Ron Paul and "The War on Terror"

It's a fact: Many Americans disapprove of Ron Paul's stance on foriegn policy and homeland security.

When nearly 3,000 people died in the Twin Towers attack on 9-11-2001, America mourned and her politicians vowed revenge. But most of us never took the time to really consider why and how it happened, myself included. Hundreds of thousands of people like myself and my brothers saw our nation come under attack and responded by joining the fight - the "War on Terror." I don't think we realized that "terror" isn't a cancer that you can treat with bombs and tanks and guns, but a merely a symptom, primarily of previous "treatments."


Soviet Russians in Afghanistan

It's largely a result of nations like the ours, the British, the Russians, and various others which had and still have imperialist ambitions, interfering in places where we had no right and in ways that resulted in becoming "the bad guys."


A young Osama Bin Laden, a leader of the mujahideen in the war against the Soviet invasion of Afganistan with Zbigniew Brzezinski, who would later serve as President Jimmy Carter's Nation Security Advisor.

 Over the years America has made many shifting allegiances with many nations and groups and installed many new leaders of nations. The nature of these allegiances have almost always resulted in the manufacturing of oppressed nations ruled by tyrants. They have never been based on the merit of a leader or the desire to make people more free, but simply to foil the attempts of other nations to take what we viewed as our domain and future domains over resources, which in truth we really don't "need," but rather are coveted by those who are ruled by greed. This is no different in Iraq or Afghanistan. 

I have great respect and affection for my fellow warriors and their superior efforts and intentions during our recent campaigns. But time and perspective have made it abundantly clear to me that our finely trained and highly motivated (despite being relatively poorly paid) armed forces have been nothing more than shock troops in nations like Iraq where private security corporations now can operate fairly safely and with impunity. Ask most veterans, especially those most recently returned from Afghanistan what they think we are fighting for there. The last answer you will usually hear is "freedom." This is because the only sort of freedom you can aid is one that is desired.

Afghanistan will never be truly modern, democratic nation. Heck, America is having a hard enough time of doing that now, even with our fertile fields, nearly limitless resources and ingenuity, and our favorable climate and terrain. The Afghan people have survived for thousands of years in pretty much the same fashion as they do now, and will continue to survive in that way. They have no use for McDonalds or Starbucks. They have no use for ultra-modern technology, except to sometimes use it against an occupying force. They have no use for the democratic process, simply because it is completely impractible in the terrain and culture they inhabit.

Iraq is very much the same way. Yet, they had a prosperous nation once. We eventually enforced sanctions which made them destitute and primed them to truly  become a culture of fear and desperation, which is still very much the way they live. They didn't always have to scavenge to survive in the desert. We made them that way. Our government's foriegn policy over the last 50+ years has been the direct cause of countless deaths and hardships for the people of the nations where we have once interfered and continue to do so. There has been a direct disregard for the phenomenon of long-term "cause and effect" in our foriegn policy.

Like goldfish we circle the glass bowl of two-party canidates and term-limits and our memories seem to last no longer than 4-8 years, just as long as we can blame the most recent Presidents for our nation's current problems. We have made reactionary choices for our leaders for far too long. We need to make a 180 degree change in the way we vote. We need to vote with hope and expectation for the best future, not fear of the worst.

As a nation we have been afraid that terror would take our lives, and yet we have let it take something from us vastly more important. Our God-given freedoms.

Our Armed Forces, who would and often do gladly sacrifice their lives, well-being and long periods of freedom for the freedom of others, and most of whom undeniably and overwhelmingly support Ron Paul, understand this one thing: Do not fear terror, or it has already won.

At Work

I sit behind a desk, staring at a bank of computer monitors.

My human interaction for tonight will be limited to watching the parade of zombified house-keeping staff and exchanging polite greetings with them as they shuffle by on their never-ending quest to eradicate scratches in floors and streaks on windows.

I have the (extremely) active ingredients of an energy drink raging through my bloodstream to keep myself awake through the night hours, but I can find nothing to devote this chemically induced manic energy to. I tweak a playlist, click refresh on Facebook, open and close my notepad as thoughts come to me and vanish as soon as my fingers begin to hover over the keyboard. I have watched dozens of episodes from a couple of shows in the past couple of nights, but I can't watch them anymore.

My foot taps endlessly... restlessly. I fight to resist tobacco time-killers that would keep my mind occupied for a few short minutes. I close several tabs that have been open in my browser for days, only to open several more that will stay open themselves, unread for days. I close my eyes to find a bit of solace from the barrage of the monitors and fluorescent lights in this modernized Spartan barracks. I cannot keep them closed - there are too many things I have to watch.

I feel as if I am aching for the weekend, but I don't really need a weekend. I need a vacation. I need a long vacation.

