Right now, my stress level is rather high.
Whether I am doing good or bad, either way pretty much every hormone in my body is at highly elevated levels, every day. It’s a fact of life while deployed.
There is a whole school of research that says this is one of the primary causes of PTSD: the body spending months and years detoxing from the constant intensity of being over here.
Even when you are tired and bored, and doing nothing, you are still wound up far tighter than you ever are elsewhere.
Colors are more intense. Smells are sharper. Mood swings more radically.
Coming off of that is hard.
The mind fixates on simple things, and obsesses over them. I had a guy last deployment, he wanted to buy fuzzy purple handcuffs for his wife. He had this image in his head, of her wearing the handcuffs, wearing a short skirt, leaving partway over a table. When we were coming home, I bought a Russian infantrymans dress uniform. I know soldiers who obsess over cars, or motorcycles, or who plan a cruise. Your mind grabs something small, and meaningless, and invests it with all your hopes and thoughts and focus. Does it mean anything? No. Quite frankly, it is just how the mind adapts. Obsession allows the mind to still have the feeling of hoping and planning and thinking, even when you are in a position where nothing you hope or plan or think matters. We are deployed. When we come home, we will find our children distant, our money gone, our girlfriends left, our wives cheated, our family pull away. We will find ourselves returning to empty houses and debt, and alienation.
So we obsess. It keeps us busy, keeps our mind focused. A good wife, like mine, just puts up with it. I want to buy a Russian Army Uniform? Cool. I want to listen to stupid music? No big deal. I need to sleep on the floor? Ok, we move the pillows to the floor. I need a tournequit hung up in the kitchen and a VS-17 Panel (It’s a 2’x2’ fluorescent orange flag used for signaling helicopters and suck) in the trunk of the car? Ok, no problem. A good wife knows that when you come home there will probably be a lot of crazy, for a while. My friend A. with the handcuffs thing, his wife didn’t realize it was a harmless coping technique. He’d keep thinking about how cute she’d look, she’d get mad, he’d ask for a picture from her in this particular pose, she’d put him off. Basically he was just asking her to reinforce the knowledge he already had that she loved him by going out of her way to do something for him, she didn’t, he got steadily more frustrated and angry.
You know when your kid wants to be tucked in at night, and he wants this toy, and a glass of water, and a hug, and a song, and a story, and the other toy? That’s us. We want to be reassured. We want to be told that we are still loved, still able to be loved, still deserving to be loved. We want to know that we haven’t been forgotten, that someone, somewhere remembers us, and thinks of us.
When I came home, I had two people who I liked a lot who stopped speaking to me after I talked about the war. People don’t want the truth. People don’t want to hear that you piss yourself, they don’t want to hear that you put bodies in a bag and then go eat spaghetti, they don’t want to hear how funny it is that the coolest scar I ever saw on a guy is on a black guy and now everyone who sees it doesn’t think “war hero” they think “thug”. On me, it would look like a war scar. On pretty much any vet it would look completely badass. It’s a giant slice down the side of his throat, like would be caused by a knife. Everyone just figures he’s in a punk gang. Too funny. They don’t want to hear about how B. remembers that E. didn’t scream hardly at all after the IED, when his foot was blown off. I remember. I remember he screamed like a wounded animal. He screamed and screamed and screamed. B. Remembers him not screaming, telling jokes and shit. It’s not what I remember. I remember him screaming, and throwing the parts of his foot in the river so the dogs wouldn’t eat it. You tell people that back home, people stop talking to you. Have you seen Restrepo? There is a scene in there where they get hit by an IED. There is dirt all over the windshield; people are yelling the vehicle is at a 45 degree angle. That scene, I laugh every time I see it. Every time. Why shouldn’t I laugh? It happened to us too, and I’m still alive. We laugh when we go on a scary rollercoaster and don’t die. I laugh when the IED strike doesn’t kill me. Actually, I also laugh when I am scared, which is actually a pretty handy trait, btw. But if I laugh at that part of the movie, people are going to get upset at me.
