Mash

There was a TV show called MASH. You remember it.

You've seen it.

I know you have.

There was on actor named Mike Farrell who was on a TV show called MASH. Yes.

In the beginning of the TV show they called MASH (though, who am I kidding? We all called it MASH. You know you called it MASH), they would introduce veiwers to all the actors who acted in the TV show called MASH. And, one of those actors was Mike Farrell.

So, they would cut from actor to actor. They showed footage of actors doing things, and introduced them with names—yellow names on the screen—and, soon, they showed Mike Farrell. A chopper has landed at the MASH (Mobile Army Surgical Unit, it means) helipad, and it is full of injured men. It is full of patients.

Mike Farrell looks at the up, when they show him. Mike Farrell looks up, and he nods.

Oh, how that nod haunts me.

What does Mike Farrell say with that nod? "I'll take this one, Hawk. I'll take care of this injury, Hawk." Is that what it says?

Does it say, "You've got this one Hawk. This one is definately for you."

Does it say, "Too late for this one, Hawk. Let it go and let's look at the next injured soldier."

Does it say, "It's a bitch, isn't it Hawk? Isn't war—with the shooting, and the violence, and the bloody, severed limbs—isn't it a bitch, Hawk? That's life. Life is un-fucking-believable. That's a heartfelt moment of tmesis, Hawk. When I split that word, and added the explitive, I was engaging in a something...a technique...called tmesis, and doing so from the heart. Oh, Hawk. I wish I could ask you to hold me. I really do. I really, really want you to hold me like you hold those nurses. All those pretty, lonely nurses. And what of me? Forget it."

What does it say?

I don't know. I must try to know. Until I know, I just can't blog.