just a song

From the mountain side my view of the grassy valley opens like the curtain of some monumental premiere. The late afternoon sun makes reservations with the horizon and casts out yawning rays of reception. As I make my way down the gentle slope, maneuvering here and there with some ingenuity around boulder outcroppings and aspen groves, I catch glimpses of a cabin nestled neatly against the wood line on the other side, sitting like a mother hen on her brood. By some intuition I know you are there expecting my long-awaited return.

As I approach, travel-weary and sweeping the tall grass with my fingertips, I can hear the distinct sound of a record playing. I can see you there, so beautiful and mystified, standing in the doorway... I tell myself that it's too perfect to be true and liven my stride to the melody of Artie Shaw & Helena Forrest singing "Deep Purple."

vaccine

I woke up this morning to the heaviest sky Germany has to offer, and a PT test to boot. We ran a few miles, changed into ACU's then headed to the motor pool for a task force formation where we were addressed by the battalion colonel. I now know just when we will board a desert-bound airliner and just where it will be taking us. I wish I could bend your ear and whisper, but really, how often does a guy get to say, "Sorry, it's classified."

Formation was followed by the standard few hours of thumb-twiddling outside the company CP waiting for the word. We then made our way willy nilly to the medical clinic where we were all herded around and eventually injected with Anthrax, Smallpox and the flu. I felt like the Incredible Hulk, when he was injected with the government's top secret serum...but without the spasms and super hero side effects. And now that its had a chance to settle into my system I feel like something more akin to hammered dog shit.

We were informed that if our localized smallpox infection (aka: leaprosy) was not properly bandaged and tended to, the angry rotting flesh could spread to the rest of the arm and anything that comes into contact with it and could potentially infect our clothing, sheets, roomate and the rest of the world so keep it wrapped up and clean. Roger. Good times had by all.... Not to mention the off duty football game which took place immediately following our release. Two hours of half drunken, full contact, all American past time in the mud and rain under the lights. What a life. God bless my brothers in arms.

among the ranks

The connexes full of our company's miscellaneous gear and sensitive items are all sealed and ready to be shipped ahead of us to Iraq. But until they ship they have to be guarded 24/7...which is were I was this fine night from 21:00 to 01:00. My shift was shared with Specialist S____, my squad's designated marksman and oldest soldier at the ripe old age of 43, and Sergeant W____ who lives in the room next to me and is 22.

Rank is a funny thing to deal with for me. Being a very independent 26 years old and only a private first class puts me in a peculiar position. Some of the E-5 sergeants in my platoon are 3 to 5 years younger as my superior NCO's. It's a dichotomy of consciousness and propriety that keeps me on my toes. For all of my life experience hitherto I am but an infant in the ways of the Army and Infantry in particular.

On guard Sergeant W____ and I covered everything from WW I to Jack Kerouac to Star Wars to Radiohead to his mother's involvement in the organization of large scale war protests. As we smoked and sipped Monsters and paced to stay warm we swapped stories and shot the shit, waiting to be relieved. But come Monday morning I'll be the private at parade rest saying, "Roger Sergeant," when he addresses me. In the Army there is a very defined time and place for everything. The sooner one learns to discern the difference the sooner he finds his place among the ranks and begins to blend in.

Where I Began

For some unfortunate reason I've always been predisposed to focus in retrospect on what amounts in my memory to a path of destruction. The collateral damage of selfish motives and recklessness is piled so high in my wake that I've lost sight of where I even began. It's almost paralyzing to stand before a wall of what was and what was never said in rushes of vanity and fear. The love that at times swelled in my heart and enraptured me was rarely carried out by actions or words. I too often failed to share what was so graciously given to me.

The last week I spent at home with my father he spent most of his time sitting quietly in his chair or sleeping in his bed. Though as optimistic as always his spirit was reaching beyond us. I gave him shoulder and back massages a couple times a day which for the moment seemed to relieve his mind of the pain in his body. His son taking care of him. My mind was in Germany and filled with dreams of life in the Army.

I've made a habit of leaving home for extended periods of time to try my hand at some new life over the horizon and then returning home to recuperate. My father and I were well practiced at goodbyes. He would fight a few tears like a defeated lion deceiving himself and I, the adventurous and bold young son would end the hug and be gone. How vividly I can see him watching me drive away.

The morning I left for Germany and the Army he embraced me in such a way that I was instantly the infant he held in his arms the day I was born. I felt the most complete security and perfect love a man is capable of embodying. And my cradled soul knew it would be the last time he would hold me. In that moment he emptied himself into a culmination of love and strength for me and everything God created through him. And I remembered where I began.

Night Vision

As I knelt there waiting for Alfa team to signal us forward I broke noise and light discipline to snap this pic of Specialist N____ through my NODs. This was just a brief exercise in tactical squad movement at night with, obviously, the advantage of night optics. The funny thing is that your depth perception is altered when looking through them and even though they reveal small obstacles and movement with great clarity your vision is so tunneled that its more like looking into a crystal ball containing your immediate future.

