#WAR: WHATS ALREADY BEEN SAID?

What can I say about war that hasn’t already been said? My experiences reflect those expressed by writer’s far more talented the me.

Even the greatest writers admit their inability to fully capture the experiences of horror, the crushing fear, the fury, the odors, screams and silence one suffers in between the disturbing peace. Like making love or the taste of fine wine, words on a page only trigger imagination and illicit a dark sympathy. Empathy without experience is nothing more than fantasy.

I do not make these claims in offense. My own empathy is a rope that over time has become a noose. Random moments are capable of producing the most unpredictable triggers. A playful child’s scream might reveal the man, laid bare beneath a shattered wall, his stomach and intestines uncoiled across the huts dirt floor. A door slamming shut behind me and a memory long suppressed plays in a loop just behind my eyes: our medic bagging a severed, yet still camouflaged soldiers leg. The smell of a rabbit and a phantom smell of burning tire and human flesh lingers for days.

We forget so much of what we see. This is true for almost everyone of us. War is no different. We can’t recall, but we never really forget. These shocking visions, buried just below the conscience, erupt into our lives like films about ghosts. They are insidious magic tricks, pictures from the most evil of theaters. None of us are immune, it’s just that some of the afflicted can overcome the inflicted. Count me as not one.

It’s like my best memories have been erased. I’m like a mixtape that’s been over recorded with the voice of the devil himself.

Where do I go from here?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heaven In The Darkness; Eternity & Hope

Maybe there is a heaven? Heaven might be the black nothing of vanished memories and endless night? Or what we make it? Anything else, no matter how charming, would certainly include these memories. These short films I live with here in this hell.

This grey would rise, following into that shining city, like pet pollution; a smog that refuses to lift, becoming more dense in that miserable afterlife, I could never end. Hell such as this would be more appropriate, in its eternal pit of serpent and flame.

Behind these eyes are the fires that portend to reflect my pain. We lost you five years and two months ago today. I think about us and try to imagine you helping to douse all that’s enflamed today. It could be little more than a fantasy, you discovering a way through the cracks to save me from myself? I might have lost you anyway? I understand that. But at least the world would be a better place with you remaining in it.

I miss the way people would look at you; stare at you even, so striking, like a beautiful crash, you’d attract angular vision. Even though I tried never to show it and you never said it out loud, you liked the innocent way I could get jealous. Little secrets we couldn’t always hide though we tried. I never really believed I was good enough for you, though you never provided me reason to doubt it.

Sometimes I imagine you’re going to read this and write accordingly. It’s the rock of grace revealing an inner truth. It’s that hope you inspire. It’s that impossible dream reflecting upon a lake in motion.

If you were with us still yet, perhaps, beyond my grip, I’d be discontent. Your soul was my apex of promise, your loss, the final crushing blow. Be well in the darkness, my love, where the past has no future, no present, no hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Five-Thousand Miles to Truth

Are you looking up into the great space tonight, my dear? The enormity of the sky above seemed to synchronize our minds in the darkness, alone and together. Is it all just a dream or worse, an intermission before the final act? Whatever might be, or is, I find some comfort at least in the thought, that no matter how far away, we can still look upon that space as one.

Do you recall that day in December? A flight across the entire country just to tell you the truth? All I had to go on were the tiny fragments of our silly conversations. The only way I could find you was to assemble the clues you slipped into these fragile secrets. The big city seemed like it could have swallowed you whole?

Five thousand miles, four cabs rides and three coffee shops later; I saw you standing there. Like an angel fallen from the highest places, my courage caught in my throat. That quick glance you gave me, the pause that followed mid-sentence, the smile.

For a second I wondered, had this been a poor assessment? Would an apology be enough to overcome the distance that immaturity had swollen? The second look in my direction was all I ever wanted to know. From that day forward, till the day we all lost you, I promised to love you like I did that day on the outskirts of Boston, 15 years ago.

Is it the fresh snow or is it the collapse in temperature that follows the winters storm? Whatever it is in this nature all around tonight, you feel closer this evening than in some time. Do you still believe in me? I miss you, of course, but it’s more than that at this moment. It’s like you are smiling at the thought of it all and realizing, all over again, that true love lives on.

