This is My Weapon and This is My Gun

Airborne tat chest 2

It’s the mid 1980s and I find myself in Central America. I’m young. I’m passionate. I’m a Brainwashed Minion. A Pawn. A Robot. A Lean Mean Fighting Machine.

It’s hot. My uniform is soaked with sweat. In the distance I hear munitions exploding. I hear sirens. Helicopters overhead. Jets scream by.

I am counting boxes filled with bombs and bullets.  Ammo Detail they call it. I’ll be doing this mundane shit until they figure out what we are all going to do in this lovely Central American country.

Getting ammo ready for issue. How did I get stuck doing this shit job?
Like peeling potatoes or mopping the floor in the latrine. You have to fuck up to get stuck doing this shit. Soon, perhaps I’ll move to the front where the action is.

I finish loading boxes and sit on the ground and relax with my M-16 rifle.

This is my Weapon and this is my Gun, this is for Killing and this is for FUN.

I’ll rest. Rest and Wait. Wait for what? To fight maybe, to go home. I don’t know.
Being here though, gives me a lot of time to think, to confirm and develop philosophies.

I have butterflies in my stomach.

I am scared and excited at the same time.

I volunteered to fight for my country.
“Would you die for your country?’ has always been a morale boosting question.
Military men have asked me that many times.

And my answer is always the same:

“No.”

“NO?” They blurt out. “WHY?”

They are always astonished at my answer and probably think I’m Communist until I tell them:

“Comrade,” I always begin, “I am going to Live for my country and give some other poor bastard the opportunity to Die for his.”

(What good will I do for my country, if I’m dead…?)

My, it is a spinning world. Spinning out of control in my part of the universe. I’m holding on tight. Keeping a strong grip until this universal whirlwind subsides.

I try to make the Calm in my mind. I try to subdue the tempestuous state in my world. My universe within.

I am me.
I am the Black Sheep.
I am the Shepherd.
I am the Freak Show.
The biker.
The once Born Again Christian, The Buddhist, The Taoist. The Agnostic.
I am the Spiritual One.  The Metaphysical Bum.

I am me, and yet I ponder:
Who am I?
What am I?
I am someone different to someone everyday.

One minute I am floating to earth having just jumped from an airplane… the next I am huddled next to a comrade in arms, listening to explosions.

I am violent and soft.
I laugh and cry.
Part of me is born, everyday, part of me dies.
Am I the same person I was ten years ago?
I dare say, Hardly.
Does anyone know who or what they really are?

Are we living or existing?

 

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You can Follow the Militant Hippi/Boston Paul on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/BostonPaul
or
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MilitantHippi

You Might also like to read:

Proud to be American? Why?
https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2014/12/28/proud-to-be-american/

Support The Troops!  Why?

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/01/26/support-american-troops-serving-in-iraq-and-afghanistan-what-does-this-statement-mean-exactly/

 

Pathetic Prose & Panty Hose

Gypsi

This one is for those who have been shamed or humiliated because of the way they dressed or acted.

We are free to do what we want – as long as we don’t hurt others.

Don’t push your morals and religious beliefs on me

Cause if you do, expect – at the very least – a verbal smack down.

My band will be making this into a song soon… but here are the lyrics:

If you don’t like it… don’t look.
If you don’t like it.. don’t listen.
If you don’t like it… fuck off.

I’m a Slut, a Whore, I’m Kinky Galore
Self Confident
with a slight sprinkle of arrogance
Adamant
and I love to Dance

I’m Skilled, Strong Willed, a fine bottle of Wine just chilled.
That’s me don’t you see?
I love to dance – around the Sounds of Ignor-ance
I’ll take a chance wearing mini skirts instead of boring pants

Say what you want to say about my sexy selfies
Like you’re wealthy
And I’m a serf on your turf
Like the only Blonde Smurf
Surrounded by stuffed shirts and perverts

I suspect, it’s because of neglect
They get no pussy or dick now it’s time to reflect
Why so uptight? Cause you’re alone at night?
Or you just love to fight about shit you think is right

So think about it now
Why are you having a cow?
Over a picture or two
Who offends who?

We do crazy shit while we’re young and cool-ish
While we’re silly and foolish
So when we’re 85 (and still alive)
We can look and see what we’ve done
And remember The Good Ol’ Days and all the fun.

Fuck the nay-Sayers, with their anti gay-prayers
Like Dragon Slayers when at heart they’re ALL Players.
Fuck The Hypocrite, they’re full of shit, as useful as a just popped zit
Spouting their hate, makin’ us irate,
How can they celebrate – when they’re anti-masturbate?