What I like to do, if there's enough natural light (a clear starry night) is just let my NODs hang from my neck and allow my eyes to adjust to the night. Maybe its because I grew up playing in the woods, getting lost and finding my way back, trying to sneak up on my sisters and their friends as they played in their little scrub oak forts, but I seem to be able to move with far more awareness unencumbered by the device. Now, granted, they are useful when you need to pull security and pay attention to hand and arm signals from leaders and such, but as far as simply moving unnoticed through the forest at night, I'd put my money and my heart on my own two orbs. Plus, its pretty damn comical to watch everybody else staring at their feet and moving as if they were on thin ice in the middle of a lake.

Beauty

My heart pumps in desperation to find a reason to rejoice, or, if all else fails, to flail in wild abandon in search of some eternal prize. On the verge of losing face on Saturday night in the midst of finished faces up and down the barracks hallway.... No adventure tonight but hanging with a few NCO's in a cramped room shooting the shit. I reach from the depths to meet their stares with my own unique experience. The beauty I've known out-weighed the horrors of combat...at least tonight.

keep trying

Sometimes you just have to throw a few words out there on the table like dice. Could add up to something of interest or value...I guess its just another exercise in risk and discovery. But what do I have to risk? I could put comfort and convenience on the line and see what happens. A year in Iraq could produce some fruit.

Heaven knows, the initial excitment of simply being a soldier in the infantry and wearing the uniform has aquired a much grittier texture since basic training...like sandpaper. Getting smoother hurts.... Or maybe I'm just being reduced to my core properties. You know, bare bones. I can say what I mean but the meaning has been seared. In the military personality is like the ashes of a forrest fire: a person's being is reduced to their most sacred sensitivities, compelled by an obsession with inevitability to manifest themselves in humor, sorrow and anger...and often in that order too. Mostly humor though.........

What a bunch of bull shit. Seriously. We hava a 4 mile battalion run tomorrow for which we have to be up at 4:30 a.m. and here I am trying so hard to write something meaningful because I think somebody out there will read it and care. Agonizing and egotistical. I need to find that place where expression is free and careless and truly cathartic. That's the only reason I should be writing here anyway.

Part of me is really pissed off at myself for writing to say something. To write well and witty and insightful bull shit. I want to put words together in a way that leads somewhere...but more like a deserted road to anywhere.

puppies and fairies

Me and my emotions are trying to make a long distance relationship work...but you know how that goes. I might notice some good vibe that would have sent a warm and fuzzy to my joy bubble but I don't hear about it till my emotions get back from lunch. Then its too late. Like, my emotions might have a baby or a cow or something and I won't know until its all grown up and feeding itself and everything. I mean, who wants to hear about some kid who can feed itself.

Or maybe my emotions are all relegated to a pressurized safe-deposit box, and you know the worm at the bottom of a bottle of mescal or taquila, if you will...well, that worm can be like a key to this box, except when you open it its kind of like one of those snakes in a can of peanuts that scares the shit out of you then makes you laugh at yourself cause you're such a dumb-ass for falling for the oldest trick in the book...the only thing is that its like the kind of trick that you play on yourself and pretend like you don't remember that that damn snake is in there, you just drank a few beers and wanted some deliciously salty peanuts.

But, you know, its ok to be nuts in the Army. The only crazy guys are the normal ones anyway. We can all feed ourselves and nobody really wants to hear about it. Take last night, for instance. Me and my roomate, PFC Pierce, stayed up till 5 a.m. drinking wine and talking about his imaginary friends Faith and the nameless one who he actually talks to and about how fairies are real and mostly present with animals, especially dogs. We are both fierce dog-lovers and agreed that if we witness some shit-bag grunt shooting stray dogs down-range we will cut his feet off and feed them to any orphaned puppies.

Pierce is half Irish half Japanese, so I call him "Cracker Jap" but only I can call him that because we can talk about religion together and I actually listen to his stories about written destiny and fairies and because I came up with the name in the first place. You can seriously watch a bottle of Crown Royal empty itself in front of him and never see him lift a finger, but all of a sudden he'll be levetating in front of the tv surrendering his soul to the vaccumous void of Halo or World of Warcraft. He's a quiet beast with a mysteriously troubled soul. But I trust him and we get along.

Welcome to the Infantry

Welcome to Germany and the valley of the shadow of death. Keep a photo of your soul safe in your wallet and don't ask the wrong questions. Don't suck any dick and don't pay too much for the same. Your pride and purpose will be scraped from the sole of a size 10 1/2 combat boot until you've done your part down-range. The forsaken and fatherless will fulfill the duty of the fat and faithless multitudes whining and dining back at the house. So tip that bottle from the brim to the dregs and break a leg for the sexiest diamond blinding your mind's eye because you will never dance with her again. Kiss it, kiss it, kiss it and blow it away.

Praise the Lord and pass the snakes. Pick up your vocabulary, raise it above your head and drop-kick that mother fucker into eternity. Standby. Here it comes like the prodigal son to sweep you off your feet and remind you of everything that landed your ass in Graceland. They call it the Triangle of Death, where each morning is indeed a spine-tingling novelty. Sustain. Keep the peace and walk the line.