I need a warm beach with waves, or cool woods with rustling leaves above and below me. I need a broken-down house to rummage through, or a deer trail to follow. I need my guitar and something to write about. I need heartache. I need someone to make me sad or angry, before I go insane with the monotony. It's all so meaningless - or so it seems.

For now I'll keep my eyes focused on the horizon. I'll think and talk about the places I can go when my obligations here are fulfilled. But I can only do that so much. It is the easiest thing in the world to talk and think myself into inaction.

Life could be so interesting if I could just get off my butt and chase it. But every week, 40 of my waking hours are spent in artificial light tied to a worn-out office chair, glued to computers cluttered with cold meaningless data. Every morning I stagger through my door, exhausted by the tiresome task of doing nothing.

But someday I'll look back at these days and when I see this present valley, I'll know then just how high a mountain I've climbed. But for now that mountain stands unassailable as I sit waiting for my marching orders to come through.

Then, You May Rest

At first people seem like they really know,
They seem like they're the ones in control.
But lately I've had the nagging notion
That they're all crashing in slow motion.

Most days, Life it comes in an endless loop:
Days when flowers don't droop, days when they do.
It's true that if nothing rises, nothing can can fall;
But to be filled with nothings is to have nothing at all.

When the Sun rises over the same rooftops;
When the stars hide from your eyes cast aloft,
You've got to break your habits down.
You've got to leave your beggar's crown.

When there's no azimuth not yet traversed,
No hate, predjudice, or fear unreversed;
No sight unseen, height not reached,
Sensation untested, nor barrier unbreached...

Then, you may rest.

Fear

The last few years have been quite a journey, wavering between the limits of hope and despair, but over the last several weeks God has been especially showing me that every fear I have is simply a blinder that keeps me from seeing the beauty of life. In this time I have gone from staring into a dark tunnel wondering what singular fate lay at the end, to the point where I realize that I am standing on a plain, and that there is actually a horizon, limitless and full of life's wonder and potential. Even if I can now only see glances and hints of life's full potential, it has been my fears that have kept me from seeing that it can take me to amazing places - if I will only allow it.


I woke up this morning from a dream and a voice speaking to me. This is what it said:

"I did not give you such great capacity for wisdom and courage to see you eaten from the inside by paranoia: Fears of the of the unknown, of closeness or distance from people, wealth or poverty, silence or great noise, of darkness or daylight, of My creation, of the world's end or carrying on without you, of insufficiency for your task or of unfulfilled potential, of pain or a life without it, of deaths, incapacitation, limitations and a host of other things that can never come between us unless you let them. I see the signs of a chained soul in every motion you make, and it breaks my heart! 


If you only knew that there is nothing to fear in this world, save being afraid, then you would know freedom like never before. To be given over to your fears is to always dominated by the every emotional, spiritual, or physical bully who enters your life. You need to know now that there is nothing that can touch you, the real "you." Life is a battle, a tumultuous clash between your will, My will, and the will of the world. You are powerless to change the world for the better if you cannot allow change to first occur within you. You are powerless to change for the better if you do not let Me place you squarely in the path of your greatest fears and watch how I can overcome them for you."


"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." - 2 Timothy 1:7

Up Into the Mountains of Highland County

Took a little trip today with Ben to visit some Maple syrup farmers in beautiful and wild Highland County. Here are some photos taken from the car:

Photo's taken with an HTC Desire using the Vignette Demo program.

iZombie

This an iZombie... there are many, many like her. There is no way to kill them. You can only cling to your own technology and pray.

Snowed-In

Spring comes to the valley,
But snow lingers on this peak.
Where long ago you held me,
Then left me here to freeze.

And while outside I am frozen,
My heartbeat's slow and sure.
This is only hibernation.
I will return once more.

The valley shall hear my song;
And the rivers flowing deep,
As someday I'll flow swiftly down -
As melted snow beneath your feet.

Marrow

"“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.” - Henry David Thoreau

All I want is to taste the sweetness of the honeysuckle;
to draw bitterness and regret from the howling north winds;
to find reflection in the stillness of fallen snow;
to find exultation in the freshness of each spring and quiet peace in the humming, buzzing, stifling summer;
to sing with voices rustling like the wind through a field of tall, uncut timothy grass in the autumn;
to make music full of mystery, somehow larger than the instruments or the instrumentalist, like those of the cricket or of the peeping frog;
to craft melodies like bird-songs of the mourning dove, the lonesome owls, whip-poor-wills and nightingale;
to feel the rhythms of the plodding oxen, the fleeting deer, the galloping horse, the clanging, rattling, of bones, earth and stones;
to roar like an whirlwind, tearing down walls which stubborn men have erected;
to sigh like an ocean, taking and giving life to and from the Earth;
to flow like the currents of the deep, through foreign yet strangely familiar ports, changing shape, ever true to my natural direction;
to groan like a deep-rooted oak weathering every storm, to spread roots broad reaching like the willow, to tap and taste of the Earth's inner warmth like an ancient pine;
to accept death and life resurrected, like the prairie after a fire;
to shake and heave up the immovable parts of my heart with earthquakes and lava flowing from my soul...