I Seek Answers
from Holy Dancers
who get on their knees
not to pray but to please
They sweat and writhe and jump about
They move and groove and scream and shout
And as they move, I begin to grind
and grind and grind until I’m blind
and then I find the Book of Psalms
and wear the hair off of my palms…

And as I’m about to cum I see the light
I see the plight
of the religious ones
the self-righteous bums,
who feel guilty every time they cum and hum:
I love you Jesus (now get on your knees and please us!)
after you turn water into wine
then walk on water in your robes so fine…

Then

You Raise the dead
Give me head
Cure disease
Kill the Fig Trees (Mark 11:12)
Hang on a Cross
Because the Boss
Is your Dad
But isn’t it sad?
That those who believe
have been deceived
then push their beliefs on others
When we’re all really sisters and brothers…

Dogma’s tail a waggin’
Fate’s Lips a Braggin’
Destiny’s tits a draggin’
Karma’s horn a wailin’
Life’s Ship a -sailin’


You know everyone loses
When one chooses
To be mean to those with whom they disagree
When they could just look away, see?
or turn the other cheek
and be meek…
…cause that’s what their god commands
But no one who believes really understands
how to be passionate about being compassionate.

SERIOUSLY?

A Selfie in a dress can cause so much duress?
Like an assault with a knife
Is it a threat on your life?
Fuck that pressure, negativity and strife

Offended? Who cares?
What does it mean?
Who makes the rules?
The King or The Queen?
Offended? Why so?
It is yet to be seen
Your Obscene is NOT my Obscene.

We are FREE People.
Stop being Sheople staring up at a steeple!
Put up or shut up.
I’m getting fed up
With the opinions, the judging, the holier than thou
Buck up you fuck up it’s gonna stop now

A little empathy is Good in the Neighborhood…

[music coming soon]

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You can Follow the Militant Hippi/Boston Paul on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/BostonPaul
or
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MilitantHippi

You Might also like to read:

What is a Friend?  https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/who-what-is-a-friend-really/

The Beast In My Life is Under Control

baby for blog

The Baby just kept staring

I remember chatting with an old timer quite a few years ago and he told me a story…

He had an eye twitch and would intermittently stare off into the distance and not say anything for several minutes. I dared not even clear my throat. After the moment passed he continued his story. I thought he might snap out of it, clear his throat and say, “Now where was I..?”

But he continued the story exactly where he had left off.

He told it to me in first person present tense narrative.

Like it was happening right then in front of me.

It was a creepy.

I found myself holding my breath for most of his tale…

His tale went something like this:

I AM HOLDING MY FRIEND’S BABY BOY. He is so small in my arms. He looks up at me gurgling and smiling. You’re great with kids, they say to me. Babies have a sense about people the same as animals. Babies can sense evil or if someone is inherently bad. This is what they say to me. I rock the small child in my arms, scarcely believing that once upon a time, I too, was once that tiny and people held me the same way. I sit down on a chair still holding this delicate child. Everyone else has gone into the kitchen and left me alone with him. I appear to be watching TV and the baby falls asleep in my lap. I look down at him and he takes a deep baby breath. I smile.


  At once I have this thought. I don’t know how this thought could have ever entered my mind, but suddenly I want to crush this child. I want to take his little head in one of my hands and squeeze it until I crush his skull. The baby is that cute. So cute that I could Love it to Death.

I remember once when I was a little child. Our dog gave birth to puppies. I remember how cute they were! I remember one little pup. I liked it best. How precious it was! I remember one time I gave it a big hug. I hugged it so tight, that it began to squirm. A moment later it stopped squirming and I was holding a dead little puppy. I almost cried. I ran out of our house and put the dead pup behind a stone wall where our rented property ended.

That night, Mother asked my sister, brother and I if we had seen one of the puppies. She looked at me when she asked. It was like she knew. I never owned up to it and I never admitted it to anyone…   not even myself.

I look down at the baby. He is looking right at me. Directly into my eyes. He’s not smiling anymore. I take his soft little head in my hand.

He stares at me and I stare right back.

I begin to squeeze.

“Is he sleeping? His mother comes into the living room.

“He was,”  I say. “Looks like he just woke up.”

She smiles at me.

“You’re so good with kids, Jess.”

The mother takes baby in her mother’s arms, but he is still staring at me.

I hate to be stared at.

I let out a deep sigh as the mother walks into the other room leaving me alone with my thoughts.

                                 ~The Beast in my Life is under control~

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You can Follow the Militant Hippi/Boston Paul on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/BostonPaul
or
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MilitantHippi

You might also like to read some other short stories:

(slightly disturbing) https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/07/24/short-story-the-flame-that-softly-danced/

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2010/01/17/short-story-stoned-at-the-fair/

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2011/02/11/the-express-lane-10-items-or-less/

https://bostonpaul.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/interview-with-picasso/

Published in: on January 12, 2016 at 12:10 AM  Comments (1)  
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