[archy]

A war is never over until the last man (or woman) that was there goes to Heaven. WW1 is almost over.

I am reliably informed that the Vikings believed that so long as anyone on this mudball recalled the deeds and frequent heroism of their warriors, their spirits lived on to enjoy the pleasures of feast and drink in valhalla the Hall of the Fallen, that being one reason why the lyric poets and skaald sonmgsmiths retold of those noble acts with words and music. And eventually, when those Spirits dimmed and wafted away, it was to Go Beyond all that to reunite with the familiar spirits of the family and kin of their earlier lives. Ignorant pagan superstition? Maybe, but it worked for them, and if there's not any factual basis for it, there should be.

Hrist ok Mist
vil ek at mér horn beri,
Skeggjöld ok Skögul,
Hildr ok Þrúðr,
Hlökk ok Herfjötur,
Göll ok Geirahöð,
Randgríð ok Ráðgríð
ok Reginleif.
Þær bera einherjum öl.

[Brucifer]

Hwaet? LOL

Like the birds, we fly into the mead hall and are surrounded by friends, stories, and warmth. Then when we fly out, to where, we know not.

When in doubt... terrify the Eruli (or the earls), and knock over their benches.

I saw a young lady at school today. She was in ROTC, but prior service and wearing a Combat Medic Badge. I just can't describe what I felt. It was a good thing I was holding a cup of coffee, or my hands would have been shaking. I never saw that one coming.

[Lurker]

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned.

I'm pretty good with words, but I'm going to remember this the next time somebody asks me what I did when I was in the Marines.

L