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I dreamt of you
though I didn’t see your face
it was you
the number was seven
and it was bright yellow
So I bought this book, Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell (and quasi-ghost writer Patrick Robinson), on a whim in an airport bookstore. It’s clearly a tale of a major military clusterfuck in which everyone dies (except that one) so I thought, oh hell yeah. This is for me. I was meant to have this book.
The writing isn’t anything that you couldn’t see in a high school AP class or college composition, but the actual story seems to be a good one.
Except I have to wade through the conservative propaganda military bullshit (and Luttrell’s seemingly endless bravado):
- “There are no other passengers on board, just the flight crew and, in the rear, us, headed out to do God’s work on the behalf of the U.S. government and our commander in chief, President George W. Bush.”
- Referring to the established rules of engagement, which prohibit American soldiers from firing the first shot (unless the “enemy” has clear intentions of assault on troops). “That situation might look simple in Washington, where the human rights of terrorists are often given high priority. And I am certain liberal politicians would defend their position to the death. Because everyone knows liberals have never been wrong about anything. You can ask them. Anytime.” Rage when I read this b/c the only thing Bush says he’d do differently about the war is not have hung the sign, “Mission Accomplished,” so early.
- Luttrell is intolerant of just the idea that every person on this planet is given basic human rights and is indignant, if not plainly outraged, that the public and politicians would dare challenge the all-knowing military and its methods. Murdering everyone is clearly the answer. “This entire business of modern war crimes, as identified by the liberal wings of politics and the media, began in Iraq and has been running downhill ever since. Everyone’s got to have his little hands in it, blathering on about the public’s right to know. Well, in the view of most Navy SEALs, the public does not have a right to know, not if it means placing our lives in unnecessary peril.” Let’s not point a finger at the president, who might start a vendetta war that puts soldiers in harm’s way “unnecessarily.”
- A joke: “I am not a political person.”
I’ve been told
Death Valley exists
And I live in it
I’ve been told
Lots of things
I already know
Where the heart is
Where death resides
in molecules and chaos
A barely audible whisper. Come.
Yesterday, I took lunch and went for a light jog/walk around the old neighborhood I used to live by. It was a beautiful spring day. Like the ones I remember when I lived there. It was strange to be back in the same place and remember the version of me that when up the hill and down the hill so many times. Giddy up the hill, giddy down the hill. Crying up the hill, crying down the hill. Numb up, numb down. Angry. Grieving. Content. Up and down.
I felt a sense of satisfaction and unease. So I think I’ll go back. Then, I think it’s not a good idea. Is there something to be conquered in remembering, in going over territory I’ve been over a hundred times or am I in danger of remembering too much and reverting back to that weaker person? Fuck yes. Or. Fuck. Yes.
For now I think I’ll try to think nothing of it.
…a haiku by poeticgrin, 8/18/04
Weed in a taco
Broken swings, asses, and dreams
Satan’s spawn inside
…not sure if poeticgrin or I wrote this one. It sort of sounds like me, but it’s on Bryan’s b-day, 7/30/96
Sinking deeper and deeper
The sand fills my mouth
Choking my screams
But I am not shrieking, screaming for anyone (except you)
No one would bear the bluntness of my harmful blow
I’d knock you over (WOP!)
Lecture me of right and wrong
What does it matter in the armpits of my hell?
So I’m drowning in the dry earth that bore me
Seems appropriate, though I’m not sure I agree
There is no hope on which I could lay the truth
So I shall die and rot with it
Lil Bit of Moonshine
There is no halfway
You can’t cheat a dream
No way, no more, nothing you can say
Work is harder than it seems
Truth is a wonder
There’s all the rhyme and reason in the world
No lies, no time to slumber
*(Pearl from The Scarlet Letter)
It doesn’t have to hurt
for me to like the feel
of shallow skin torn from deeper depths.
Not all cuticles run so deep
makes the edges of my being warm.
I might go to professionals
who tinker and snip
but I don’t wish for nails that are better kept.
I wish for jagged, uneven splits
to be savored and fantasized about
to be at climax torn.
if we’re talking strictly preferences
at the moment
I think I’d like someone who I was only marginally into to someone who I was all-consumingly into
oranges to apples
discontent to happiness
nothing to something as something is exhausting
odds to evens
right to wrong
left to right
sleep to consciousness
flip-flops to school marm shoes
laundry to dusting
dusting to washing dishes
facebook to myspace
status updates to formulated pleasantries
pizza to sweets
everyone else to me