It wasn’t like me to just jump on a plane and off my comfortable shelf. Five thousand miles isn’t that far when you consider the distance in between honesty and the truth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Our Love Has No Beginning, My Hate Has No End. #loveletter #atonement

If you could send me even the smallest clue, I’d give it my all and everything to hang on and be true. Are you out there somewhere in the aether, some greater dimension? Are you a part of the universe, or have pieces of you shattered and scattered, adrift on a plane without direction or meaning? If all that is left are the tiniest of pieces, then how is it that a complete picture of you dances above, so calmly, so frantic, upon the darkest of night? Are you there, is it you, or a brutal allusion cast upon my tomorrow? I lie asleep; am I only watching nightmares that loop? Are we all endlessly waiting? 

You know, don’t you? You remember the pledge we made, that morning, under a vanishing rainbow? You claimed we could be copies of ourselves for eternity, tattoos upon the skin of our ancestors broken, bleached bones.

Funny, I can still recite so many of our ridiculous vows, even after all this time. Even after your final climb, alone, through the atmosphere. I can’t let them go, like I can’t hold on. So I stand here alone, on this stormy shore, hoping a message will wash up on the land that shakes. It is forever rolling, shaking over the undertow. 

Is this battle I’m waging worse than the wars I fought so far from here? Would you even know me still, under the skin and in spite of these scars that still bleed and ooze? Would you be the one to save me, or would I bleed out, cold and shivering in the understanding shade of your shadow?

Guess I’ll never know? Not guess, not me, my love; Not anymore.

So wherever you might be singing tonight, in sparkling pieces or whole, I pray so hard for your comfort and reduce the rest of my gratitude for a pocket to keep alive, but small.

They say atoms can entangle. Those that have combined, have collided with enough force to connect. It’s a mystery of science, so it seems, the spooky motions in perfect unison over distances equal to the age of the stars. Equal to the distance of infinity. So much we cannot comprehend my dear. My beloved.

These little morsels of atomic mystery and doubt and theory: they burn so hot within me sometimes. I could never completely let you go when so much is still misunderstood. None of us live in this place forever. They can’t keep me here.

Please don’t be angry with me or chastise me… “you fool, quit wasting your time.” Funny thing, there is no time remaining, only space offering the faintest of hopes. You’re still out there, I can really feel it; or at least synapses flash now and then, gritting my teeth, driving me on through the storm.

You’d be proud of my service to duty, of that I am certain. It’s all I ever wanted you know; to be tested and make it through the cauldron and back to you. Alas, I scrambled and toiled and killed and cried and burned and hurt and suffered the eternal longing, only to lose you at the end.

Like a commandment broken, I was atoned of that beyond my control, the ultimate sacrifice, you. That feels so self-centered, does it sound so? Nevertheless, I judge myself responsible for thus, reckoning and pain that creeps along beside me, like the bloody servant of Job.

All I ever wanted was us, and I sacrificed that for the gravest of sin. Two wrongs cannot make it right. There is no other way to live day-to-day with this smell of death upon my hands.

But am I really living? Are you really dead? Are you gone? Maybe this is all upside down and I cannot even see what I truly am? That I’m the one in hell? Are you still at home while I burn in this fire, suffering close to silently, nearer and nearer the final destination I scrape along, prolonging the destiny of ashes cemented in black back when?

If this is hell, this is where I am.  If this is life, where do I begin? If this is death, how will it end?

I can almost taste you, my love. I can almost touch you, touch me. I miss you always. I miss you already.

 

 

A Red, White & Blue Phoenix Rises Over Washington DC & New York 11/09/2016

The things we will learn about this election once the dumpster fire dies out should be fascinating? From the supposed Russian government connections to the intensive hacking effort; to the FBI’s inner strife; to the Trump campaigns war on facts; to the Clinton’s in general; the things we don’t know and the things we think we know will likely shed much light upon the disease that’s afflicted our democratic processes and political institutions? Many books will be written and many career’s will likely be made from the ashes like some red, white and blue Phoenix ascending to mega media glory.

Is Putin really directly involved meddling in our democratic process? If you believe the “17 Intelligence Agencies” Clinton claims have asserted this to be true then we could be moderately worried. Or not. Really? Do we actually think Russia is to blame for the two least trusted, disliked Presidential candidates in the history of our Republic as our only viable choices? I’d surmise the blame lies in altogether separate venues, with Russia, if they truly are meddling, only a byproduct of these failures.

1. American voters in 2016 are especially ignorant. Not stupid, but purely and willfully ignorant. Many voters are following their hearts far and above their minds. Facts don’t matter to too many out there who are just angry, depressed and confused, whether justifiably or not, to the direction the country seems to be traveling despite their will in opposition to that direction. Or, they just wont vote, unlike the 2008 election with its soaring optimism and hope, this year seems antithetical to that promise.
2. Politicians are generally in the bag, despite their words or even genuine care and concern for their constitutes. Democracy is broken. The entire system IS rigged. The whole system is bought and paid for. Democracy is an illusion of the elite media conjured up to avoid economic truths. The wider public understands this truth, feels it and lives it even if they cannot put their finger on it. Many know Trump is an idiot, a charlatan, a phony, but he is NOT Washington DC.