When I was 18, I almost lost my virginity, but I laughed during the end of “Silence of the Lambs” and that was the end of that. Some things are socially appropriate, some are not. When you are here, and when you come home, what you consider appropriate, it’s different from what other people consider appropriate. So it’s easiest to not talk to people.
Here are a couple of situations: you come around a corner the same time as someone coming around in the opposite direction. Both of you step aside, say excuse me, and move along. When I come around a corner, when I walk down the street, when I stand in line, my shoulders are square, I don’t move aside, and I project what the Army refers to as a “dominant body posture”. Civilians call it “being an asshole”. Usually they call it that after they get out of the fucking way, and when they are far away. In the Army, it’s a good thing, its self confidence and an aura that demands respect. Amongst civilians, it is called being a dick. Another example: I met a new coworker today. She’s Southern. I pretty much hate southern girls. When I was young, I was poor. So poor that southern girls were pretty fucking uppity. So, when I said “I don’t think we’ve been introduced” and she said her name, normal people would have said their name, like “I’m Sergeant Geerts, I’m the CJOC SGT, if you need this or that I’ll be glad to help you out blah blah blah”. What I did was just continue the conversation after she had given her name, not giving my name in return. What do I care? My name and rank are on my chest, she’s a southern belle, and I’m here all year, she’ll probably figure out what my job is sooner or later, and if she doesn’t then she’s and idiot and it would be better if she didn’t interact with me. These are not the social skills that win friends and influence people. I wish to make this perfectly clear: I know how to massage egos, make people feel important and good about themselves, how to make people like me. I choose not to. Fuck that, too much work.
I reiterate: these are not the social skills that win friends and influence people.
This all being the case, I have less tolerance as well. So maybe someone makes a borderline joke, or an offhand comment, and instead of not noticing, or letting it go, I am more likely to read the worst into it. It's a fact of life that must be weighed into every situation, every interaction. It is not wise to make big decisions while deployed.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Chicken Conundrum
Where do you suppose chickens came from?
Do you think there might have been Paleolithic herds of Proto-Chickens, weighing a ton or more each, covering the plains of the Serengeti during the last Ice Age?
Or were they loneres, eking out a meager existance, solitary by the side of the river, warily watching for predators, coming together only to mate? Steely-eyed warriors, cold velociraptor eyes peering out at the world....BKAWK!
I find the animal to be wildly improbably. A blightless, brainless bird, that eats and lays eggs and nothing else? Clear evidence both that there is a Creator, and he has a wicked sense of humor.
Do you think there might have been Paleolithic herds of Proto-Chickens, weighing a ton or more each, covering the plains of the Serengeti during the last Ice Age?
Or were they loneres, eking out a meager existance, solitary by the side of the river, warily watching for predators, coming together only to mate? Steely-eyed warriors, cold velociraptor eyes peering out at the world....BKAWK!
I find the animal to be wildly improbably. A blightless, brainless bird, that eats and lays eggs and nothing else? Clear evidence both that there is a Creator, and he has a wicked sense of humor.
Monday, February 14, 2011
faith
Faith is not belief in the unknowable.
Faith is the absence of doubt.
Doubt is that which saps the will.
Do you constantly spy on your spouse, expecting them to cheat on you?
That it doubt.
Do you trust them to do what is right?
That is faith.
Do you question things constantly, and believe that you can find a better way, a more just, more accurate, more complete way to accomplish things?
That is faith.
Do you lie in bed and say nothing has meaning, and nothing can be fixed, and life and the universe are random and unjust and unfair and nothing you do will ever matter?
That is doubt, which is the absence of faith.
Faith is belief, not in the unknowable, but belief that there is anything that can be known.
Faith is the knowledge that life can have meaning, that purpose can exist, that reason matters.
Faith is the absence of doubt.
Doubt is that which saps the will.
Do you constantly spy on your spouse, expecting them to cheat on you?
That it doubt.
Do you trust them to do what is right?
That is faith.
Do you question things constantly, and believe that you can find a better way, a more just, more accurate, more complete way to accomplish things?
That is faith.
Do you lie in bed and say nothing has meaning, and nothing can be fixed, and life and the universe are random and unjust and unfair and nothing you do will ever matter?
