my fortune cookie says:

You will be travelling and coming into a fortune.
I hope so.

Fw:O.G. Pimps

O.G. Gangsters in beautiful Kansas,
G's up, Hoes down!
posted by --gunger2005

party pic 2

taking a self portrait with my new cellular phone.
I am at the party that my soldiers threw for me.

party pic

I am at the party for my separation from the army.
This camera phone is crazy!!! I will figure it out!!!

farwell to arms.

Yeah.
I am a bit nostalgic today.
I am a bit reflective as well.
Suprisingly, I recall all of the cool moments I have spent in the United States Army.
Funny thing is, some of these moments are also some of my worst.
I joined the Army for the strangest reason that many have ever heard. I was hungry, homeless, suicidal, and generally displaced. I yearned punishment as an escape from the seemingly endless punishment that life seemed to have been dealing me. I had been torturing myself with endless amounts of push ups and sit ups in an effort to displace my pain. In fact, I was doing push-ups when the Trade Center fell. How ironic. I needed punishment for existing; the United States Army was my shoe size. I tried them on.

Basic and advanced individual training were both truly punishing for me. The environments extremely challenged my mental and my physical existence. I lost myself in self inflicted pain. I discovered ecstasy in escape. I was free.

I trained in the middle of nowhere. I knew not one soul and was comfortable with that concept. I was an island unto self. I endured both the warmest and coldest environments that I had ever encountered during my lifepan. Little did Mother Nature know, the elements were at MY command; they affected me not. I had become immune to the torture of temperature and the stabs of eviromnental allergic triggers. Loneliness was my welcome companion. I gritted my teeth for sustinance. I had transformed Michaelngelo's David from a pile of dust. I was invincible and willing to dare the world to try me.
The world had its chance to test my fortitude.

I spent a great deal of my time in the Army being a single father to my daughter. The Army lifestyle, for a combat soldier, is not tailored to accomodating the typical lifestyle that is necessary to being a sucessful single parent. With the help of some extremely compassionate friends, mission accomplisment was achieved, but the battle was far from easily won. I learned alot about life from these moments.

I served in Iraq under Operation Iraqi Freedom 2. I completed over 350 combat missions as a medic with 1-34 Armor battalion. I served hand-in-hand with soldiers from th 82nd Airborne division, 1-16 Infantry battalion, 1st Marine expeditionary force. Along with these brave soldiers, I witnessed firsthand what it is like to walk the line between potential death and death actualized. One can tell a great deal about the human existance when life is the wager. I learned I am not a betting man.

I look forward to my new/ old life as a civilian. The transition from the miltary to the civilian sector is one that should evoke fears. I have forgotten what it is like to be scared of death; fear of life is also a distant memory. I merely exist in a constant flux of kill!!! and never!!!. Ambivilance is my watchword; numb is my expression. Perhaps I am not Michaelangelo's David afterall; perhaps I am Rodin's The Thinker instead. Only time will tell. Nothing is engraved in stone, is it?


The first picture above is of me while on ammunition detail during a training nine millimeter range, held outdoors, during freezing elements of a brutal winter. I smiled.

The second picture is of me from last night. My soldiers threw me a Army separation party. I was truly emotional as it seems, I mean alot to most of the soldiers that I have worked with. They had no problem expressing their willingness to die in battle with me. That type of bond does not come easy. I recognized. I smiled. Ohh yeah. They gave me the nicest award I have ever recieved and I have recieved quite a few. Death be not proud...

to be so free...

Sometimes I feel vulnerable to life. Sometimes I let go and let life take me in its own direction. I sometimes feel as if I have waded out to the chest high waters of the ocean, closed my eyes, and let the current do with my soul what it desires…

My nightmares are more vivid than ever. My dreams are probably in Technicolor now (if I could only open my eyes to see them). Last night, I cried in my sleep. Last night, I laughed in my sleep. Both were necessary. I slept well.

My admission for the day: I have cried.

