this whole ordeal is slowly coming to a close, i should be home in a few weeks. some aspects feel as if they dragged on unbearably, and yet other parts feel as if they rocketed by. i barely wrote in this, but i think that there were some honest and therapeutic moments within the entries. it's nice to be able to write without feeling guarded. i don't know if i'll really take much more time to jot down thoughts in here anymore, perhaps one or two more times. i think after all is said and done, i may just save the writings and shut down the blog, it has served it's purpose well.
i can hardly wait.
these are a few things that i am looking forward to upon my return home in the next couple weeks:
-being with my girlfriend again.
-being touched.
-my new car (2006 scion xb)
-starting a new band with my old band.
-hanging out with my friends.
-showering without wearing sandals.
-drinking water in a cup with ice.
-not being shot at.
-using a real toilet instead of a porta-potty.
-being around people that are interesting.
-wearing normal clothing.
-real internet as opposed to this AOL '98 internet.
-real food.
-sushi.
-beer.
-not writing in here anymore.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Day 240
everybody is fucking everybody. a bunch of reptiles if you ask me. these land beasts slither around on their bellies, presenting their oozing pheromone holes, endlessly radiating the ugly stink of carnal knowledge. sap filled pricks fill humming bikini biscuits for the sake of advancement. airing the orchid.
What happened to men like Steve McQueen. that joe was no reptilian; very warm blooded. i mean, Steve might have fucked you stupid, but you weren't gonna get an undeserved promotion out of it, thats for damn sure. bastards. how can one respect any of the mongrels in this low-rent organizations? i used to, but you have a girlfriend, and besides this one is such a bicycle. if this is how we get promotions these days, i'm fine where i am.
What happened to men like Steve McQueen. that joe was no reptilian; very warm blooded. i mean, Steve might have fucked you stupid, but you weren't gonna get an undeserved promotion out of it, thats for damn sure. bastards. how can one respect any of the mongrels in this low-rent organizations? i used to, but you have a girlfriend, and besides this one is such a bicycle. if this is how we get promotions these days, i'm fine where i am.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Day 238
first and foremost, i've come to understand that this entire war is one botched miscalculation. a failed lab experiment, where the researchers are fully aware of their failure--but due to steady stream of tax payer funding, they continue to drive on and fight the good fight. this whole operation is one colossally mismanaged fools errand. what could we ever hope to accomplish in this wasteland? it seems strikingly apparent that we are operating as a hive mind, in the back of everyone's skulls we know that we are merely riding the tide, but still we press forward with the task at hand. all these bases look like ant farms anyways. where are the queen bee's quarters located? i would very much like to find her dwellings set the leeches on her.
what i am left with are questions--yes, there are answers, but the solutions seem daft and full of holes. why on earth would anyone chose to come to a place like this on their own accord? they must be raving--afflicted with a deep madness at the center of their being. perhaps, this is a madness that can not be detected with modern tools. the means to diagnose this particular case of lunacy is simple to unsound at this current juncture. or what if, even more likely, there is a blanket curse running through all of our veins? an old witch doctor, black as night with a bone pierced through his nose is rubbing his hands together over the cauldron while spitting ancient cajun slurs and curses through the cracks in his teeth. that whore! how can we ever hope to defeat such swine--i haven't the faintest clue how to navigate my way through the bayou, the chances of me finding this foul, black, beast on my own is slim and getting slimmer.
