Yank Army Weekly, December 30, 1945

This is damn good writing.  One of the nice things about the draft is it would net college boys like this. 

Fuzzy-Wuzzies was what the British called the Hadendoa warriors in Northeast Africa.  I don’t know if the above is related. 


no-soup-for-you replied to your photo: Yank Army Weekly, December 30, 1945 This is damn…

The natives of New Guinea were called Fuzzy-Wuzzies because they all had afro’s ^^. Well, they were actually called Fuzzy-Wuzzy Angels because they helped the wounded Aussies.

A Papua New Guinean Raphael Oimbari, guiding injured Australian soldier George “Dick” Whittington to his camp, Christmas Day, 1942. Whittington would die in two months time of typhus.

Oimbari was just one of the many Papua New Guinean tribespeople to aid Australian soldiers during WWII. Nicknamed “Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels” after the  Rudyard Kipling poem, the Angels helped wounded Australian soldiers make their way back to their camps. No known injured soldier that was still alive was ever abandoned by the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels, even during heavy combat. In the words of one Australian soldier:

“They carried stretchers over seemingly impassable barriers, with the patient reasonably comfortable. The care they give to the patient is magnificent. If night finds the stretcher still on the track, they will find a level spot and build a shelter over the patient. They will make him as comfortable as possible fetch him water and feed him if food is available, regardless of their own needs. They sleep four each side of the stretcher and if the patient moves or requires any attention during the night, this is given instantly. These were the deeds of the ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels’ – for us!”

The angels received official recognition by the Australian government in 2008. The last known Fuzzy Wuzzy Angel, Faole Bokoi, died on 7 March 2016.

a concept: I gain musical ability and put one of those artsy albums on bandcamp with those title songs and these would be what I try to say in em

softhearted – I’m really soft I’m like a muffin I don’t want to hurt anyone I want everyone to be happy I want to give to others and give lots of hugs and make people smile and laugh and feel better about themselves I’m very strong but I’m emotional and sensitive and I have so much love to give maybe I can mend peoples’ hearts and as quilted as mine is maybe I can make the world a little softer

fuzzy – when I was very little my dad got me a stuffed animal from a claw machine in a Mexican restaurant it was a purple mouse with fuzzy hair I named him fuzzy wuzzy and picked all the fuzz off his heart I don’t know why I did that it must’ve gone into my head cause that’s where I am right now the red fibers drained the color from my imagination and creativity and whatever I used to be my thoughts are empty I’m lost and confused and I can’t see anything at all clouded memories everything is the same but I’m not

to my friends – you’re such a great friend and I’ll try to be the very best friend I can be, too, which is hard because my socials skills aren’t that good and even when we don’t talk to each other let’s act like we do cause that makes it easier to do friend things like draw things for you I don’t want you to be sad and I’m poor with words but I promise you’re in my thoughts and prayers I know you’re my friend no matter the time we share I’m sorry I won’t always be here but thank you for being out there

building blocks – those little building blocks are way different from other building toys not just cause they have pictures and stuff on em but because you have to have a good foundation to put them on or they won’t stay up I’m trying so hard to grow up right now in tiny increments and everyone thinks I’m trying to stay a child but that’s only because of the primary colors and if you could see the blocks I’ve stacked you would see the letters spell out “IM TRYING”

pop quiz – a figure in the mirror shows me a piece of paper but I can’t read it cause it’s in a mirror so they read aloud to me question #1 are you happy to which I say yes question #2 why is art worth nothing in society to which I say it’s priceless question #3 what will you do with your life to which I say make art question #4 what are you expected to do with your life I say lose myself question #5 at what age are you expected to lose yourself and I reach into the mirror and grab the paper to tear it into pieces because growing up is optional

you are so angelic, you glow – you’re so ethereal and pure you’re an angel from heaven with so much love and light to give you crushed your halo into crystallized sunshine and joy you infused with your soul and share with the world through every smile and laugh and song that you sing your wings are gone after taking such a hard fall and protecting you for so long but you don’t need them anymore because what thing from the clouds can complain of the ground yet feathers still float through your hugs and acts of kindness you give to others you’re stronger now and all the love and light has made its way back to you and you’re airier than ever before

i hope you dream nice things – things are changing time is moving forward and I don’t want to go to bed like I should because the only time I don’t have to do anything is at night and sleep just skips right over it which is unfair to me so I decide that no matter what I do with it I can only live my life when I’m awake so I won’t let the dark win I won’t let the night take any more of my youth away from me. But I have to. Because while I sacrifice hours of consciousness it makes the experiences I did have far more important. I am scared. Maybe you are scared, too. But we don’t have to be. Because the night can never take the days you’ve had and it certainly won’t take the morning. What sleep does give us are dreams. I hope yours are nice. The sun will be around when you wake up.