 

I know this is very simplistic as political analysis goes. It doesn’t apply exclusively, of course. Yet, it is a mood and a feeling that’s prevalent throughout the country. Democrats were scared into nominating Hillary Clinton and Republicans scared the GOP into nominating Donald Trump. Dem’s were scared a Bernie Sanders would lose to any GOP candidate and Republican politicians are scared they wont if they oppose Trump. And the fear multiplies.

The Russians are coming! Fear. ISIL is coming! Fear. Shari’a Law is coming to Sunnyvale! Fear. Trump is a Fascist! Fear. Hillary is a crook…and a woman! Fear. China is bleeding us dry! Fear. Ebola, Socialism, no 2nd amendment, Lizard People! Fear. Fear. Fear…F..Okay, totally fake. What do almost all of these possibilities have in common? They are largely out of our control. And that’s the problem in a giant hairy nutshell. People who have felt in control for so long in this country feel as though they are losing that control and it’s frightening.

Donald Trump is going to lose badly on Tuesday. The election that is. The American people were simply his next “mark” or “sucker,” that’s all. He’ll bleed this fear for all its worth, that we can be almost certain of. He’ll play the victim like always. He’ll bully with litigation and Twitter; the courts and the web. He’ll ruin what’s left of the GOP and likely make it impossible for Clinton to govern with Congress as a partner. That’s all great for him and bad for the rest of us no doubt.

So much could happen out of the realm of prediction that might affect a Clinton Administration, positively or negatively. We can safely assume the level of sexism will escalate in proportion to her poll numbers. We can assume the military will continue absorbing half our budget and new wars and conflict will appear, new dragons to slay and freedom to protect. The Earth will continue to warm, the seas will rise and someone, somewhere, will proficize the imminent end of the world. The NSA will scoop up everything and store it forever. The police will become more militarized and Black Lives Matter will struggle and push against the howling winds of our history.

And if I’m still here, after nights alone, again and again, with suicide a desire and not a wish; I’ll continue complaining and suffering my soul. The present is so small and we forget the immensity of it all. We are but a speck on a speck on a tiny point of a smaller dot on a sailing place in time. I’ll hope these words matter, yet be maddeningly disappointed in tomorrow. There is a war I’m fighting still, downrange in my sorry home.

It’s snowing and that brings forth nice memories of places before the storm. I’m waiting for you with a smile and a hot cocoa, wondering why we parted so many long years ago. I think of you everyday. I think of you and pray to a God that hears nothing but hatred in this ankle-deep snow. I’m still waiting love for me to come home.

updated 2119 11/05/2016

Scanning through this I realized several open-ended assertions were made with zero follow up. From my skeptisism of our intelligence agencies public leaks or claims of Russian State involvement to Clinton citing “17 agencies” confirming Russian State meddling, I’m pretty sure my sarcasm was overt.

If you believe our Coast Guard Intelligence Agency, National Geospatial Intelligence Agency or the National Reconnisence Office chimed in on Russian hacking, well, you might should put the blunt down? When it comes to the NSA, the FBI or the CIA making declarations of fact, we should all be on guard. In my opinion, I tend to only believe something after the US government officially denies it. And where does this info come from or, how did it get to Clinton? A classified briefing? You see where I’m going, right? Of course The Donald is going to challenge the claims: He pretty much automatically disagrees with Hillary like some weird robotic autopilot meme. Doesn’t mean he supports Russia…I am suspicious however.

I wonder just how damaging Trump would be as POTUS? There has been some good points offered by experts in foreign relations no doubt. It would be degrading in the eyes of the global elite writ large. But Armegeddon? Not likely, but why chance it when Clinton is on deck to propell us onward? Another decade of war? No problem, right?

I should have left this post alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#AFGHANISTAN #IRAQ & #ISIS or #ISIL

In 2011, 10 years after we invaded Afghanistan in search of al Qeada, there were more than 110,000 US troops deployed in country, in addition to several thousand NATO coillition troops. The build up of troop levels following the election of Barrack Obama signaled to me the continued hold of influence the Pentagon had over the Executive. This surge in troop level seemed, and still seems out of character with the Obama Administration’s more intillectual based foreign policy? This was a strategy familiar to the National Security State: Leak information selectivly to the public via a cooperative media intended to put political pressure on a President to move policy in their direction.