Every time I watch the movie, The Color Purple, I undoubtedly release the ocean of tears during the part of the film where “Mister”(the part played by Danny Glover) throws rocks at “Nettie” (the sister of Whoopi Goldberg’s character “Celie”). I was so ashamed when I first saw this movie as a teen, in the movie theater with my parents nonetheless. To be separated from someone that you feel so close to, someone that you have come to grow with, can be traumatic. I have separation anxiety that I attribute to watching this movie (I feel). I hated “Mister” for that. I always wonder if my parents or my sisters saw me crying. Then again, I always wondered if they recognized that when watching the sex scenes in the movie, Purple Rain , I always left the room, despite knowing exactly what happened and for how long… I was so uncomfortable… That’s a whole ‘nother blog though…

Every time I watch the movie, Independence Day, I always cry like a heartbroken adolescent girl (okay I am exaggerating a bit, but you get the point). There is one scene where the drunken pilot, Russell Casse, played by Randy Quaid, says goodbye to his children while volunteering to sacrifice himself for the greater good of mankind. He was far from perfect, yet his children loved him for who he was. I love that character and I can relate to his struggle with life relating to family, alcohol, and being a working cog in society. His last words are “Up yours” or something like that. I always wind up laughing through the tears. I am an emotional bastard. Sue me. I can pay you a salary from the dried up salt of my tears.

I will never watch the movie, Braveheart. In the score to the film, there is a portion where “Amazing Grace” is being played on the bagpipes. I can remember the first time I heard the song… It was the around the first week of November 2003. It was the first day of Ramadan and I was preparing to go up to 12 hours without smoking or eating in public. I was attending my first wartime memorial service for a fallen soldier. I was ambivalent. Though I personally saw the specific carnage and destruction that lead to the fallen soldier first hand, I did not know this soldier personally, so I was emotionally detached. At this memorial service, as well as many more that I would attend for fallen soldiers, the bagpipe version of the hymn was played in conjunction with the 21-gun salute. A soldier stands fully stiffened with arms fixated at his side at the “position of attention” during this moment. The rifle volleys send chills down my spine. It is impossible to stop the tears once they start. One cannot wipe his face from the “position of attention”. The atmosphere is chilling, even in the midday heat of the desert. A soldier passes out to my left. He lies there as everyone is stuck in the moment. I am frozen in time. Yeah I cry. So. Fucking. What. You can only wish to be so free.

I leave you with a haiku from the archives:

http://2damnhot.blogspot.com/2005/12/6_12.html

blast from the past....

I didn't date this letter, but I remember writing it right after my first real action in Iraq so I date this Halloween 2003. I only sent this letter to those that I felt would be worried about me, to let them know that i was still okay (I was a bit shaken from all of the initial exposure to the bloodshed) I didn't want anyone at home to worry about me and I knew my mother was real worried. I learned through the Tao that it is bad to make your parents worry, so I wrote a rather bland letter. In addition, one cannot write many details in the letters home from the war, due to the sensitive nature of the missions. In hindsight, this letter describes a Disneyland compared to to the gulag that Iraq really was. I was so...(speechless).

Hello!

I am doing fine in the war zone, as to be expected. Some of you have heard from me and some of you haven't. I have replied to all mail that was written to me through the U.S. Postal Service; if you haven't received the letter yet, "It's in the mail!" If you aren't expecting a return letter, write me! I have read my email once since I got here. Electronic communications are difficult because the phone lines get shut off every time someone dies, until their families get notified. That is why I haven't responded to the emails directly due to the death that occurs in the war zone. I haven't called because we have two phones for a whole brigade of soldiers and 10 minutes to use them once you've waited in the long line. Email access is the same, but I can do a whole lot more with 10 minutes of email time then I could do on a phone. Also, I don't have everyone's phone number. I would appreciate phone numbers in the emails please.

War is different than you see on the news. A strange thing is, there are so many press officials here, trying to get the story, that war can seem trivial to a point. I try to keep everything in perspective. The way things get reported, compared to how things really are, can differ extremely. I think they call that media spin. People change for the camera as well. I ride with the media in my armored vehicle all of the time. They mostly get in the way. When the media comes along, we do politically correct things. When no one is watching we get much more rude. We should be on 60 minutes sometime in January unless the war comes to an abrupt halt.
Conditions are getting better for us. With the help of some other soldiers, we have designed a way to take showers that aren't freezing cold. It can get to be relatively cold in the desert and that doesn't make taking a shower very easy. The food has improved slightly since we have come but it is in short supply mostly. Don't worry though, I won't starve. I am resourceful.
I miss a lot of things that I had easy access to in the states. I encourage everyone to appreciate the small things in life more. In the United States, people are spoiled by a high standard of living. I am glad to have less, even if only temporarily; perspective of life changes as a have-not.
Ramadan is almost over and Thanksgiving is upon us. Soon it will be Christmas, Kwaanza and New Year's Day. I will still be at war but I will celebrate nonetheless. I just pray for everyone to have a happy holiday season.

James.
be deeper

And if you are wondering, the pic really is of my crew- those brave bastards.