That is doubt, which is the absence of faith.
Faith is belief, not in the unknowable, but belief that there is anything that can be known.
Faith is the knowledge that life can have meaning, that purpose can exist, that reason matters.
Why the struggle continues, and how to tell who is winning
People ask why the war continues.
Better to ask why the insurgency continues.
They are not the same.
We make a lot of progress, but there is little reporting
in the news of what we accomplish.
But the insurgency continues because both sides understand fighting.
When you are weak, you attack the weakest part of the enemy.
You combine all your forces and smash their smallest element.
When you are strong, you attack the enemies largest element,
you hunt it down and smash it, then move on to the next.
That's the nature of fighting an insurgency:
they attack the weakest spot we have. Right now
that mean they don't attack us, they don't attack the Afghan National
Army, they attack the Afghan National Police.
Let me emphasize this:
They are so weak they cannot fight our military, they are so weak they
cannot even fight the Afghan military. They fight the police.
And each night, we go out, and we hunt down their largest groups,
and we smash them. Each night, we come in the dark, and snatch their
leaders, their planners. These are not big leaders: there are no
big leaders any more. But when they gather in groups of more than
around twenty, we find out, and we take them down.
Why does the insurgency continue? Because there will ALWAYS be a weak place
for them to attack. If they cannot attack American forces, and they
cannot attack ISAF forces, and they cannot attack ANA forces, and they
cannot attack ANP forces, and they cannot attack ABP forces, and the
cannot attack ANCOP forces, because we are all too strong, they will
attack civilians in the night. And if they are afraid to attack civilians,
they will kill children, because children will be the only people left
weak enough for them to attack. The will continue to fight, against
whomever they have the strength to fight.
And there will always be someone for us to remove. Tonight, we raid a
group of twenty. Next year we raid groups of ten.
The year after, we take out groups of five. Till, in the end, if two
people meet and plot against us, we take them down.
Look at who the enemy targets and you will know how strong they are.
And who are they targeting? Afghan National Police. So they are strong enough to,
with extensive planning, the element of surprise, and having chosen the field
of battle, they are strong enough to attack a couple of dozen relatively untrained
police officers with crap equipment. And even then, they lose men in their
attacks.
That's why the insurgency continues. That's the nature of the insurgency
today. You cannot win an insurgency instantly, quickly, in a pretty way.
You can win, but it takes time.
Better to ask why the insurgency continues.
They are not the same.
We make a lot of progress, but there is little reporting
in the news of what we accomplish.
But the insurgency continues because both sides understand fighting.
When you are weak, you attack the weakest part of the enemy.
You combine all your forces and smash their smallest element.
When you are strong, you attack the enemies largest element,
you hunt it down and smash it, then move on to the next.
That's the nature of fighting an insurgency:
they attack the weakest spot we have. Right now
that mean they don't attack us, they don't attack the Afghan National
Army, they attack the Afghan National Police.
Let me emphasize this:
They are so weak they cannot fight our military, they are so weak they
cannot even fight the Afghan military. They fight the police.
And each night, we go out, and we hunt down their largest groups,
and we smash them. Each night, we come in the dark, and snatch their
leaders, their planners. These are not big leaders: there are no
big leaders any more. But when they gather in groups of more than
around twenty, we find out, and we take them down.
Why does the insurgency continue? Because there will ALWAYS be a weak place
for them to attack. If they cannot attack American forces, and they
cannot attack ISAF forces, and they cannot attack ANA forces, and they
cannot attack ANP forces, and they cannot attack ABP forces, and the
cannot attack ANCOP forces, because we are all too strong, they will
attack civilians in the night. And if they are afraid to attack civilians,
they will kill children, because children will be the only people left
weak enough for them to attack. The will continue to fight, against
whomever they have the strength to fight.
And there will always be someone for us to remove. Tonight, we raid a
group of twenty. Next year we raid groups of ten.
The year after, we take out groups of five. Till, in the end, if two
people meet and plot against us, we take them down.
Look at who the enemy targets and you will know how strong they are.