But all I know is silence on these streets; stillness and cold shrouded light - as if I were dwelling on the ocean floor, far beneath the Arctic floes. I hear engines and brakes, doors and windows opening and shutting, cursing and shouting, and the mutterings of perennial discontent and all is music many times removed from it's purest source. There is only insanity here in this prostrate Babel; only humanity lost, and I wandering among them - I am no different.

Traction

Once I had a train of thought,
I rode gleefully upon it's back.
Then I unhooked all the cars
and we swiftly leapt off track.
Now we're spinning wheels
in a field full of cow-crap.
Maybe I'm not really lost,
it's just traction that I lack.

Once I had a submarine of soul,
I used to explore such depths.
Then I saw the green-screen roll
and knew I was altogether bereft.
I used think myself so deep
before my bravado sprang a leak;
Now I just pile thoughts in a heap
and try not to speak.
~:~

I know. I used the words green-screen and bereft in the same sentence. This is exactly why not talking is so much easier. I am a Frankenstein of rhymes, pop-culture, technology, and Shakespeak.

Help.

The Drive

A couple of days ago, my brother in the throes of cleaning the house dug up a piece of my past that I thought was long gone: "The Drive."

Prior to my joining the Armed Forces, I was a prolific amateur photographer who had serious aspirations of becoming a professional photojournalist.

Early in life I had messed around sporadically with my mom's old SLR 35mm, but with the advent of digital cameras I found a whole world of possibility open up to me. I shot with our family's point-and-shoot compact 2 megapixel for a while, then worked a whole summer on a local farm to save up enough for an 8 megapixel prosumer ZRL (zoom reflex lens). Over the next two years I shot around 40,000 photos. My photos were all stored on a hard-drive when I went off to Boot Camp and when I came back I found that I had completely and inexplicably lost all interest in my creative outlets. Photography was no exception.

Photography was the most important thing in my life before joining the military, and as such, returning to that obsession became the path that I navigated as I sought to return to something of my former self.

I took what I thought to be the first step back when I met a girl who somehow helped me to see colors again, (ironically, she had just gone color-blind) and I felt a hope that among other things, I could be the obsessive photographer again - the trait I thought that defined the pre-military me. Then she left my life completely and I soon abandoned my reborn photographer in favor of going on a long streak of heavy drinking and writing heaps of ridiculously emotional music and poetry.

The final blow came one day when the hard-drive with all my work on it started clicking and suddenly died as well. At first, I felt sick to my stomach thinking that my greatest tie to my prior self was gone.

At first I thought about spending the heaps of money that it would take to recover the photos, but for reason, I felt a strange peace and acceptance that the photos were gone. No longer would they haunt my existence, bidding me return once again to my former obsession. I think now that I was right to feel that way, and my life has been better since I gave up that pipe-dream. 

However, although I gave up on being a photojournalist, I found in it's place a revolving door of other aspirations whose urges and capabilities came and still come to me in an almost clock-like cycle. 

It will happen (often suddenly) that when I am within grasp of finishing a project, such as the production of my music album, that I lose all creative drive in that direction and find myself writing heaps upon heaps of lyrics and poetry instead. In time I'll move onto some other interest, and then something else, and even spend weeks just subconsciously adsorbing stuff, and many days later when my drive for making music returns, I find that I want to take my album in a completely different direction and I'll start all over again from scratch. This cycle has repeated in some form ever since photography ceased to be a part of my life, and now it seems with ever increasing regularity.

I've only recently, and quite gradually become aware of the surety this phenomenon, and I find that I am actually happy with it. Granted, I'll never be really good or well known for any one thing in particular like I felt sure I would be as a photographer, but I see and experience so much more without my eye glued to a simply viewfinder, or a microphone, or a monitor, or my fingers tied to my computer's keyboard or a guitar's neck.

So, this hard-drive showed up, bringing with it some turmoil, memories, phantoms of ambitions and dreams. It reminds me of the two years I spent looking through a lens; of the perhaps one thing I could have been really exceptional in my pursuit of; but it also reminds me of the life-time I might have spent doing just one thing, trapped by ambition and obsession. 

So I suppose I'll keep this little doohickey safe, and one day years from now I might see if I can recover the photos. But in the meantime it serves to remind me of the path I once travelled to a destination I thought I knew; and the path I'm on now which could go just about anywhere.

