Editor’s Note: A lot of the Old Timers are captured in memory today. I am one of them. So is Marlow.

– Vic

Author’s Note: The below images and video reminded me of the Chambers Brothers 1966 song Time Has Come Today and provoked these thought shards to surface from the sedimentary levels of the lizard section of my brain

– Marlow

Nothing I have written about our era’s current crazy murderousness changes how I feel about things.

Like everyone else my age, I’m dying. Slowly, surely, inevitably.

I got this, that and so on and so forth, and I’m freaking dying.

That’s not a death sentence. It never was. Life is.

Apparently, the things I have might be some of the baddest you can hope for.

Are they untreatable?

There are regimens and a procedure or two. Not a cure.

They can buy a few more years.

Are they worth it?

Buying time in 6-to-12-month tranches doesn’t seem so.

“Jesus H. Christ!” a voice booms in my head. “It’s all about buying time.”

“Yup.” I softly mutter.

Yeah, but not in Asia went my brain thought bubbling.

We just never figured out and stuck with what we wanted to get done.

What does our American family say? Yeah, I admit post facto objecting is so Yankee Doodle Dandy of us,

Yet, they weren’t loudly and repeatedly told the unequivocal truth until the fan was splattered and well coated (televised in 4K) with the stinky stuff.

On this I am as serious as a heart attack.

Why are we so unwilling to face if not approve of the death of our ideals, our values, our friendships? Hell, lovers, deep thinkers, the insignificant and the powerful will all turn into dust and grist for the flower beds in the end.

But here’s the rub — what portion of their memories and stories will remain? Apparently, none since we can’t seem to call and act upon our lessons learned from past SNAFUs that would prevent the needless suffering of millions upon millions.

Is it Happy Hour yet? I hope someone remembers to bring a cheese platter.

For John

-Marlow