surely, this is the only logical explanation for why i am over here, all other avenues seem to lead back to this same rudimentary conclusion. every single local national has a dark heart and a mind full of rape and murder. i can't look at a single one of them without thinking of all the hot Arabian nights they have spent, pumping deep inside the guts of a young boy, as he thrusts further, the beads of sweat pour down his face of leather--the beads of sweat that give off the countries national stench. what an incestuous landlocked terrain. it must be the mountains and their magic that drive these men towards such vile acts against both god and nature. it has been said, that some mountains produce healing powers, the same goes for deserts and their supernatural cacti flowers. for all one knows, these mountains could be putting off an aura of defilement and butchery. conceivably, we are all drawn towards their song, like some manifest destiny or a right of passage dance. we must concur the devil cliffs as a means to restore the natural order of things to their right place. it is, after all what the doctor is ordering. we must rid these once great lands of their wicked ways, this is our crusade. we will take over where the goddess Isis and her husband Osiris left off, making this a fertile land; impregnating good, clean, american values into her belly--and so she will lay on her back and from in between her legs will spew beautiful soccer moms, driving their younglings to and from soccer practice, and then back to their two story home with a view of all the other two story homes that are modeled after all the other two store homes. from the loins of land will come advertising executives and grain mill workers, just clocking in and clocking out to feed their future soccer stars. highway ripping red ford mustangs and H1 hummers will blast out of her uterus sending a shock wave up her spine. they will be followed by minivans and mid size sedans full of McDonalds hamburger wrappers and crushed Dr. Pepper cans, piloted by working class folk stiffs with blue tooth headpieces in their ears, gabbing away about stock prices, mergers, acquisitions, and last nights episode of "the x-factor." old bluebird buses convoying dozens of bright and talented future stars of soccer to their respective places of learning, lastly a rust orange 1971 volkswagon beetle with a sloppy peace sign painted on the hood, transporting veggie and tofu eating, hemp wearing hippies who refuse to give up the cause, will sluggishly squeeze its way out of this territories snatch. her fields will be rowed with strip malls and corn fields for miles a few low income houses will be peppered in for the sake of continuity. cities will sprout up here and there, with beautiful business districts for the mustangs and sedans to park in. bohemian loft style apartments above bars and little boutique clothing stores. housing projects with crack heads and hookers and poor, battered women trying to feed their poor, battered children and their gang banger boyfriends. poor immigrants stacked ceiling high in a studio for one. alley ways and skyscrapers, billboards and newsstands, commerce and the hustle and bustle that follows. all of this, because of a witch doctor and a few million poor, unfortunate souls.
what i am left with are questions--yes, there are answers, but the solutions seem daft and full of holes. why on earth would anyone chose to come to a place like this on their own accord? they must be raving--afflicted with a deep madness at the center of their being. perhaps, this is a madness that can not be detected with modern tools. the means to diagnose this particular case of lunacy is simple to unsound at this current juncture. or what if, even more likely, there is a blanket curse running through all of our veins? an old witch doctor, black as night with a bone pierced through his nose is rubbing his hands together over the cauldron while spitting ancient cajun slurs and curses through the cracks in his teeth. that whore! how can we ever hope to defeat such swine--i haven't the faintest clue how to navigate my way through the bayou, the chances of me finding this foul, black, beast on my own is slim and getting slimmer.
surely, this is the only logical explanation for why i am over here, all other avenues seem to lead back to this same rudimentary conclusion. every single local national has a dark heart and a mind full of rape and murder. i can't look at a single one of them without thinking of all the hot Arabian nights they have spent, pumping deep inside the guts of a young boy, as he thrusts further, the beads of sweat pour down his face of leather--the beads of sweat that give off the countries national stench. what an incestuous landlocked terrain. it must be the mountains and their magic that drive these men towards such vile acts against both god and nature. it has been said, that some mountains produce healing powers, the same goes for deserts and their supernatural cacti flowers. for all one knows, these mountains could be putting off an aura of defilement and butchery. conceivably, we are all drawn towards their song, like some manifest destiny or a right of passage dance. we must concur the devil cliffs as a means to restore the natural order of things to their right place. it is, after all what the doctor is ordering. we must rid these once great lands of their wicked ways, this is our crusade. we will take over where the goddess Isis and her husband Osiris left off, making this a fertile land; impregnating good, clean, american values into her belly--and so she will lay on her back and from in between her legs will spew beautiful soccer moms, driving their younglings to and from soccer practice, and then back to their two story home with a view of all the other two story homes that are modeled after all the other two store homes. from the loins of land will come advertising executives and grain mill workers, just clocking in and clocking out to feed their future soccer stars. highway ripping red ford mustangs and H1 hummers will blast out of her uterus sending a shock wave up her spine. they will be followed by minivans and mid size sedans full of McDonalds hamburger wrappers and crushed Dr. Pepper cans, piloted by working class folk stiffs with blue tooth headpieces in their ears, gabbing away about stock prices, mergers, acquisitions, and last nights episode of "the x-factor." old bluebird buses convoying dozens of bright and talented future stars of soccer to their respective places of learning, lastly a rust orange 1971 volkswagon beetle with a sloppy peace sign painted on the hood, transporting veggie and tofu eating, hemp wearing hippies who refuse to give up the cause, will sluggishly squeeze its way out of this territories snatch. her fields will be rowed with strip malls and corn fields for miles a few low income houses will be peppered in for the sake of continuity. cities will sprout up here and there, with beautiful business districts for the mustangs and sedans to park in. bohemian loft style apartments above bars and little boutique clothing stores. housing projects with crack heads and hookers and poor, battered women trying to feed their poor, battered children and their gang banger boyfriends. poor immigrants stacked ceiling high in a studio for one. alley ways and skyscrapers, billboards and newsstands, commerce and the hustle and bustle that follows. all of this, because of a witch doctor and a few million poor, unfortunate souls.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Day 184
i have been remembering all my dreams recently. this is a new development for me; more often than not i don't remember a single second of my dreams. this has been happening for years. all of the sudden in the past week or so i can remember vivid details of my dreams. i think this is a good and a bad thing.