Frozen Pond

My ventures left no visible marks 

                 where I walked

 yet the surface of the pond was marred

           where the deer 

              and the raccoon stalked

                    Upon midnights so brightly starred

                          Their wild spirits led them 

                                                              to reach

               Where my own feet would not go

                        for the ice popped and cracked beneath

          my firmly planted

                            well-shod

                                      cautious feet

        I walked for a time 

                          along 

                         the edge

                and on the bank 

           when the ice was weak

                    there I fought the briery hedge

to step again 

 where the ice did not creak

           The ice in the center was likely

                          more sure than that on the rim

                                where it was full of fractures 

                                                           and weeds

                           But I stayed 

                where I could easily reach the shore 

                     and would not risk drowning 

                                   simply to feel free.

A Christmas Poem

"To My Fellow Gentlemen"

Let us lift a glass of Christmas cheer
To welcome the coming of the New Year,
With pungent smoke where we, sitting,
Will reignite what is manly and fitting.

While the cold outside gathers strength,
We at sit at home and talk at length,
On finer aspects of our various lives,
In smoky rooms, away from the wives.

A decanter of port is slowly tipped,
And the fruit of the vine is fondly sipped.
A fine tradition passed on from our fathers -
From homelands far over blue waters.

Yet, there are many who don't understand
About finer things which wait for a man.
For if only moderation he would employ,
Simple pleasures are what he should enjoy.

So here is to all who seek simple pleasures,
May it come to you in tasteful measures.
In a season when our great gift is to be alive,
Please, I pray you, don't drink and drive.

-2008


Remember to thank a deployed Service Member, Fire Fighter, EMT, or Police Officer if you know one who is working hard over the holiday to make sure that your's is a safe one!


May God bless you all, and have a very merry Christmas!

As It Was

I am walking the rails that run between my house and the river, looking for solitude and a coal nugget or two in the white gravel where they often lay, both glittering and void-like in the moonlight. Melancholy hangs heavy in the air about me and fills the spaces within my chest, like the frost on my sleeves and the bitter cold in my knees and lungs.

The spirits and memories of the past hover and watch me in the deepening shadows, waiting seemingly in vain for the coming of the Sun. I am not far from where the place where I had not long ago lost a battle with my heart - an outcome I had long feared.

In the silence of the night, I hear footsteps echoing from ahead and look up to see a spectral scene approaching from afar:

With head hung low and hand buried deep a man is walking towards me. He kicks at the gravel as he walks and yet it does not seem to move. I stop and stand in the shadow of a tree to watch him pass. A ghostly light seems to follow and I see faint, quickly vanishing images of lights and buildings and people all around him. As he comes closer, I see his face, covered in ice crystals. He is just about to pass the place where I stand thus shrouded, when he stops and turns slowly to look in my direction.

I stand in place, frozen with apprehension and fear. Then my heart stops beating for just a moment as I realize that the face looking at me is very much like my own. I feel a chill run through my body and I turn to flee but cannot move at all. I see that the face holds no expression except an odd grimace which the ice had frozen onto it, the eyes sunken there are lifeless, filling me a nameless fear. My thoughts fail and I fall into a strange, sleep-like state.

The cloud cover the Moon's face and the wind dies. How long I stood thus transfixed I did not know, but sometime later I find myself still standing there and I look about to see no one around me, only the moonlit trees swaying silently in the wind. The vision is gone.

I look down at my feet which had melted the ice beneath me and become refrozen in place. Breaking free of my icy bonds, I run home as fast as my legs could carry me, shaking with the cold and shaken to my core, and vowing to myself to forsake no more the warm company of my fellow man for the bottle and the solitude of my dark studio.

He walks the tracks as they once were 

In the places where they still are;

Under gaslight's eternal glow 

He revisits these places

Looking for the faces

He used to know 

And knows no more.

A young man who died old.

He walks still in the world;

A prisoner, earthbound 

By a love he'd found,

And a love he betrayed

They have all moved on 

And he has stayed.

An Update:

Well it's been a while since I posted anything, and I'm not happy about that.

It's been an absolutely crazy  month. But I'm hoping to have a chance to relax and gather my thoughts in the next few days and maybe have something to say. In the meantime here's a recap of some of the things I've been up to lately:


Fishing: I never really thought of myself as someone who would get into fishing, but being out on the water with no distractions and just swish and buzz of casting a line, interrupted by the thrill of an occasional catch has proved itself be like a mini-vacation. It helps that my friend's home is just a stone's-throw from a fully-stocked pond and there's no packing and unpacking of the boat to deal with. Going out on the pond surrounded by good friends, still water, and nature's bounty is truly a worthwhile escape from the madness of the world.


Fall colors...



Jim, looking like an old dude.



Moi.



The Sun dipping low in the sky...

 Theatre: I was recently apart of a local community musical theatre production in my town. This Sunday was the final performance and we played to a packed house. There were a couple of rough nights, D.O.A./small audiences, but the rest of the nights more than made up for them. The play was written, produced and directed by the extremely talented Langden Mason. It's all about a year in the town in 1954 and is written around a local radio station that ran at the time. I was a part of 7 different numbers, including a solo, a duet, a quintet, two sextets, and two ensemble pieces, with my characters ranging from a radio singer to a cowboy, irish immigrant, marching band member, to a vampire. It was a healthy bit of fresh air and exercise for my multiple personality disorder.