And who are they targeting? Afghan National Police. So they are strong enough to,
with extensive planning, the element of surprise, and having chosen the field
of battle, they are strong enough to attack a couple of dozen relatively untrained
police officers with crap equipment. And even then, they lose men in their
attacks.
That's why the insurgency continues. That's the nature of the insurgency
today. You cannot win an insurgency instantly, quickly, in a pretty way.
You can win, but it takes time.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Another day
Just another day.
Hours spent meaninglssly.
Doing tasks that dont need doing.
Change the font on a report.
Assemble a nice leather chair for the general.
Throw away the used office chairs, they're no good anymore.
Put the documents on the IPAD for higher.
Hows that for a commercial idea for apple:
Look, our products being used by the general!
FIGHT THE WAR ON TERROR WITH YOUR NEW IPAD!
Just like real armies do!
We have a hundred thousand soldiers here.
What do they do? Hide in their rooms, play x-box, wait for their tour to be over.
What do the citizens of our homeland do? they dont even know theres a war going on here.
We have fucking TGIFridays here, and we have fucking 107 mm rocket attacks.
Does that sound crazy to you?
What the fuck.
Look at me, I'm a hero. Flip my switch and I'll do the little hero dance for you.
March up and down, wave the flag. Lets all get teary eyed.
Who cares? Who cares?
It's just another tv show, right, just another ho-hum thing happening on the other side of the world.
Won't affect anyone _we_ know. And besides, the war is wrong, right? We don't have to
support soldiers who were in an unpopular war. We support soldiers who fight wars to
smash armies, not the ones who build countries. Building countries is boring. Blow something up!
Look how bad-ass our team is, we blow shit up!
Let me tell you a few things.
The people we fight?
They throw little kids in fires.
Then they bring them to the FOB and ask for medical help.
So they can time our choppers, and get real close and see how we do things.
They throw LITTLE KIDS IN FUCKING FIRES.
They bomb weddings.
Remember when you got married? Kisses? Cake? 20 dead? 60 wounded?
Fuck it, you wouldn't understand.
There's no news out of Afghanistan.
Think about it: we have over ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND SOLDIERS HERE.
How many times a day do you see what the streets look like here?
What the people wear? What they eat? What we do and where we go and what we wear?
What the houses look like? What the people look like? What happens here.
Let me tell you, as a soldier who wanted to show his wife what he had seen:
Even I COULD NOT FIND ANYTHING.
There is more reporting coming out about fucking polar bears than there is about AFghanistan.
What do the windows look like here? What about the doors? Whats a collot? Whats a quala? Whats
a Wadi? Whats a Dashta? Whats a DSH-K? Whats a camel spider? What does the color black mean
to a muslim? What about red? Green? White? What color did I not ask about?
That's cool. Lets bring all the soldiers home. We'll just declare victory and leave. Doesnt matter.
Doesnt mean anything at all.
No one here matters.
No one here means anything.
Anything at all.
What we do cant be Just, it cant be Good, it cant be Noble, because its not on the news.
We cant be doing the right thing, right? Cause its not on the news?
The news lies to you. The government lies to you. If we leave here, in five years we'll be in war somewhere else.
Because the enemy isnt the taliban. They're dead. Its not the insurgents, because they're amateurs.
Its other countries. Other countries that dump money and arms into this war, and not on our side.
Afghanistan is a chess board, and there are many people playing, and the locals here are just pawns.
Bah.
Another day. Tired.
Hours spent meaninglssly.
Doing tasks that dont need doing.
Change the font on a report.
Assemble a nice leather chair for the general.
Throw away the used office chairs, they're no good anymore.
Put the documents on the IPAD for higher.
Hows that for a commercial idea for apple:
Look, our products being used by the general!
FIGHT THE WAR ON TERROR WITH YOUR NEW IPAD!
Just like real armies do!
We have a hundred thousand soldiers here.
What do they do? Hide in their rooms, play x-box, wait for their tour to be over.
What do the citizens of our homeland do? they dont even know theres a war going on here.
We have fucking TGIFridays here, and we have fucking 107 mm rocket attacks.
Does that sound crazy to you?
What the fuck.
Look at me, I'm a hero. Flip my switch and I'll do the little hero dance for you.
