
I don’t know if it was my work, my friend, or the discussions leading to the legalization and codification of torture – with all decisions regarding maltreatment resting in the hands of a single person – but something pushed me over the edge, and I simply didn’t have the will until yesterday.
Thanks for your kind words, your support, and your presence in these diaries.
RubDMC = Jerry
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