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 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/

 

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