I HAVE POSTED THIS FOR THE UKRAINE IN BEHALF OF MY OLD ART TEACHER AT UNM. HIS HARATTAGE WAS SLAVIC. HE WAS ' STABED IN THE BACK ' BY A PROFFESOR WITH TENOR.
I WILL NEVER FORGET JASON KNAPP'S ART PEICE A FURNACE ( crematorium ).
USO WOMEN WERE IN THE ' MENTAL RAPES ' - I WAS GIVEN THE STORY BY DAN FINEMARK AND OTHER VEITNAM VETS, BUT I CHOSE THIS BECAUSE IT HAD MORE MEANING, SHE WAS A LIGHT BEARER, MAYBE NOT IN THE MASONIC SENSE, BUT SHE TAUGHT THE LEASON SHE WAS TOLD OF...TO THE YOUNG.
OUR PRESIDENT HAS STATED HE IS " GERMAN."
I HAVE SWEDISH BLOOD AND HAVE ALWAYS PHOTOGRAPHED LIGHTING, NEVER VIDEO. THIS IS MY BLOOD.LIGHTING STRIKES ALROUD ME.
FOR THIS TO WORK AGANIST HELLICOPTER AND JETS, YOU HAVE TO BE A ' JET-EYE ' VERY FAST AND TACTICAL MINDED; KNOW YOUR ENEMY. THE CONJUCTION OF DRONES IS VERY POSSIBLE TOO.
NOW IS THE FUTURE, PUTIN IS VERY ARROGANT AND NO HERATAGE OF THE OLD WHITE RACE ALONG THE SILK TRAIL OR VIKING; HE KNOWS WHO HE IS; A MURDERER.
https://www.vvaw.org/veteran/article/?id=3650
An Unforgettable Encounter in the Central Highlands: A
USO Girl Remembers
By
Suzanne Cogan
We were flown by small plane to an isolated base
on a mountaintop. The landing was hair-raising. We thumped and jittered over
huge potholes and uneven terrain that served as a runway. Looking out the
window, I spotted the wreckage of several airplanes.
"This runway is actually too short for this
type of plane," our liaison officer said. Now you tell me?
That day we gave two shows, the last at
twilight. From the scaffold-like stage, I saw a tall column of black smoke,
curling in the distance. What was that?
"A plane blew up during takeoff," we
were told. "It happens sometimes."
There was a noticeable darkening of mood from
everyone, soldier and performer alike. We ate a somber dinner in the Officers'
Club; then went to the non-coms club to socialize with the men.
I sat in a quiet corner, sipping a coke. Hanging
on the wall, I saw a dark wooden crossbow and a quiver made of tree bark. The
non-lethal ends of the arrows were fitted with pieces of bamboo.
"Are you admiring the crossbow?" a
male voice asked.
I looked up. A middle-aged staff sergeant (I
could tell his rank from his insignia,) was standing near the crossbow.
"I like bows and arrows," I said.
"Ever since I was a kid and fell in love with Robin Hood."
"Kinda unusual for a girl," he said.
"Mind if I join you?"
"I'd like that," I said. The guy had a
quiet, reflective energy that struck me as unusual in a non-com officer.
"Where are you from?" I asked, the
requisite opening question.
"Oklahoma. And you?"
"New York." I smiled, thinking of
home. "How long have you been over here?"
"Several years," he said. "I
re-enlisted. This is my third tour of duty."
I didn't know whether to be impressed or to feel
sorry for him.
"Do you have a family?" I asked,
trying to stick to the suggested subjects.
"Divorced. Two kids. It's tough on them
when you're away so long. Especially when you're working in the interior."
He paused. Gave me a quizzical look, as if wondering how much to tell me. I
must have passed inspection since he went on talking.
"I was a Green Beret," he said.
"I lived with a tribe of Montagnards for several months. That's what the
French called the non-Vietnamese. That crossbow was given to me by their
chief."
We continued talking for most of the evening.
Mostly he spoke about his life in Vietnam, his concern that the Viet Cong were
more entrenched than ever, that we didn't seem to be winning the "hearts
and minds" of the Vietnamese people. When I looked around, I saw that many
of our group had left.
"I should be going soon," I told him.
"Wait a minute," he said. "I'd
like to show you something."
He removed the crossbow and quiver from the
wall.
"Would you believe this very crossbow shot
down a Huey?"
"They shot down a helicopter with
that?"
"You bet. It takes two men; one to hold it
while the other shoots. They have bigger ones for four men that shoot down
full-size choppers. They make everything by hand—bow, quiver, and arrows."
He pulled out a single arrow.
"See this? The tip is dipped in strychnine,
in case the enemy is still alive. It's a highly effective weapon." He
paused as if weighing the crossbow in his hands
"Here," he said, handing it to me.
"I'd like you to have this."
"Oh, no," I protested. "I can't
take it. It was given to you by a Montagnard chief."
"Yes. As a gift of friendship."
"But..."
"This is the first time since I've been in
this country that I've felt like a human being. Like—someone's friend. I want
you to have it." He handed me the bow and quiver.
"Consider it a gift of friendship, from me
to you. And besides..."
"Yes?"
"I don't know if I'll make it back. But you
will."
He smiled. "Take good care of it. And be
careful of the arrows. They might still be poisonous."
"I'll be careful," I said, fighting
back tears.
"Well—goodbye." He kissed me lightly
on the cheek and left.
I carried the crossbow and arrows throughout
Vietnam and onto the plane that brought me home.
It hangs on my wall today.
Suzanne
Cogan toured Vietnam in 1967 with a USO production of Guys and Dolls, starring
Hugh O'Brien. This is an excerpt from her soon-to-be published memoir: USO Girl
in Vietnam: Then and Now.
INTSEAD OF VINES:
DURABALE CARBON NANO WIRE.’ NET.’
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Creating flexible electric generators
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A freestanding silicon
nanowires mesh can generate electricity through a natural evaporation process.
·
The generated
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liquids.
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The electricity output
can be amplified through series or parallel connections.
Nanowires have many potential applications in
electronics, optics, chemical sensors, and biological system.
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