Imagination

Imagination

You are too real.

You are my imagination.

I see the image of feelings that are reserved for reality, but never experienced. This can't be real, yet is all too real. The essence of classical beauty, divine to eyes, manifests itself in your aura. I can no longer see. In fact, I have never seen before. The very thought of what you represent is only displayed in what I perceive could be possible. Even the repugnance of rejection casts an enticing allure. I can no longer wait. In fact, time stands still. Even as I turn to reject my very real thoughts, my imagination, the scent of pungent sinsemilla intertwined with soft wisps of cedar and ecstasy remind me of your representation. I inhale. You are too real. You are my imagination. I would speak if you could hear; my voice could never travel far or fast enough to influence your mind before the concepts were not worthy of your witness, so I withhold. You remain silent, non- intrigued by lack of stimulation. I demand you, leave my mind, yet, I do not desire to rebuke your reality. I listen to reason. I can fathom the harmony of your song to be similar to lullabies of distant sirens, beckoning shipwrecked sailors to embrace their own fate and drift castaway into the abyss of the sea's horizon. I never heard silence sound so sweet. I sing its sacrament. You are my muse. The reach for your vision fails only to recognize that the realm is beyond my span. Rules defile me. To touch the imaginary would birth existence. You are too real. You are my imagination. The touch of silken cashmere togas, threaded with strands of heaven would be unworthy to clothe the goddess of my imagination. You stand, raw, naked, unabashed in truth. I feel you within my soul, yet you don't exist. You fulfill my appetite, yet I have never tasted.

You are too real.

You are my imagination.

It was cold last night.

It was cold last night.

I know.

I went out there…

I waited for you to come.

I anticipated that you would soon arrive.

It would have been so simple if things came to fruition.

I was naïve; you were restless.

You needed some time; you needed some space.

Influences of life sometimes cause the unnecessary stresses that are best shirked through the extravagances of entertainment.

You desired to dance as if the world were ambivalent to your gyrations.

Your chi inspired the sun to rise.

I gave you room to allow your wings to spread.

You flew into the horizon.

When you returned, you were forever changed.

It was cold last night.

You were warm.

I worried that you would not return.

You were not required to make your presence known.

I worried that you may have been victim to bodily harm.

The world is cruel, only desiring to distribute pain inflicted.

I imagined that you were involuntarily involved in a crime against your nature.

It would be better than you voluntarily being involved with another soul.

I desired to rescue you.

Instead I was replaced.

I wished that you would arrive.

I needed your presence to validate my existence.

When you did not return, I remained hollow.

Perhaps I knew that you would not return.

Perhaps my naivety was mistaken denial.

You needed to be free.

I needed you with me.

I waited for you to come.

I waited in vain.

It was cold last night.

Know Thyself

It is a commonly held belief that early man became conscious of his being by comparing himself to other elements of nature. Man compared himself to air, rocks, trees, animals, rivers, and eventually other humans. Nothing that could be perceived by man avoided the eventual comparison to the burgeoning consciousness of man himself. It is my belief that the continuous quest that man has undertaken, a desire to “know thyself”, has been in vain. The real quest that man has devoted his efforts focuses on not the content of man but the context of man in relation to every other viable source of simulation available. In essence, knowing one’s self is impossible; knowing the world and how one relates to it are paramount.

It would be interesting to see a true experiment of self consciousness conducted in a vacuum. My hypothesis encompasses the following concept: to be free from interaction with other humans would leave no information for one to develop the individual personality traits that make human beings the highest known vessels of intelligence on the planet. I further claim: intelligence, as well as other forms of qualitative analysis of the human existence, is valid due to a comparison of self to the relation that one holds with other beings. One is defined, not by their individual content, but the collective stimulation derived from the context of how others relate to their existence. Many times I wish that were not the case; I do not desire to qualify my existence by what I desire to see in others but what I see in myself. It seems that, if I am to truly exist, there has to be someone there to confirm as witness my existence. In that light, the phrase “know thyself” really interprets “come know me; come verify my existence”. To “know thyself” is to merely be observant of how others observe you.

With that being said, how do you feel about me? Love, hatred, or any feelings between, can never be seen as a measure of how I really feel for the world; I base those feelings on how the world makes me feel about myself. In extension, I imagine how you feel about me, is really a reflection of how I make you feel about yourself. I hope that I make you feel good. That way, you possess the framework necessary to make the world a better place. After all, to “know thyself” requires someone else to grade the result. “Know thyself”; pass it on.