Langden out front directing a rehearsal.



Langden at the piano surrounded by the cast of On The Air



Little brother Sam (second from left) and some fellow cast-members during rehearsals.

 The second and last weekend of performances fell right on my duty weekend, so I drove over an hour both ways, from the base to my hometown three times in total that weekend, getting up at 5:30AM and going to bed and 1:00AM each day. I just now am starting to feel like I might actually eventually catch up on sleep!

But what has been really amazing about this whole experience is that I actually saw the play the first time it ran in 2001. I was 14 years old at the time, and it made a huge impression on me, one song especially: "Your Love Haunts My Dreams" which is a piece written by Langden Mason when he was 16 years old (what better age for writing entrancingly hyperbolic music?) and is based on Bram Stoker's Dracula. It was a haunting performance that has stayed with me since the first time I saw it, with Langden singing from the orchestra pit and Terri Long up on the stage, exuding vulnerability and emotion. When I auditioned for the play, I assumed that it would be the same deal as last time, but Langden decided to have me replace him in the number and I found myself onstage with Terri, who came back again to reprise her two roles in the production, and singing a song that I never thought I'd hear again, not to mention have a chance to perform. All in all, it was nothing short of thrilling, especially just to be a part of this group of talented, positive-minded, and truly wonderful people. But the whole experience has ultimately been quite exhausting and time consuming. In consequence and conjunction with everything else that has happened recently, mostly mundane and un-post-worthy, there have been no blog posts.


Terri Long as "Lucy" and myself as "The Count." (photo by Barry Long)

 Riding: I got my bike up and running, cleaned it up, and have been rolling out the miles pretty steadily on the odometer. The cold weather has necessitated my layering-up and I walk out the door most days looking something like the "Michelin Man." But the added hassle of dressing for the cold is vastly out-weighed by the liberation I feel when blasting through turns and cruising down the highway feeling the full force of the elements, fully aware of my surroundings, the smells, the temperature and humidity, the position of the Sun and clouds, the colors and all the sensations of acceleration and gravity, friction and momentum. There is no ignoring the natural world on a motorcycle.


The bike stripped down and ready to clean and polish.


Graduation: My younger brother, Andrew, graduated from Army Basic last week, and those of us that could drove down to Georgia for the day. Contrary to reasonable expectation, it did not get any warmer the farther south we went. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. And it was something of a blitz back and forth, but we were able to spend a few hours with Andrew and it was well worth it.



Slipping down the road, trees like water flow by.



Keeping the natives happy with my iPod Touch.





Almost there...





The Georgia "moonlight in the pines" can seem so sultry in the words of a song...



... and slightly less so in the middle of the city.



Fueling up at Denny's.



A Georgia morning...





...mist and Spanish moss.





The National Infantry Museum and Soldier Center at Ft. Benning



My brother, a newly graduated U.S. Soldier.



... and that is some of what's transpired since I've last posted.

A closing thought: 

Which definition of love do you find most accurate?

1. Deep affection and warm feeling for another.

2. The emotion of sex and romance: strong sexual desire for another person.

3. A beloved person.

4. A strong fondness or enthusiasm.

5. A zero score (in tennis.)

Leave it to sports terminology to sum it up correctly, right?