March up and down, wave the flag. Lets all get teary eyed.
Who cares? Who cares?
It's just another tv show, right, just another ho-hum thing happening on the other side of the world.
Won't affect anyone _we_ know. And besides, the war is wrong, right? We don't have to
support soldiers who were in an unpopular war. We support soldiers who fight wars to
smash armies, not the ones who build countries. Building countries is boring. Blow something up!
Look how bad-ass our team is, we blow shit up!
Let me tell you a few things.
The people we fight?
They throw little kids in fires.
Then they bring them to the FOB and ask for medical help.
So they can time our choppers, and get real close and see how we do things.
They throw LITTLE KIDS IN FUCKING FIRES.
They bomb weddings.
Remember when you got married? Kisses? Cake? 20 dead? 60 wounded?
Fuck it, you wouldn't understand.
There's no news out of Afghanistan.
Think about it: we have over ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND SOLDIERS HERE.
How many times a day do you see what the streets look like here?
What the people wear? What they eat? What we do and where we go and what we wear?
What the houses look like? What the people look like? What happens here.
Let me tell you, as a soldier who wanted to show his wife what he had seen:
Even I COULD NOT FIND ANYTHING.
There is more reporting coming out about fucking polar bears than there is about AFghanistan.
What do the windows look like here? What about the doors? Whats a collot? Whats a quala? Whats
a Wadi? Whats a Dashta? Whats a DSH-K? Whats a camel spider? What does the color black mean
to a muslim? What about red? Green? White? What color did I not ask about?
That's cool. Lets bring all the soldiers home. We'll just declare victory and leave. Doesnt matter.
Doesnt mean anything at all.
No one here matters.
No one here means anything.
Anything at all.
What we do cant be Just, it cant be Good, it cant be Noble, because its not on the news.
We cant be doing the right thing, right? Cause its not on the news?
The news lies to you. The government lies to you. If we leave here, in five years we'll be in war somewhere else.
Because the enemy isnt the taliban. They're dead. Its not the insurgents, because they're amateurs.
Its other countries. Other countries that dump money and arms into this war, and not on our side.
Afghanistan is a chess board, and there are many people playing, and the locals here are just pawns.
Bah.
Another day. Tired.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thanks but No Thanks America, You'll Have to Get Your Altruism Porn Somewhere Else
written by my friend Sonya:
Recently casting calls from TLC went out at Army posts that have large numbers of deployed soldiers looking for spouses who want to have surprise reunions with their soldiers taped and shown on a new reality show: Homecoming, hosted by Billy Ray Cyrus. Not surprisingly, the brain trust behind this show is the same that created Army Wives on Lifetime, which is also a vicarious drama fest for those without enough drama in their own lives.
Stories talking about the show talk about the "raw emotion" of reuniting a spouse and children with a soldier who has been deployed and how moving it will be for the American public to see. Just like Extreme Makeover Home Edition and other shows of that ilk this show promises lots of happy tears and a tidal wave of emotion for the viewers at home as they rejoice in an American family made whole once again. American altruism porn at its finest. Feeling someone else's pain and subsequent joy in satisfying one hour bites from the safety of your cozy living room on your big screen tv once a week. Getting to feel like a better person and reveling in the fact that your small but comfortable life does not require from you any deep or "raw" emotion.
Recently casting calls from TLC went out at Army posts that have large numbers of deployed soldiers looking for spouses who want to have surprise reunions with their soldiers taped and shown on a new reality show: Homecoming, hosted by Billy Ray Cyrus. Not surprisingly, the brain trust behind this show is the same that created Army Wives on Lifetime, which is also a vicarious drama fest for those without enough drama in their own lives.
Stories talking about the show talk about the "raw emotion" of reuniting a spouse and children with a soldier who has been deployed and how moving it will be for the American public to see. Just like Extreme Makeover Home Edition and other shows of that ilk this show promises lots of happy tears and a tidal wave of emotion for the viewers at home as they rejoice in an American family made whole once again. American altruism porn at its finest. Feeling someone else's pain and subsequent joy in satisfying one hour bites from the safety of your cozy living room on your big screen tv once a week. Getting to feel like a better person and reveling in the fact that your small but comfortable life does not require from you any deep or "raw" emotion.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Things I've noticed
A few Random things I've noticed.
