On September 15, 1994 while stationed in Italy I was invited by some friends to attend an outdoor concert put on by a band called Pink Floyd. Having turned 30 years of age just a few months previously and unsure of what life after 30 might bring, I decided to go. My buddies and I managed to get off work a little early that afternoon, changed into civilian clothes and hopped into the Jeep for the hour long drive north to Udine. Arriving at the Stadio Friuli a few hours before show time, we grabbed a bite to eat at a nearby trattoria, washing it down with a few beers of course.
Our spirits quickly dampened as we left the restaurant realizing it had started to rain. Not to be discouraged, we happily waited in line to enter the uncovered stadium as the sun set behind the dark, drizzling clouds. Once inside, we raised our spirits a bit more with a couple cold beers, hardly wondering if the rain would stop. After another hour of waiting and damn near soaked to the bone, I recall a feeling of disappointment starting to come over me when a melodic strum of a guitar lept from the dark stage, piercing the conversations around me. I looked to the heavens while the mysterious guitar continued singing poetically and marveled at the parting of the clouds, revealing an almost full moon and ending the falling rain when suddenly the stage erupted with lights, drums, and rock and roll.
Hands down, that was the best concert I’ve ever attended. Shine on you crazy diamond. Sgt Hook out.
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This post is filed under: La Vita Dolce & Sound of Hook
Stairway to Heaven…
Sgt Hook out.
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Nina Simone and Mr. Bojangles…
Heavenly. Sgt Hook out.
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Piano Man…
Sgt Hook out.
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Steppenwolf…
Sgt Hook out.
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In response to the New York Times, one of my favorite poets writes the following…
Unbound by Honor
Bound by honor, a sergeant’s creed,
One observed to his bitter end,
Honored by buddies in word and deed
To honor their dying friend;
But the New York Times has no such care,
From nothing they’ll refrain,
To show our enemies everywhere,
Our young sergeant’s dying pain.
Vile bottom feeders such as these,
Supposedly seeking truth,
Sensation seeking sorry sleaze,
Violate our valiant youth.
No sense of honor have they,
Unlike the men they cover,
Seeking a slick and sleazy way,
Like wraiths of death they hover.
To Sergeant Leija I raise my arm,
In a heartfelt stiff salute,
And pray the Times comes to great harm,
Poisoned by their poisonous fruit.
I fear the time approaches,
When our troops seek retribution,
And squash these media roaches,
A tragic but understood solution.
Because our troops hold this belief,
The foe of their foe’s their friend;
Friends of their foes will come to grief,
Face a dire and deadly end.
So the Times tries to defeat us,
Our enemies they defend,
Doing their Lefty best to beat us
Someday we’ll see their end.
For years I’ve warned the media through poems and prose and puns,
Unwise it is to piss off those who hold, can use, the guns.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne division
Vietnam 65-66
Sgt Hook out.
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This post is filed under: Homefront & Sound of Hook
Supertramp…
Sgt Hook out.
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More Jestofunk…
Have a great weekend! Sgt Hook out.
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America…
Sgt Hook out.
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Shine on you Crazy Diamond…
Sgt Hook out.
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This post is filed under: Sound of Hook