Journal Entry: 1st Days in Iraq

April 1st-2nd, 2009 - Iraq

After a cramped ride in a C-17 from Kuwait, we arrived in TQ at about 2100. We unloaded our bags and piled into the briefing room for our base orientation a complete combat load of ammo. Then after waiting around for the word on our ride out, we retired to temporary housing for a few minutes of shut-eye and found the rest of our engineers from the previous stick already there. The word came down that our convoy was delayed an hour and a half, so we went to the chow hall for Mid-Rats. The Best D*** Hooters Show was on the television there and needless to say, there were a lot of open-mouthed stares for the next 45 minutes, admittedly, my own person was included in this pathetic group of women-starved Marines. The desert is the breeding ground for desperation and all but the very strongest find themselves staring at the occasional WM as they walk by and wondering what they would look like in civilian clothes.
We unpacked and repacked a whole conex box so as to be able to fit all of our gear as well as the rest of H&S Co.'s into it. We formed a chain and knocked it out quickly and with no room to spare in the box we spent the next ten minutes trying to latch the door completely, finally realizing that it was a problem with the door and contented ourselves with latching only half way. Our Armadillos and MRAPs arrived soon after and we suited up. 1st Sergeant [L.] called us around him and said to us, "This is it, gents. This is the real deal. A rocket landed in Ramadi yesterday and the last convoy out just got hit with an IED. Keep your heads on a swivel and stay alert."
Instantly I felt the tension rise. We loaded up and began our ride in silence. Every sway and every bump was felt acutely. Between the IED threat and this being the first seven-ton ride since the accident, it was a very nervous beginning. Then we all heard a sort of rhythmic "swish, swish, swish" like a washer machine as something became lodged in our passenger-side middle tire. The sound gradually turned into thumping and the truck began to shudder as the tire became more and more flat. We had to stop for a moment when we saw debris in the road and a sign next to the road, as well as lights in a house began to flick on and off. The whole ride I was praying fervently for myself, my comrades[...] But we arrived safe and sound in Camp Ar Ramadai after a tense 45 minute ride through the town it was named after.
Briefs kept us awake for a couple more hours and everyone was walking around in a zombie-like state as we settled into our temporary quarters, an old Iranian [Baathist] School building. Unpacking and setting up kept us awake until about 0500, so most of us stayed awake to go to morning chow at 0530. The chow was overwhelming in quality, variety, and selection. Although completely exhausted we ate with relish and when we finished we headed back to our barracks and fell promptly asleep. We were awakened at 1000 to have classes to update us on IEDs and the CREW systems and then to go BZO our weapons. Finished up by evening chow, we relaxed in the barracks for a few hours and then went to a class at 2030 which ran until 2200. After we finished up, we all headed back to the barracks and slept like the dead.

My Winter

Make me shiver

My cold, cold wind

Your eyes are brown leaves

You're my winter

The frost is thick

On the ground black glass

On the blacktop I slip up

I look up and go down again

Years pass and still I die

When lips kiss yours

And those lips aren't mine

Belonging to some strange soul

Breaking bones every time

I fall and remember

You should be setting them

You should be kissing them

Where does hurt end

And healing begin?

Deep underground

Below the frost line?

Dirt beneath my fingernails

How I got here, I can't tell

Awakened in a field

Face frozen over with tears

I am driven wild, undone again

Pacing the highways

On a dark horse, swift as wind

Running from a broken day

Training Journal Entries

A few entries from a journal written while training for Iraq:


Nov. 13th, 2008 - Camp Horno, Camp Pendleton, California.

Well, we are settled into our barracks, a squad bay that will be our home for the next two months. It has good head facilities and washer machines, plus some drink fridges and microwaves, so it could definitely be a lot worse.

Today we woke up at 0645 and hoofed it over to the chow hall. After chow we ran through some hip pocket classes about det. cord ties, improvised explosives, and claymore mines. We went to afternoon chow at about 1100 and when we came back, we cleaned the head and squad bay. I caught some sleep after reading the Constitution for a bit... no surprise there.

I was awoken [sic.] when we had to run over to the parade deck for a battalion formation... 847 of the men we will be deploying with. After a motivational speech by the CO of [Battalion name redacted], we were dismissed for chow.

After evening chow we made our way back to the squad bays and 2nd squad got changed over into boots and uts. and we headed up the nearby mountain on a fire trail. We made it up about 3/4 the way before some of the guys got too tired and we started back down. It was a fun little jaunt... good team building, camaraderie promoting exercise.

I am now sitting in bed, listening to helicopters passing over head, and thinking about this path I have laid out before me. I never knew it would feel like this. The rosy hues of my childhood war fantasies didn't include being away from my family and most of my whole life for a year. But I suppose it will be a good thing, if I choose to make it so.

This mandatory detachment from the hum-drum routine and getting by that characterized my prior existence can be a good thing. I must remain, however, on the offensive to ward of the attack of sloth while I am in this period of my life. There will be a lot of down time through out this whole process, but it would be a waste if I were to not use this shaking up of my existence to grow.

Nov. 14th

Today went well. Reveille went at 0600, and aside from getting our weapons and other gear issued, the day was unremarkable. We went to chow, we came back and ran through some classes, then went to chow again, then came back and ran through some more classes.

Tomorrow we are headed out with the grunts to a range where we will be doing some breaching and clearing trenches. Our goal is to demonstrate to the grunts our capabilities and training so that they will be able to effectively utilize us in-country.

My hygiene and eating habits have improved dramatically over the past few days. No longer a bachelor, I am Marine who is proud to maintain a smart appearance and whenever possible, smell good. I imagine that I could very easily live this way indefinitely. I can see how people can do it. But not people with dreams, goals, and ambitions.

I aim to be the master of my own fate, so to speak. I don't like answering to men that I wouldn't otherwise have to answer to if they were not nominally placed in positions of authority without actually meriting it.

There is not a whole lot a Marine has time to do or be except be a Marine and do the things that we do. It's not a bad life, but it is not a life I could willingly accept as my future permanent lot, knowing full well as I do that the world is much bigger and more exciting than what we see in our day to day existence.