Little things infuriate. You put so much hope, so many dreams, so much expectation out there, any small difficulty fills you with rage. Not getting mail, not being able to use the phone, a loved ones getting off the internet right before you get on. All indescribably frustrating.
And everything is much much harder. It took three weeks to upload 40 pictures to shutterfly so I could get prints made. Three weeks, just to upload. You have internet, but it's like a joke: you have to give up literally half of your waking non-sleep hours to do the simplest thing.
It's like being in a wheelchair, and having to ask other people to do everything for you. Want some dental flossers? Ask someone. Want a webcam? Don't be a grownup and go to best buy. Just hope you get one. Need your paperwork for promotion? Ask your wife for it and wait. And hope. And wait. And wait. Anything you want or need or require: just beg for it and hope someone gives it to you. It's like being a cripple.
I did a stupid quiz about what I notice first about a woman. Then I thought about it. Turns out what I notice first, what makes an indelible impression that never goes away, is her hair. Even if she changes it later, that first impression is forever. Then I notice her eyes. Nothing deep here, but things I never knew about myself that I came to realize.
I saw someone with a cat. And it came to me that I hate animals, because I form very intense bonds with very few things. So I am still bitter about every animal that died or left. Tommy, and Buttons, and Geraldine, Zenobiah, Fabious Bile. Fuzzy Head, Brooklyn. They all still hurt. Then I realized I do this with people. I form very few friendships. Every true friendship that I form remains true, years after I have not seen someone. The few broken friendships still hurt, like sharp glass swallowed, cutting inside. And the ones who left, who cut me off and never told me why, they hurt like a broken tooth your tongue cannot leave alone.
And I hate the night shift. I live on momentum, and adrenaline and work and belief. And grinding just kills
me.
And I think too much.
And it's all just a series of games, things we do to while away eternity.
Little things infuriate. You put so much hope, so many dreams, so much expectation out there, any small difficulty fills you with rage. Not getting mail, not being able to use the phone, a loved ones getting off the internet right before you get on. All indescribably frustrating.
And everything is much much harder. It took three weeks to upload 40 pictures to shutterfly so I could get prints made. Three weeks, just to upload. You have internet, but it's like a joke: you have to give up literally half of your waking non-sleep hours to do the simplest thing.
It's like being in a wheelchair, and having to ask other people to do everything for you. Want some dental flossers? Ask someone. Want a webcam? Don't be a grownup and go to best buy. Just hope you get one. Need your paperwork for promotion? Ask your wife for it and wait. And hope. And wait. And wait. Anything you want or need or require: just beg for it and hope someone gives it to you. It's like being a cripple.
I did a stupid quiz about what I notice first about a woman. Then I thought about it. Turns out what I notice first, what makes an indelible impression that never goes away, is her hair. Even if she changes it later, that first impression is forever. Then I notice her eyes. Nothing deep here, but things I never knew about myself that I came to realize.
I saw someone with a cat. And it came to me that I hate animals, because I form very intense bonds with very few things. So I am still bitter about every animal that died or left. Tommy, and Buttons, and Geraldine, Zenobiah, Fabious Bile. Fuzzy Head, Brooklyn. They all still hurt. Then I realized I do this with people. I form very few friendships. Every true friendship that I form remains true, years after I have not seen someone. The few broken friendships still hurt, like sharp glass swallowed, cutting inside. And the ones who left, who cut me off and never told me why, they hurt like a broken tooth your tongue cannot leave alone.
And I hate the night shift. I live on momentum, and adrenaline and work and belief. And grinding just kills
me.
And I think too much.
And it's all just a series of games, things we do to while away eternity.
The hammer
It's like a hammer.
Like being under a giant hammer.
The eye of god.
Judging you, weighing you.
Every day,
living with yourself.
Feeling the burdens of the lies you have told.
Carrying the lies you have told yourself.
The things you tell yourself to make it easier.
To make it easier to be you.