-YtWt
-YtWt
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Day 179
since i last wrote,
january wrapped itself up, february ate itself as well. I was home for parts of both months, so it goes without saying that both of them went by so fast i hardly had a moment to catch my breath. now march is here, and it's so close to being over but the days slide along like a slug on hot concrete. i wish i had the will to talk about my leave, but it already feels as if it was ages ago. this is fine, because now i only have going home to look forward to. one important date to the next. three months, maybe three and a half until i am home, maybe four... who knows, out of harms way by that point.
the winter is over, while i was in afghanistan, it was mild, to say the least. maybe i missed all the highlights, or maybe it was just wasn't a banner year for afghanistan. but now dog days are upon me, sultry days with sweat beads and exhaustion. i can feel them riding the heels of the hundred days of wind. the men around the base curse more than often and their posture is more aggressive, maybe that comes with the heat or maybe it comes with the heat. despite the rising tide of warmer weather, surely to bring more war, i feel solace. i have seen things that no one should see, perhaps i bury them or choose to not let them to break down the walls i have built around myself while in the place; whatever the case may be, i continue to feel comforted. this is not to say that i don't worry, because that isn't the case, by any means. often, my paranoia will get the best of me and i will lay awake, tossing and turning, wondering what moves will be played next. the comfort from this comes from being constantly wrong. in these times of cases, it is perfectly acceptable and admirable to be wrong. just because you believe though, doesn't always make mean it doesn't exist.
in the other room there are people watching 'night court' on the constantly blue hued flatscreen television. i sometimes forget 'night court' was even a show, even though it was one of the biggest shows in the 70's and 80's. everything exists somewhere. what a strange world.
-YtWt
january wrapped itself up, february ate itself as well. I was home for parts of both months, so it goes without saying that both of them went by so fast i hardly had a moment to catch my breath. now march is here, and it's so close to being over but the days slide along like a slug on hot concrete. i wish i had the will to talk about my leave, but it already feels as if it was ages ago. this is fine, because now i only have going home to look forward to. one important date to the next. three months, maybe three and a half until i am home, maybe four... who knows, out of harms way by that point.
the winter is over, while i was in afghanistan, it was mild, to say the least. maybe i missed all the highlights, or maybe it was just wasn't a banner year for afghanistan. but now dog days are upon me, sultry days with sweat beads and exhaustion. i can feel them riding the heels of the hundred days of wind. the men around the base curse more than often and their posture is more aggressive, maybe that comes with the heat or maybe it comes with the heat. despite the rising tide of warmer weather, surely to bring more war, i feel solace. i have seen things that no one should see, perhaps i bury them or choose to not let them to break down the walls i have built around myself while in the place; whatever the case may be, i continue to feel comforted. this is not to say that i don't worry, because that isn't the case, by any means. often, my paranoia will get the best of me and i will lay awake, tossing and turning, wondering what moves will be played next. the comfort from this comes from being constantly wrong. in these times of cases, it is perfectly acceptable and admirable to be wrong. just because you believe though, doesn't always make mean it doesn't exist.
in the other room there are people watching 'night court' on the constantly blue hued flatscreen television. i sometimes forget 'night court' was even a show, even though it was one of the biggest shows in the 70's and 80's. everything exists somewhere. what a strange world.
-YtWt
Monday, January 17, 2011
Day 108
i want to get married. i'm not really sure if that is normal for guys my age. but then again, i'm not too sure what constitutes something or someone being normal. i feel as if i am ready, and i think i've found the one, so why wait?
i will be home in about a week.
i will be home in about a week.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
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