Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Average American Soldier

So, Just letting you guys know, I didn't write this. I've been super busy with work stuff all weekend, but I didn't want to leave you guys without something to read, so I pulled this out of my readin's archive for you guys to take a peep at. Once again, I didn't write any of this.

The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm howizzitor. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime.

He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have woman over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot.. A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets....... Prayer wheel for our military... please don't break it. Please send this on after a short prayer. Prayer Wheel "Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen." Prayer : When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan, Bosnia, Iraq, or on ships, and in the air, anywhere over there. There is nothing attached.... This can be very powerful....... Of all the gifts you could give a US Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman, prayer is the very best one.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

I'm thinking about going into more military related writings, what do you guys think?
Here's somewhat of a tease.

Choose federal law enforcement.
Choose the military.
Choose the Army Intel, or the CIA.
Choose lying to your superiors.
Choose to ruin your career.
Choose to have no friends.
Choose to have no love.
Choose life through the bottom of a bottle.
Choose destroying evidence and killing innocent people simply because they know too fucking much.
Choose black fatigues, with a matching gasmask.
Choose a government issued MP5 loaded with glasers and a range of attachments.
Choose to follow mind numbing, sanity crushing orders, wondering if you'd be better off eating your own barrel.
Choose a 9MM retirement plan.
Choose going out with a bang.
Choose screaming 'Fuck you' at the end of it all.

Choose one last night at the Opera

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


So, I'm really busy with work etc, but I thought I'd give you guys a snippet of what I was hoping to make a bigger piece. Sorry! I do plan on posting an expanding version sometime in the future, but when I look at this right now, I don't feel the words flowing onto the page like I want them to, so this has been moved to the backburner for now. 

Regards, and thanks for reading, 



"You a dreamer?"


"Haven't seen too many around lately. Things have been tough lately for dreamers. They say dreaming's dead, that no one does it anymore. It's not dead, it's just been forgotten. Removed from our language. No one teaches it so no one knows it exists. The dreamer is banished to obscurity. Well I'm trying to change all that, and I hope you are too. By dreaming every day. Dreaming with our hands and dreaming with our minds. Our planet is facing the greatest problems it's ever faced. Ever. So whatever you do, don't be bored. This is absolutely the most exciting time we could have possibly hoped to be alive. And things are just starting."

Monday, September 20, 2010

"So, I stopped dreaming..."

"....So, I stopped dreaming"
"What do you mean you 'stopped dreaming?' Last I remember, you were one of those lucid types. You fucking lived for dreaming."
"I dont really know. I just stopped having dreams."
"Is everything alright?"
"I think so. I mean, its not like my brain just shut off. I kind of stopped dreaming, and started thinking."
"...I dont think I understand..."
"Well, I mean I started thinking. I'm not sure if I can explain it.."
"I just started thinking. . About everything. Like; why are we spending 300 billion on defense and military equipment when people are dieing of starvation? When we could pool that money towards other things, like research for cures to major diseases...or space research... or something to benefit people as a whole... I guess it just boils down to people dieing every day, and we have others just watching it happen. The worst part is that I don't even feel like I can so anything, or that I even should do anything. Like its the natural circle of things."
"Thats what you think about?"
"Not just that, I think about everything."
"All the time?"
"Whats it like?"
"Its okay I guess. I kind of feel powerless, like I can't do anything about anything."


"..Hey, bro?"

"...I miss my dreams."

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Looking for ideas!

Alright guys, I've started posting a few things already, but so far they have been unrelated thoughts. Would you guys be more interested in a series, or in this short little snippets that I've been posting? Would you guys rather read psychological stuff (much like the dreamer interview), or more political/satirical work? Let me know on here in the comments! And if you guys are reading this, but don't have a blogger account, get at me at!

Thanks guys!


An interview with the subconscious.

"So, dreamer, tell me a little about yourself... Let's start with your name,"

"Sure, thats a good a place as any. My name is Eric. Eric Smith."

"I see. And let me get this straight - your a lucid dreamer. Someone who can, at the very lowest levels participate in their dreams?"

"Yeah, that is correct... But you make it out to be some sort of super power, when its just a form of conditioning and subconscious suggestions to myself that make me aware of my dreaming when I dream..."

[Interviewer ignores his statement]

"...And at the highest form you can actively control your dream? Giving you power over whatever you want?"

"Well, yes, but this isn't some sort of superpower, or metaphysical abnormality, or even some sort of psychic latency..."

[Once again the interviewer seems to fail to hear the second part of his statement.]

"So you effectively do whatever you want in your dream?"


"So you admit to doing whatever you so please?"

[A pause.]

"...I suppose."

"So what makes you so special?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand what yo-"

"I mean what puts you above law? Above morals? You go from dream to dream, murdering, stealing, killing, raping, and doing whatever you see fit, whatever seems to be fun. How do you think this is for the people in your dreams? Did you even stop to think how they - how WE feel? Do you know what its like living in fear? Of waiting in your little subconscious world for you to get tired and come destroy whatever it is that we work so hard to make? DO YOU?"


"Well we all are waiting dreamer. Awaiting the day where exhaustion keeps you from your power. And oh, the fun we'll have then.... so just keep dreaming your dreams, and doing whatever you like. Just wait...."

"...One night dreamer, one night..."

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Just another face in the crowd, facing hard times.

Stop your fucking whining this instant.
I am not here to comfort you.
I am not here to listen to your story and say 'There there, everything will be okay.'
So stop fucking crying.

You want to know why I don't care about your sadness? Because you shouldnt be sad. And, yes, I know, I know. This is some serious shit, and is important, and you don't know what youre going to do now. But at the end of the day, its the same shit we all go through.

For the past few months, I have been down and out. My girlfriend of several years stabbed me in the back. Almost all of my friends live an entire country away. I work thousand hour days and have zero free time. But I'm not upset. Not sad. You know why?

I am fucking awesome.

Now, I will admit that I haven't held a dying man in my arms, or any serious fucking shit, but its all the same. People go through shit every day of thier lives, and that because, simply put, thats the way life is. So grab a drink , kick up your feet, and toast that you're still alive. Give a toast to those who aren't. Those that died so you could be free. Gave thier lives so you can spend your time hating yours.

You are fucking awesome. But, you don't want to admit it. Or you can't. You go through shit day in and day out, and you live. You are alive. This world cannot beat you, It cannot destroy you. There is no shame in defeat, only shame in giving up. So, don't fucking give up. You are another good person, facing hard times. You deserve somebody. You deserve a hug. You deserve a kiss at night. You deserve a friend. Don't you ever fucking think differently. You are somebody.




Start fucking acting like it.