Category: random

Last night I touched you
And I’ve no idea who
You are in reality.
And yet I woke with
Your scent on my fingers.

From my notes:  “Former NBC Nightly News anchor Tom Brokaw predictably claims, “Well, I think this is time for a national dialogue that we can have in a calm and reasoned way in which the country can figure out how come we have so many mass shootings in this country.””

Former Pussycat Dolls member Kaya Jones performed at the music festival in Vegas earlier Sunday evening. Then she became one of those taking cover, wishing she had the means to fight back as she sought safety in a nearby bar.

She’s now speaking out: “All of us in that moment wished we’d had a gun, because in our head was ‘someone could come through that door and we only have seven rounds in that gun. That’s the truth.

“It’s horrible to hear people politicize something that is a travesty. There are innocent people that are dead. Let’s make it about them now. What can we do to prevent this again? Make it about this crazy lunatic that’s followed an ideology, that’s crept its way into our planet, that’s sympathized from the left all the time, to a point where it’s nonsense and foolishness now.

Less guns don’t equal less terrorists. And I’m going to keep saying that until everyone understands: We can take away guns. If you have a madman, he’ll use a car as we’ve seen, or a knife as we’ve seen, or a bomb as we’ve seen. This is what terror is. It doesn’t come in the form of a gun. Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.

Mandalay Bay was sold out. This was really, really well-planned. This is premeditated. Sold out weeks in advance – he knew which room he wanted, he knew what angle, all of the above, because there’s no way he just got that room last-minute. He methodically thought this out.

For every entertainer, it was just gut-wrenching because the whole point in what we do is to unite people, to bring people together, to get them away from their pain at home. Every single performer feels responsibility in some way for the tragedy.

We need to unify. We need to always unify. This is the United States. We need to be united, not divided. We need to not allow — whether it’s foreign or domestic terrorism – the right to think that they can smile over us and say, ‘We got ’em.’ You don’t. You’re not going to break the United States.”

dog is i’s god

From my notes:  “AP News reports the Las Vegas murderer had two “bump-stocks” that could have converted semi-automatic firearms into fully automatic ones. They also had to point out that California Senator Dianne Fienstien has been ‘railing against’ bump-stocks.”

Security officer Jesus Campos had been in the building, patrolling the halls and was sent to an area on reports of an unknown disturbance. When he got to the 32nd floor, Campos found the stairwells had been barricaded and used the elevator to investigate.

When Campos approached the suite, he was shot in the upper right thigh through the door. He crawled back to elevators and radioed the Mandalay’s security dispatch giving the police the shooter’s exact room.

Clark County Sheriff Joseph Lombardo credits Campo with providing enough diversionary time to save not only officers, guests, but to force the murderer to turn his attention to something other than shooting concert-goers.

“His bravery was amazing because he remained with our officers, providing them the key pass to access the door and continued to help them clear rooms until our officers demanded he seek medical attention.”

Every year the date of
Her murder comes and goes.
Failed her again.

From my notes:  “Esquire columnist Charles Pierce claims the shooting in Las Vegas is, “The massacre of country music fans is….the 273rd blood sacrifice to that one provision of the Constitution this year.” He also blames the massacre on gun owners, Wayne LaPierre, Donald Trump and Christians.”

On Sunday night in Las Vegas, Justin Uhart met Jan Lambourne. Both were at the music festival when a gunman opened fire and now Lambourne is recovering from a gunshot wound, while Uhart is being called a hero.

“He was amazing. The last time I seen him was when they took me in for surgery. He saved my life.”

Uhart was working the festival as a bartender to make some extra cash when the gunfire started, “Get the f— out and run! This is real! Get out!”

Running for cover, he saw a woman screaming for help and he ran towards her. It was Jan. Asked later what made him run towards Lambourne, despite the gunfire surrounding them both, he explained: “Her eyes were filled with terror and tears, looking at me like, ‘Help me.’ I was doing everything I could. I didn’t know what else to do.”

He found another first responder. Together they got Lambourne into an ambulance. There Uhart met a distraught young man whose his hip had been shattered by a bullet and started talking to him as well, trying anything and everything to calm him.

