A PICTURE IS WORTH...

A PICTURE IS WORTH...
Gun's don't kill people. People with guns kill people.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

"No body could have done a better job than Obama, with the economy he was handed —including me!" —Bill Clinton—

Monday, August 2, 2010

Farewell My Friend—Break on thru to the otherside

A friend and classmate killed himself last week. I just heard about it today. His name was Robert Butler. He was a Viet Nam Vet. He died alone homeless, his life in shambles as he faced criminal charges, alcoholism and as he fought the demons that haunted him from his services nearly 44 years ago.

The last time I saw Bob was on the occasion of another classmates death, Jim Keneko. Jim was a medic who also suffered from PTSD, Jim and I were roommates after he got back from Nam. Bob and Jim were searching for answers to quiet the ghosts of their common past—Jim in alcohol—Bob in an odd mix of manic eastern spiritualism, booze and drugs. Both had been deeply effected by their participation in the war. Jim recounted his first experience in battle—rushing to aid a fallen buddy, he and another solider tried to pick up the mortally wounded soldier and their hands met somewhere in the middle of the man's sticky hot guts—he'd been severed in half. Bob didn't fair any better mentally in Nam and got a discharge when the insanity of war became too much for him to bear. Bob hung around with us until he moved to California where he got heavily involved in the counter culture, transcendental meditation, music and drugs. During that fall of 1965 and winter of 1966 together, we formed a deep friendship.

When Jim passed—Bob and I reunited at Jim's funeral and later at Jim's favorite bar—after closing the bar we spent the entire night at Jim's grave drinking beer and telling stories and celebrating Jim's life. Bob's life was troubled and chaotic to say the least, in some respects I guess Bob—and Jim—really died in Viet Nam 44 years ago, finally—maybe—Bob's found the peace that eluded him on this earth. I love you, you crazy wild eyed bastard. The world is a poorer place since you left.

Bob and I had a favorite song by the Doors—which we'd sang staggering down the streets of Minneapolis one night. He referred to it the last time he wrote on my Wall—Here's to you Bobby.

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah

We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

Yeah!
C'mon, yeah

Everybody loves my baby
Everybody loves my baby
She get(s high)
She get(s high)
She get(s high)
She get(s high)

I found an island in your arms
Country in your eyes
Arms that chain
Eyes that lie
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through, oww!
Oh, yeah!

Made the scene
Week to week
Day to day
Hour to hour
The gate is straight
Deep and wide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through
Break on through
Break on through
Break on through
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah