This brick outside the WWII museum caught my eye. I decided to think about Eddie Simpson. I didn’t think I’d ever learn, but a few moments on the life of a forgotten serviceman, a faceless name, couldn’t hurt.
I took a picture of the name, thought about it as I walked to the car, thought about him, Eddie Simpson, as I drove home. “There had to have been more than one Edward Simpson,” I thought.
I googled the exact quote from the brick and found that a man, WIlliam Overstreet, who, in 1944, flew under the arches of the Eiffel tower to shoot down a German plane had died in December, 2013. William Overstreet. WBO.
A few google searches with both names lead me to Eddie Simpson’s story. After walking away from the crash of his P-51 Mustang, Simpson died to save the lives of French Resistance fighters; men and women he barely knew and with whom he could not converse.
Read: The Stars and Stripes account of Eddie Simpson’s last day.
I remember Eddie Simpson.
A word of warning: This series of portraits by South African photographer Anelia Loubser will have you peering at your screen from strange angles.
Anelia’s project, Alienation, is a collection of upside down black-and-white portraits that transform the human face into new, bizarre forms.
via Cat in Water
Creepy and funny and bizarre faces…
The Adventures Of Blotto | a vintage comic strip created by my motherIn the next episode, we’ll find out just how deep is this mysterious hole and more… All content © 2014 Ann DeBencik Skow
Just something to look forward to
A full three days, I leave behind and travel home to my everyday, my normal, the comfort of common laboring at those thing necessary. They’ll never be the same. Three full days of waiting and searching and opening of eyes.
I waited with my mother. We waited for word of her release. We waited for a doctor who only had a name, a name like a hindu god and just as distant, unreachable, invisible as one of those man-inventions. He likely was a real man, pulled across a sea of reaching hands and pleading eyes, like a gossamer so thin. How can one mere man relieve so many?
Can a man look in the eyes of a soul and leave without a broken heart? Eyes and soul and mind trapped in a body falling down around her, unable to pick herself up, helpless even against the scratching of an itch. We toss our head and blow the hair from tickling on a lash and never know we do it, while others long for those luxuriant gestures and marvel how we can spend them frivilously, without number, without knowing their pleasures.
Searching for a place to go, not an abode, four walls will do. The place is not important, nothing fancy is desired, just somewhere to wake if there is no dying. There might be birdsong through a window and Judy Garland dancing around the fuzzy places in her vision. The words don’t matter if she can’t hear over suction pump and hiss in ear, she’s acted out the script before under the trees and on the porch as Papa hammered metal in the shed and Mama baked her loaves of bread. Just a place where they won’t find with modern probe and searching eye a new thing wrong, can they not know that people die? “I’m old”, she says, “don’t try to fix me continually”. She wants a place to use her mind without distraction until the time when God has said, and not a usurping administrator’s rule. “I just want something to look forward to.”
Come to this place with her you sons and daughter. She will not keep you, just some laughter, share with her those things we did. The memories we hold apart, woven together they’ll warm her heart. Even naughty play she could not see when our lives were new, no end in sight, we thought we’d see eternity. But we survived in spite of the lie of bullet proof youth. Laugh with her now while there’s still time. She has no scolding, her statute of limitations is brief and she too was young. You need to hear her tales.
I can not promise that you’ll return to your life and pick up where you left off. Your life’s direction will be altered. As with the power of a star, the closer you approach her, the greater will be the change of your trajectory.
She made me laugh and you will too. The sweetest laughter, though will be hers when you bring your nostalgia and life, the things she has never seen and can only know by your voice, the telling to her eyes. Those eyes will search your face and travel back with you to the time and place. She knows enough of the face she bore to fill the parts unseen, untold.
She’ll give you more than you will ever bring to her but in the ending of your stay, the greatest thing she’ll give is a kind of paradox; she’ll say just like she did to me,
"Let me kiss your tears away."
Every time you hear her words, they’ll echo while you live, they’ll fail each time against her desire and you’ll sob until you’re dry.
Don’t cower away from this. You’ll be strong like her, with this little woman’s power.