(Sorry, update VI just seemed absurd.)
Indulge Charlie in one more Nagl story for the day; she's pretty sure you won't regret it. Spend some time with his review of Brian Turner's book of war poetry, "Here Bullet." It is, by far, the best thing he's ever written (and the only piece ever to bring her to tears).
It is Hallowe’en as I write this, and I am
being visited by ghosts, friendly little
ghosts who go away when I give them a
piece of candy.
It is Hallowe’en as I read this, and
I am being visited by ghosts, some
friendly, some not, whom I have kept
away, locked inside me for years, but
Brian Turner, Ghost One-Three Alpha,
that son of a bitch, he is calling them
I have put them away, kept them
inside, the ghosts of the lieutenants and
the Captain and the First Sergeant, their
bodies torn by shrapnel or a sniper’s
bullet or gone, just gone, into hundreds
of shreds of flesh the size of my stillliving
hand, but Ghost One-Three Alpha
speaks to ghosts, he calls to his ghosts,
and they bring mine along for company,
and now they will not go away.
After that, there's really not much more for this blogger to say.
Update: Spencer, however, can still manage witty repartee.