Tarac (for Stone and Kurosawa)
We busted our *****
To get up there
Over a kilometre high
Where the warplanes live
And die a violent death
Meeting their end up above
On towering lonely slopes
As did Lt Stone and Sgt Kurosawa
On the same day seventy six years ago
To the day we went there
As others before had
For we had a job to do
The missing answer to find
To locate the remains of a lost pilot
Named Stone from America
Who flew a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk
In mortal battle with his nemesis
Kurosawa from Japan
With his Nakajima Ki-27 Nate
Both died that day
February 9 1942
And both haunt those inclines
One is angry and lost
One found wants to go home
One likes Hello Kitty
But not the one you think
For my drink tumbler fell
And the guide missed it
It stopped where Stone said
And there we dug dugdug
And found his airplane
Or what was once his warplane
In pieces that were scrap
But had meaning to our group
For it was this plane
That brought us here
Many hours of climbing
Swearing and sweating
To touch the clouds
And be where both hit
At what cost?
Two planes smashed
Two pilots dead
The American protecting Villamor
The Philippines' best pilot
Who flew his biplane
A Boeing Stearman
On a recon mission
The same type that flies today
With **** English wing walkers
From Clark in Bataan
The same field Kurosawa flew from
Yes synchronicity is here
Eagle Has Landed style
What does this mean now?
In 2018 right now
Is it the pilots' ghosts
Or God or fate or karma
That brought me here
To Tarac Ridge to look
To try to find Stone's bones?
When so many have looked
And failed to find him
Did we really find Lt Stone?
So he's no longer MIA
And captive here
This beautiful mountain side
Where the sky and sea become one
Where Bataan and Corregidor
Are visible
The old battlefields
Where hell occurred
Where there are more MIAs
From both sides
Both pilots hunted here
And both became the prey
Paying the ultimate cost
Bent metal and broken bones
Telling a story
Their story
If you listen
You will hear it...

Tarac Ridge Warplane crashes February 8-10 2018 write up by Nick Armbrister



I have had an interest in aeroplanes and history ever since my dad got me into planes back in 1980. He took me up to air crashes on the Pennines/Peak District/Manchester/Yorkshire/Lancashire area of England in the early 80s. There are over fifty crashes alone here ranging from the war years and later. We also went to wrecks in the Lake District and Wales.

In 2014 in the Philippines I went to more wrecks. I Googled Bataan warplane crashes and found out about the LT Stone P-40 Warhawk and Sgt Kurosawa Ki-27 Nate dog fight and subsequent crashes. This read like something from a Battle or Warlord comic.

Over the coming weeks I put together an expedition there. I talked to Kevin Hamdorf who was one of the group who found the P-40 wreck. He gave me much info and introduced me to the guide, Noel. Without his help the trip wouldn’t have been possible.

We went to the crash area at Tarac Ridge on February 8-10 2018. This was the 76th anniversary of it. We went to the P-40 on Feb 9 and the Ki-27 on the 10th.

The crashes are over a kilometer up altitude wise. We had to hike many hours through the forest/jungle and mountain to the area. We camped at the lower campsite. There is an easier site at the top of the mountain near Kurosawa’s Nate which is less than a hundred feet below the area. Because we never camped there we had to ascend the final hour to the summit each day.

The Warhawk site of Stone is hundreds of feet below Kurosawa’s in the forest on the mountain side. Little remains today but bits of alloy, Perspex, glass and other small fragments. We found these. Lt Stone is still listed as MIA Missing In Action. One of our group, Mike, searches for MIAs. We took hundreds of photos of the area and of our search.

I ventured up to the Nate site of Sgt Kurosawa on the last day of our three day stay. It was at the summit. We had to go through thick brush/jungle to the location. Kurosawa hit a rock face and his plane was fragmented. The engine used to be there but has since been removed. There is less at this site than at Stone’s P-40. We found bits of metal, Perspex and bits. Looking at the closeness to the summit, I realized that Kurosawa almost made it.

Nobody but God and the pilots know who shot down whom and who was on the other’s tail that day. The result is the same: two warplanes wrecked and two pilots dead. Maybe more answers will be found on future expeditions. It was a great experience to go there to Tarac Ridge, Mariveles, Bataan. In time I hope to return. This was my first international warplane trip. I want to go to a Grumman F-6F Hellcat at Capas next.