There has been a question that I have asked myself, bringing to account the different strengths and weakness that my paths have shown within me. One of the paths I have considered is law enforcement leading into a career in the intelligence field. Could see myself leaving behind the self-centric, self-expressive lifestyle of an artist for the opportunity to serve others.

I believe that I could leave behind the softness and depressive weakness that defines my life when I yield to my artistic tendencies, and adopt a common-sensical approach to life. But this path always seems much to narrow, and even though it would be a stable existence, it would perhaps be a waste of the different aspects of myself that were hardwired into me at my creation. Even now, I become a hard man to adapt to this lifestyle, stoic and accepting of whatever comes my way.

But is this the way a man was meant to live? Are we not meant take in as much as we can? How can a man call his live well lived if he did not experience the keen hunger for life, at least in his early years? I am not fighting this experience or who I am becoming, because it is essential for me to retain my sanity and be effective in my day-to-day life in the Marines, but I cannot allow this attitude to determine my choices for my future paths.

Nov. 15th

Today was a good training day. We woke up at 0445 and beat feet over to the Parade Deck about 3/4 of an hour later. After a while of waiting for the rest of "E" Co. to get things in order, and scarfing down a MRE for morning chow, we stepped.

We were attached to Echo Company for the whole of the training exercise today. We stepped from the Parade Deck in a staggered column at about 0730, with Team Ramrod (my fire team) providing rear security. We hit our first hill a short time later and for the rest of the next two and a half miles we climbed up the steep grades of a fire trail.

The Com guy got broke with a couple of minutes of stepping off, so we traded off carrying the pack in front of us for the rest of the time. It wasn't too bad, but I had to carry it more downhill than up, which meant my shoulders suffered, rather than my legs. After a four mile patrol, we arrived at our "range" which was really just an area in the middle of nowhere that had some concertina put in random places and trench[es] seemingly dropped from nowhere.

We rested and had an afternoon chow MRE at about 1030, and pretty much sat and rested for a while. Then as the grunts began their breaching exercises we made our way to the training area to observe their activities. They had received basic instruction already from some of our [Company's] Marines in clearing with grappling hooks and bangalore placement, so they performed these task with relative proficiency, however we were able to comment and advise on how to further improve themselves.

After this various marines and I began teaching classes to the grunts in order to familiarize them with basic procedures and our capabilities in assisting them with breaching obstacles and urban mobility breaching. I taught an APOBS class to most of the company in several different sessions, as squads and platoons finished their infantry exercises. I also assisted Cpl. [H.] in teaching a Line Charge class and Urban Mobility Breaching.

We finished and at about 1830 we got picked up in a 7 ton and were brought back to Camp Horno. We turned in our weapons at the armory and took quick showers, got in our civvies and headed over to the rec. center at about 2015, where we ended the day with some Subway and relaxation.

Now I sit in my rack reflecting and writing. Keeping a good attitude makes all the difference in long marches and other demanding exercises. They say the mind gives out long before the body does, and I have found this to be very true. I have always had trouble with not giving over to the defeatist, lackadaisical attitude, but for some reason I remained in high morale throughout the entire day, even though my shoulders ached from the highly uncomfortable pack and my feet and legs hurt from the long patrol. Overall, this whole week has felt like a turning point in my approach to life.

Nov. 16th

Today is Sunday, so reveille went at 0645. We ran through knowledge on Urban Mobility Breaching so that we were all up to speed for teaching the grunts. Then, after cleaning the head, we headed over to the chow hall for a somewhat late morning chow. After chow was finished, we hit the PX where I bought a laptop cover and a "Don't Tread On Me" sticker for my laptop.

At about 1230 we headed over to the armory and cleaned weapons for almost an hour, then headed back to the barracks and changed over to PT gear, then headed over to the Gym. To pumped [sic.] some iron, and did some grappling on the mat there. After about 3/4 of an hour, we headed back to the barracks and I showered and we changed over to cammies for chow.

After chow we came back to the barracks and had down time for the rest of the evening and headed over to the Rec. Center from about 1830-2100. Now I am sitting in the rack, waiting for SSgt [H.] to come brief us so we can finally hit the rack. We are supposed to do HEAT (Humvee roll-over training) tomorrow, but there are some problems getting it locked in.

Nov. 17th

Today we did HEAT Training... it was supposed to simulate a Humvee rollover, but it was more like a really bad carnival ride. But it was it wasn't hard or stressful. It seems like for some reason none of these phases of training are phasing me. I have been focusing on keeping a positive mental attitude. For the first time I have broken the hangdog approach to training that I learned in Boot Camp. The harder the training the more enjoyable the challenge. Life is a matter of perspective.

