From: TruthMonger <tm@dev.null>
Date: Sun, 23 Nov 1997 17:33:54 +0800
To: "Attila T. Hun" <attila@primenet.com>
Subject: The Company You Keep Could Be Your Own / Re: Clinton Sells Arlington Burials (fwd)
In-Reply-To: <19971123.074256.attila@hun.org>
Message-ID: <3477EC5C.36AB@dev.null>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain



Attila T. Hun wrote:
>     John Young <jya@pipeline.com> was purported to have
>     expostulated to perpetuate an opinion:
> >Excuse me for losing it, don't want a war over honor, some pissed vet to gore
> >me with his pegleg badge of valor, some chickenshit reservist  to earn a
> >stripe.
> 
>     hell, no!  I did mine, gave it all I had in the face of it until the
>     youthful idealism from the farm (despite Harvard) was shot and the
>     pure bullshit of the American ideal was exposed as the world's bully
>
>     even if they would pardon me for my sins of telling them to fuck-off,
>     I'll join you in potters' field --probably safer anyway....

	And the company is better...

Excerpt from WebWorld: 
My only hope, is that I can find the strength of character somewhere 
inside myself to ask the question which lies at the heart of why there
is a 'they' to come for me at all...why, in the end, it has finally 
come to this for me, as for countless others. 

The question is, in retrospect, as simple and basic as it is essential 
for any who still espouse the concepts of freedom and liberty to ask 
themselves upon finding themselves marveling at the outrageousness 
being perpetrated upon their neighbors by 'them'...by 'others'...by 
'Friends of the Destroyer.' 

The question is:
  "Why didn't _I_ do something?"

These are the words that legend ascribes to the tombstone erected in a 
'potters field' outside of the B.TV city of Austin, Texas. The 
tombstone, according to historians who have verified it's existence,
though it was removed after being in place for less than twenty-four
hours, was supposedly that of Vice-Admiral B. D'Shauneaux. 

And the ultimate irony, for those whose cry of lament remains, "Why 
didn't somebody 'do' something?", lies in the empty grave lying next 
to that purported to be the Vice-Admiral's final resting place-the 
grave which, legend has it, is reserved for the last free man or woman
remaining on this planet. The grave whose headstone is a plain and 
simple mirror. 

Legend has it that, at dusk during the spring equinox, that one who 
gazes into the mirror will hear the sound of the Vice-Admiral's voice 
echoing through the labyrinth of the communal mind of mankind,
whispering as if it were a gentle breeze rustling softly through the 
leaves of the aged willows surrounding the site. 

It is a voice tinged with an equal mixture of conscience and remorse. 
It is a voice that whispers, quite simply, 
    "Why didn't I do something?"