“The doctors and nurses were telling me, ‘Just keep talking. Just keep talking.’”

As she was being taken into surgery, Lambourne handed Uhart her cellphone, asking him to call her husband, Joseph. Uhart dialed the number. Joseph answered.

“You can’t just run away, I had to help. I had to do something.”

From my notes:  “Hayley Geftman-Gold is an attorney for CBS. She tweeted that she was “not even sympathetic” to the the Las Vegas shooting victims because “country music fans often are Republican.””

Anthony Chavez was simply known as the “hero in the red hat,” He he would have remained unknown if Larry Rorick hadn’t searched him out.

“[He] got our wives over the gate and under the stage to relative safety. He didn’t follow the girls after tossing them over the gate, because in the chaos he couldn’t find his girlfriend.

He didn’t follow them over because he had to find his own girl.

Our wives eventually made it out the back of the stage and over a 15 foot fence with about 40 people of the 22,000. They never saw the red hat again.

We had been looking for that couple. I had been thinking about them all morning and all night.”

From his point of view Chavez says, “Everybody had a delayed reaction. They didn’t know if it was gunfire or fireworks. They hit the ground. I couldn’t get down on the floor there was nowhere for me to go. The gunfire was coming right over my shoulder.”

To his right, Chavez saw a girl covered in blood, “She was in shock, looking at her hands. So, I said, ‘OK, let’s go jump the fence.’ [Then] I ran into a lady who was leaning up against a pole. She was just giving up. I was like, ‘Nope. Come on. Let’s go. We have to go — do not stop!’

For an hour, Chavez stood in the middle of the street, directing people where to go, “I was yelling the whole time. I lost my voice. I sounded like a drill instructor. I wasn’t shaking. I wasn’t scared. I don’t know what made me stay and do that.

Honestly, I didn’t do much. I helped people get to a point where they could get to safety. I had that mindset. With how chaotic it was, somebody just needed to be in charge.”

It’s amazing the odd thought that pops into one’s head in the moment of crisis. That’s what happened to me as I sped west on Interstate 80 at 70-plus miles per hour and my left rear tire came apart.

Flicking on my turn signal to change from the right to the left lane, I stepped down on the gas pedal to pass the pick-up truck ahead of me as it was moving slower at 65 miles an hour. Suddenly it sounded as if some one had dropped an M-80 into the bed of my truck and with it came a violent tug and hard jerk to the left, towards the center lane wall.

Somehow, I managed to gain control of my vehicle and keep from slamming into the concrete barrier. Happily, the driver of the truck I’d been passing realized something bad had happened and slowed enough to allow me to dart in front of him and quickly into a gravel pull-off.

The rest of my day became about changing the tire, limping to the tire shop, arguing over the warranty, and then having to spend $178 for the replacement.  In the end, I walked away from what could have been a nasty, life altering crash, so I’m counting my blessings.

However, in those few seconds back on the road, it wasn’t my possible death that I thought of, nor did my life flash before my eyes. Rather it was the image of the woman, to whom less than an hour before I’d given first-aid as she stroked-out while standing in line at the post office.

“I wonder how she’s doing?” I weirdly recall asking myself.

From my notes: “Someone claims that Marilou Danley is a regular at the Atlantis, in Reno, and works there as hostess. Not since early August she hasn’t. Facts are a horrible thing.”

Taylor Winston, a U.S. Marine Corps veteran from San Diego, was among friends in Las Vegas Sunday night when a gunman opened fire on the audience. After climbing a security fence, Winston checked nearby trucks for keys.

“I saw a field with a bunch of white trucks. I tested my luck to see if any of them had keys in it, first one we tried opening had keys sitting right there.

I started looking for people to take to the hospital. There was just too many and it was overwhelming how much blood was everywhere.”

Winston looked for victims with the most serious injuries first, loaded them into the truck bed and drove them to the hospital, making two trips before ambulances arrived.

According to Winston, “There was a lot of bravery and courageous people out there. I’m glad that I could call them my country folk. There’s a lot of unsung heroes that day that stood up and helped people.”

Winston also said he was able to return the keys to the owner of the truck on Monday night.

Watercolor and ink, 8 x 11 1/2