“Like a bandaid over a bullet hole” is how military leaders on the ground, to this day, describe the NATO mission in that country. Let me make this clear for anyone not fully up to speed with Afghanistan or our 15 year current history there: No matter what we do in the short term, when we eventually pull out -as we most certainly will eventually- the country will quickly fall completely back into the hands of the Taliban or some other closely related Islamic group. 90% of the country, that which is beyond Kabul, are not, and will never be, in favor of Democracy as we understand it. I’ve been there, seen it first hand, and am telling you a truth our government seems incapable of admitting.

I try not to use the Vietnam War as an example of related cause, but the similarities are striking. After WWII the French decided to take back ownership of Vietnam only to find a nation with a new sense of independence, leaders, and purpose. Eventually France was humbled despite much assistance by the United States. In the wake of the French defeat, the United States decided to take a crack at installing our own, “suitable” political structure. No matter what we did or wanted to do, Vietnam would have eventually won its autonomy. What happened to finally end our struggle against the unstoppable force of a native people fighting for their independence? Congress turned off the tap, denying Ford’s request for an additional billion dollars to continue the fight.

Eventually Congress will shut off the tap in regards to Afghanistan. Either that, or other matters will force our hand. Afghanistan is not Korea. It’s not West Germany. It’s little more than a burning hole in the ground that we throw our cash into for incineration. We go there to die for a people who’d rather kill us. It’s the definition of a quagmire.

More on Iraq and ISIS later.

 

 

 

 

Lost Nights & A Woman I Once Knew, So, So Long Ago

I’ve always felt so lucky having had you to fill out a chapter in my life. The more time that rolls past, the less I think of you, and yet, in my dreams, like the one I just dreamed, you were as alive and present as I ever could recall. Like you were really there, or here, as it were. It makes me wonder; do you ever dream of me? Do you even ever think of us and what could’ve been? It’s not something to dwell upon I suppose, or even necessarily important. It’s difficult to imagine, however, a film playing in my sleep so authentic and crazy real, without the force of both minds adrift and with will. If it’s so, and I guess we’ll never know, that these movies of us do unfold as you lay asleep; do you wake with as pleasant a high all around, like say, that of poppy tea, craving it were all real, or at least real again? Clinging to a small sliver of a synapse, yet understanding so well, it was all but a movie playing in your dreams?

I still feel so lucky, to have experienced a love like yours, who had me too, who can still penetrate the night, even still, overcoming the terrible fears. Funny how the darkness at times can shine so hot and bright? Irony is the term, I suppose? The way that gulf of emptiness with its opaque pool of fright, can so suddenly feel like the safest home? And then you’re there, above my head, just like those nights so long ago. That sweet smell of jasmine, that soft laugh and clever sparkle, could I ever forget? No, not as long as I can pretend, that these films about ghosts, will someday transcend a level below just my sullen head.

They say the best sleep is the kind that allows your brain to dump all its waste, a sort of toxic cleansing. This may in fact be true? After all these years apart, separated by oceans and strife, your voice, like a fingerprint, sticks to my mind. I sometimes hear you calling out, softly, giggling at the sight of me folding clothes, or trying to figure out the remote, or at the way I always seemed to load the toilet paper backwards on the spool. Thinking back now, those were the good things, the most private of inside jokes. Those little particulars are ultimately the stuff I miss the most because they are the unique tiles in a mosaic that was built to hide our love in place. Those are the things that can never be replaced. You can never be replaced. I haven’t even tried.

All things find their end, emotional atrophy. The hard feelings. The good times, even the best. Even the feeling I have tonight will end. We cannot live forever. There’s no substitute for that beginning with you. That first kiss…”just to get it out of the way,” you’d say. I remember so clearly, that electric moment of pulsing neon; it brings a tear to my eye every time, sometimes more. This isn’t about that though. Well, maybe everything’s about that? This isn’t about those yesterday’s past. Does everyone have that one true love that’s lost? Is it just part of our maturity, like a learning permit or a first funeral? Or is this all just a sleight of hand, black magic practiced on those of us too blind to see the present, to shallow to split the cell?

If you see this, you know who you are. I wont presume, or beg, or plead like maybe I should have long ago. Tonight, I’ll simply go for a walk under the stars, keep my chin up and my head held high, asking, that wherever you find yourself tonight, among the stars, on the sea, or in a quiet home, when you glance upwards…are you seeing the same sky as me?