Nov. 18th

Today was a good day. After morning chow we hit the PX and then did a thorough field-day on the squad bay. After that we hit the Gym for about 1.15 hours, pumped some iron and rolled a little on the pads. After that we went to afternoon chow and went back the squad-bay to do classes and down time for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow we are doing a hump 4.2 miles up and down mountains with a fairly heavy pack load, then after doing tables #3 & #4, we are humping 4.2 miles back. Most of the guys are somewhat dreading it, but I view it as a good challenge. Something is driving me. I can't tell just exactly what, but I haven't felt sorry for myself, nor am I planning to at any point. The greater difficulty, the greater the reward, both in this world in the next.

I know I need to be tougher mentally and physically, and I could ask for no better way to improve myself than to participate in activities that I have dreaded in the past and take them in stride. I cannot express how grateful I am to God for the continuance of mercy He has shown me in giving me a good attitude. I know that I cannot get through this without His grace.

So, anyways, I'm just sitting here compiling a playlist and wrapping up the day in the best way I know how. I've never felt so sane.. it's strange.

Nov. 19th

Well, today was the long awaited day. We humped out to the range for tables #3 and #4, about 4.5 miles through the rolling California foothills. We carried our main packs stuffed with our new flak jackets, along with our kevlars and various other items of equipment. It was good stretch of the legs.

[K.] and I lead the two columns, and the engineers of 2nd and 3rd squad lead the formation, followed by the H&S element of [Battalion name redacted] and we made it out there in about 1 hour and 20 minutes. We BZO'd our weapons, then did table #3 which was comprised of shooting from different yard lines, different stances, and while moving.

Then night came and we did the night element, table #4. We used our Night Vision Monocles and the IR beam pointer, PEQ-15. Then after making final preparations and counts, we stepped at about 20:00 to head back to Camp Horno. We made the hump in under an hour, and the detachment definitely was pushed a lot harder, but we arrived safe, sound, and in full numbers at the Parade Deck.

After turning in our weapons, we made our way back to the squad bay and showered and compiled a huge order for Dominoes. I'm a little sore, my feet hurt a little, but I am relatively no worse for the wear. We had quick class to prepare us for tomorrow's training evolution, the Gas Chamber qualification, and now we are sitting around waiting for the pizza order.

Nov. 20th

Today was a full training day. I am exhausted and tired, and I am getting up tomorrow at 0430 to head into the field, so I cannot write long. I just need to write a little to put some things to rest.

I truly hope that someday I will be a good man. I don't like who I am, but I am not in rebellion against who I am. I am who I am for a reason, and I stay this way for a reason. I am here to protect my family, and somehow I've discovered that the only way I can protect them is to lose them. I won't be with them for a long time, and those short times that I am, I fear the terrible potential for me to be a poor influence upon them.

God, please [make] who me who you need me to be, I don't want to be me.

Fish Story II - "Pond to Plate"

Caught a decent Smallmouth Bass today in Ben's pond, and it looked so nice I decided to keep it and cook it up.

So I began my epic first encounter with gutting and filleting a fish.

I had very little idea of what I was doing, but that's never stopped me from doing anything before.

 It was a massacre. A slimy, scaly, frond-scented massacre.

 Viewing the aftermath of the carnage I begin to wonder, "Why do I feel hungry? And where's my Precious?"

 But I shakes off the feeling, clears my throat: "gollum... gollum..." and I heads inside to clean up off the pondscum and cook the filletsssss.

 The finished product is NOT raw and wriggling. It is broiled with a basting of olive oil, sprinkled with lemon juice and parsley served with bread with Ben's home-made hummus. Yum! I jumps in it!

Photos of me taken by my good friend and fishing buddy, Jim McGuire.

Remember the Fallen

Morning creeps in, silent, still,

Afraid today will see it's dawn
Worlds collide with violent will,
While the silent trees watch on.


The words of men can cause such dispair,

When the strength of our wise men fails.

Wringing hands and terrified they stare

At a world of pain and they pale.


The Strong grow wise as they fight a war,

That takes them and sends them afar.

The eyes of youth soon are forever lost

When the truth is shown and the awful cost.


They pay the price for the life we live

Today for freedom, his life he gives.

- 2007

This Man was a warrior through and through,
And he died whilst in my brother's arms on that terrible day.
He lived by a code and he remained ever true;
He was killed pulling a wounded man from harm's way.

I was not yet a warrior when I attended his service that day;
A whole community came together, stood and prayed.
People spoke of his potential, and strong men wept
I wished I could have known him; bright star that now slept.

He wrote to his family on the day he died, somehow knowing;
His mother said he wrote saying he knew where he was going,
And that he believed in the things he was doing.
I watched as tears streamed down her face.

I have this photo that was taken minutes before the fight.
There is no fear or hate behind this man's eyes.
Only contentment to be now at his comrade's side.
I wish to have known him, this man who changed my life.

- 2009

Cpl. Bradley T. Arms, killed in action on November 19th, 2004 in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.