At some point, you realize, its just a game.
And a boring, tedious game.
The purest metal comes from the hottest forge.
And when you have been under the hammer a few times
You find yourself beaten down,
all the lies, the things we tell ourselves to make us
feel ok to be us, beaten away
And all thats left is who we really are.
Right down to the core. Everything else beaten away
And just the reality left behind.
And maybe, maybe, if you don't like what you see,
there's still time to change it.
Like being under a giant hammer.
The eye of god.
Judging you, weighing you.
Every day,
living with yourself.
Feeling the burdens of the lies you have told.
Carrying the lies you have told yourself.
The things you tell yourself to make it easier.
To make it easier to be you.
At some point, you realize, its just a game.
And a boring, tedious game.
The purest metal comes from the hottest forge.
And when you have been under the hammer a few times
You find yourself beaten down,
all the lies, the things we tell ourselves to make us
feel ok to be us, beaten away
And all thats left is who we really are.
Right down to the core. Everything else beaten away
And just the reality left behind.
And maybe, maybe, if you don't like what you see,
there's still time to change it.
Monday, January 3, 2011
January 3rd, 2011
how do you die in afghanistan?
first you think to yourself:
"I only have a couple of months to go,
then I can go home. I just have to survive."
Then, when you go out,
you look past the IED, because you
dont want to see it, because you dont want
it to be real
you just want it to be a quiet easy day that
goes by quickly
so when you see it,
you look past it
your eyes aren't drawn to it, they look
away, because its not what you want to see.
because you see what you want to see, not
what is real.
Then you die.
Because what is real is what is real
whether you want it to be true or not.
in the land of milk and IEDs.
every day is your last day. tomorrow you
will wake up in the hospital, surrounded
by nurses. this is your last mission. your
last patrol. you only have to pay attention
for a couple more hours, because this is the
one, not a hundred more, just this one
this is the only one that matters, because this
is the patrol with the IED this is the patrol
with the ambush, this is the patrol where they get
you.
that's how you live in AFghanistan.
every patrol is your last. every patrol is the only
one that matters, because this patrol is the one.
there is no "leave" no "vacation" there is no going home at the end
of the tour. There is no home, no end. This is it.
This patrol.
This is all there is.
first you think to yourself:
"I only have a couple of months to go,
then I can go home. I just have to survive."
Then, when you go out,
you look past the IED, because you
dont want to see it, because you dont want
it to be real
you just want it to be a quiet easy day that
goes by quickly
so when you see it,
you look past it
your eyes aren't drawn to it, they look
away, because its not what you want to see.
because you see what you want to see, not
what is real.
Then you die.
Because what is real is what is real
whether you want it to be true or not.
in the land of milk and IEDs.
every day is your last day. tomorrow you
will wake up in the hospital, surrounded
by nurses. this is your last mission. your
last patrol. you only have to pay attention
for a couple more hours, because this is the
one, not a hundred more, just this one
this is the only one that matters, because this
is the patrol with the IED this is the patrol
with the ambush, this is the patrol where they get
you.
that's how you live in AFghanistan.
every patrol is your last. every patrol is the only
one that matters, because this patrol is the one.
there is no "leave" no "vacation" there is no going home at the end
of the tour. There is no home, no end. This is it.
This patrol.
This is all there is.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
December 04, 2010 pt 2
When I think of it, it's
amazing how different things are here.
Here, it's like God is shining a giant light, a glorious, blinding
light on everything you do.
Seeing each action and judging it,
weighing it,
finding you worthy,
or not.
But in america
it's dark.
It's muddy.
It's dirty.
Dirty in the soul,
rather than the body.
And the choices are never clear.
And they never matter.
Nothing matters.
Here, everything matters.
Everything.
What you eat.
What you wear.
How much sleep you get.
When you last
talked to your loved ones.
Whether you
have your knife,
your gerber,
your weapon
your tournequiteyourammunitionyourglovesyourwatchyourwateryourheadlampyourfleecehatyourwhoopieyourponchotheclsbagyourclpyourseatbeltcutteryourhelmettheheadspaceandtiminggaugeyourhatyourextrasocksthesmokegrenadesdo youhaveitcanyougettoit?
over here everything matters.