Tarac
We busted our *****
To get up there
Over a kilometre high
Where the warplanes live
And die a violent death
Meeting their end up above
On towering lonely slopes
As did Lt Stone and Sgt Kurosawa
On the same day seventy six years ago
To the day we went there
As others before had
For we had a job to do
The missing answer to find
To locate the remains of a lost pilot
Named Stone from America
Who flew a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk
In mortal battle with his nemesis
Kurosawa from Japan
With his Nakajima Ki-27 Nate
Both died that day
February 9 1942
And both haunt those inclines
One is angry and lost
One found wants to go home
One likes Hello Kitty
But not the one you think
For my drink tumbler fell
And the guide missed it
It stopped where Stone said
And there we dug dug dug
And found his airplane
Or what was once his warplane
In pieces that were scrap
But had meaning to our group
For it was this plane
That brought us here
Many hours of climbing
Swearing and sweating
To touch the clouds
And be where both hit
At what cost?
Two planes smashed
Two pilots dead
The American protecting Villamoor
The Philippines' best pilot
Who flew his biplane
A Boeing Stearman
On a recon mission
The same type that flies today
With **** English wing walkers
From Clark in Bataan
The same field Kurosawa flew from
Yes synchronicity is here
Eagle Has Landed style
What does this mean now?
In 2018 right now
Is it the pilots' ghosts
Or God or fate or karma
That brought me here
To Tarac Ridge to look
To try to find Stone's bones?
When so many have looked
And failed to find him
Did we really find Lt Stone?
So he's no longer MIA
And captive here
This beautiful mountain side
Where the sky and sea become one
Where Bataan and Corregidor
Are visible
The old battlefields
Where hell occured
Where there are more MIAs
From both sides
Both pilots hunted here
And both became the prey
Paying the ultimate cost
Bent metal and broken bones
Telling a story
Their story
If you listen
You will hear it...

Kurosawa, porque te tratase de suicidar, eras el recuerdo de una tecnología de instrumentos el samurai, tu ojo creciente y ejecutados de dragones, de ilusiones como Madara, eras un rey, de cinema, te quiero en mi propia vida, eras mi preferido en la escuela, a los 16, me enamore, y siguió pensando en todas tus películas, en todos los momentos casi echáis perfectos solo para mi, y que te puedo decir, sos un Boludo, que realizo que talvez tu mejor es Red Beard, Toshiro Mifune, cuando lo conociste que pensaste, te asusto el desgraciado, te asusto, yo creo que sí lo hubiera visto en algún lugar me hubiera, asustado, se parece mucho a mi, desde cuando, no den pero recuerdo todo lo que hizo en Red Beard, porque en las otras me deja, deja, deja, atrás, que es la droga peferida de un dragón, de un samurai, pick your poison, suicida eras, igual que yo, lo pienso todo el día, desde los trece ańos, que quería de la vida un genio metido en el cinema japonés, que se volvió el mundo...

"The role of an artist is not to look away." A famous quote by Japanese director, Akira Kurosawa is a study into the human side of photographers or film technicians and the generic "role of an artist." We should not be ignorant and therefore, careless, to things that might not concern us. Being insightful and thorough is the route to perfect your art.

Bridge Building
We dug in the mud we used sticks
When we found bits of wreckage I was happy
When I heard the soldiers talk of ghosts I was in disbelief
When I realized I was here by fate I was fine
When I knew my Goddess guided me I was chilled
When my Hello Kitty tumbler fell I knew
When we knew this was the spot I cried
When we found a bit of bone I was elated
When I knew we had succeeded I was a girl
When I knew the big wigs had failed I smirked
When I hear it’s true what we found I’ll believe
When I hear that we found Lt Stone I’ll drink
When I drink in memory of Stone I’ll invite him
When I drink with Stone I’ll invite Kurosawa
When we all drink together we will all smile
And say how silly mad bad sad war is
But how cool aeroplanes are
Then we will all be fine
And laugh and enjoy our destiny
For we have all lived
And walked this green land
And flown in its blue skies

Warhawk and Nate
The Warhawks took off and flew upwards
Like angry hornets looking for trouble
Covering the frail old biplane
A flying camera with brave crew
Tasked to look for enemy locations
Flying here and there warlanes they were
American flown Curtiss fighters
Guarding the Filipino crewed Stearman
On a mission of war in the second global war
The **** were ready and scrambled planes
Nates took off and headed for battle
Each side had skilled determined pilots
Men would die today and planes be wrecked
Like something from Hollywood they clashed
Vicious little snappers reeling about the sky
Rolling turning diving climbing shooting dodging
The battle went till fuel and ammo was gone
Two planes and pilots never made it back
Both fought like demons and paid the price
Each side lost a pilot and plane
They both came to grief on the same mountain
And left comrades and loved ones behind
Bits of broken airplanes on the mountain
Lost forgotten unwanted for decades
Till the wrecks were eventually found
Some answers revealed more questions posed
Only the pilots' ghosts and God knew the truth
In this Tarac Ridge battle February 9 1942
The day Stone and Kurosawa died...

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
ellos que tienen geishas y la sony
y samurais y teatro no
y kamikazes y kurosawa
y matsuo basho y panasonic
y aprenden flamenco por computadora
y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra

cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
supe que por fin había empezado
la sutilísima la dulce
venganza de hiroshima

god... it's like being back in a schoolyard,
although i'd prefer that -
the rough and tumble...
   start a fight, get a kid crying -
start massaging his kidneys with fists...
banter -
           teenage boy humor -
WWF and favorite music interludes -
                  curiosity confined to lunch boxes...
weird fruits,
   and plain old cheese & ham
white bread sandwiches -
   perhaps with some
      branston's original pickle...
an orange thrown at someone's head
from a distance of 30 meters,
                         hitting the bulls eye...
half an hour in the morning,
an hour in the afternoon...
             but this current revitalized
schoolyard?
      this pseudo-nostalgia?
   i don't buy into it...
     i have enough funds to buy myself
video equipment -
   mediocre -
   but when people start making videos,
i'm only thinking about
     you've been framed! -
            plus...
     drinking is far more entertaining
than exercising the one right that gives
you a radar presence...
      drinking and writing is a partnership...
talking on video?
     is apparently allied with coffee...
i hate coffee...
              breakfast:
   ice cubes, 10 strawberries,
       10 blackberries,
   crème fraîche,
3 teaspoons of sugar,
   some vanilla extract...
              milk...
BLITZ...
          hey presto...
                                     breakfast...
it's not that it's even the big tech
firms that are to blame...
    and the alternative media,
doesn't exactly have enough avenues
to write more than 300 characters...

like i wrote on gab.ai -

i might have been a fan of the early Japanese
Godzilla movies, Akira Kurosawa,
but within the confines of a 300 character cage?
i write European poetics, Quixotic ramblings
akin to Tom Waits...
the haiku form is not exactly to my liking.

youtube was always my go to place,
to forage and scout for new music
before i embarked on buying
the classic 1980's artifact in the form of
quicksilver...
                    
back into an ontological debacle,
nothing more...
                  
i really try to avoid internet drama,
the mediocre drama
  and their subsequent outlets...
    i did that at school...
      and to recall -
   one one girl committed suicide
at the school...
within the spread of 8 years...
     that's pretty **** good...

not really... poetry is already niche...
it's not built for 300 characters,
notably of the European schooling...
i hate haikus,
i prefer Afghan landays
of their women...
        
and i probably could reach a much
wider audience with video...
but like i already said:
   drinking ***** into the excesses -
and making videos?
not a good a idea...

          like some will prefer the village
life, or a town under 100,000
if not less...
   while others just love the sound
of traffic of an urban juggernaut
compared to the deafening of
the sound of rain, and the hysterics of
screeching foxes at night...

       hmm... jealousy...
   that major trait of the tetragrammaton,
must imply that other gods
do exist...
                   a deity couldn't possibly
be jealous of the non-existence
of beings of equal stature...
                 since he would simply
laugh and squabble,
   over, yet another, batch of blind,
non-intuitive human beings...

i can't write and be sober simultaneously...
so the extra audience number
as show of a competitive mentality
just went out of the window...

i wonder what feeling jealous must be
like...
   watching a 0 turn into a 2000...
    overnight...
then again i'm interested in cognitive tattoos...
i shy away from the current
bite, spit & squabble
   seeing content creators implode -
resorting to cite themselves
in fierce opposition...

     freedom of speech?
   from what i've seen?
      best left on paper...
                 in a medium of actual,
reciprocal effort of the person
writing, to the person reading -
without the passivity of
    the lax listener...
        music is for that...
                   freedom of speech already
has the adequate filters -
written, not spoken...
    given that the former is
in equilibrium -
           books don't bite,
   but a waggling tongue at the end
of the earphones?
    
   - and what's with this boasting about
the number of emails one might receive?
i haven't received not 1,
  in the past 5 years, if not longer...
     and...
              who could ever complain
about such... lucidity of the original message,
where people have actually managed
to leave you, the **** alone?