In America, nothing matters.
Forget something, so what?
Go get it.
So what?
So what?
Everything in america is so what.
Here, nothing is ever so what.
There is always an answer to that question.
Here, God watches you, and judges you, cruelly at times.
There, God doesn't even know you exist.
You are ants, and your lives without meaning,
or value, or even worth judging.
How am I ever going to leave this?
How am I ever going to go home to my family?
When the war is over?
The war will never be over.
Not the war on the ground,
fought with guns
and bombs
and knives
and stones.
Not the war inside us,
that we cannot put down.
The war will never be over.
How can I go home?
amazing how different things are here.
Here, it's like God is shining a giant light, a glorious, blinding
light on everything you do.
Seeing each action and judging it,
weighing it,
finding you worthy,
or not.
But in america
it's dark.
It's muddy.
It's dirty.
Dirty in the soul,
rather than the body.
And the choices are never clear.
And they never matter.
Nothing matters.
Here, everything matters.
Everything.
What you eat.
What you wear.
How much sleep you get.
When you last
talked to your loved ones.
Whether you
have your knife,
your gerber,
your weapon
your tournequiteyourammunitionyourglovesyourwatchyourwateryourheadlampyourfleecehatyourwhoopieyourponchotheclsbagyourclpyourseatbeltcutteryourhelmettheheadspaceandtiminggaugeyourhatyourextrasocksthesmokegrenadesdo youhaveitcanyougettoit?
over here everything matters.
In America, nothing matters.
Forget something, so what?
Go get it.
So what?
So what?
Everything in america is so what.
Here, nothing is ever so what.
There is always an answer to that question.
Here, God watches you, and judges you, cruelly at times.
There, God doesn't even know you exist.
You are ants, and your lives without meaning,
or value, or even worth judging.
How am I ever going to leave this?
How am I ever going to go home to my family?
When the war is over?
The war will never be over.
Not the war on the ground,
fought with guns
and bombs
and knives
and stones.
Not the war inside us,
that we cannot put down.
The war will never be over.
How can I go home?
December 04, 2010
Listen
I know you mean well.
When you tell me you wish the war were over,
when you tell me you wish I could come home.
I know you have the absolute best intentions.
But.
You don't tell a police officer to not patrol the streets.
You don't tell a firefighter to stop fighting fires.
You don't tell the surgeon to stop operating on patients.
I am a Soldier.
And this war will not go away on its own.
Listen to me.
I do this for a living.
You trust your doctor.
You trust your banker.
Trust your Soldier.
This is a war we can win.
This is a war we should win.
We have a moral obligation to be here.
When the doctor tells you he looked at the slides, and he
saw something terrible that should not be there,
and he needs to go in with the knife,
you hope, and you pray, but you trust his judgement.
Because that's what he does.
I am a soldier.
This is what I do.
Don't try to stop me.
Don't hold me back.
I've seen something terrible, that should not be there,
and I have to go in with the knife.
Hope,
and pray,
and trust my judgment.
This war needs to be fought, and it will be fought.
And if we pull out, the war will follow us.
You cannot pull out of a war, you can only choose where
to fight it.
Let us fight it here, and now. We've chosen the field
of battle, let us fight here, where we have spent years
learning the battlefield, the people, the language.
Here, in Afghanistan, we have the home-field advantage,
because we've been here for nine years.
If we pull out, we'll fight somewhere else,
somewhere where we don't know the battlefield,
the people,
the language.
Somewhere where we don't have any advantages.
Nine years of continuous war, we've learned so much.
Our armor is different.
Our vehicles are different.
Our computers are different.
Our tourniquets are different.
Our techniques are different.
Everything we do is different.
We are a thousand times the army we were a decade ago.
Almost every one of our soldiers is a combat veteran, some of us many times
over. That experience can only be bought at one price: blood.
Our blood has taught us the lessons we need to know. And we
have learned those lessons. And we are learning those lessons.
Don't shackle us.
Don't hold us back.
Don't give us a deadline,
tell us we have to come home by a certain date.
Give us the men and the equipment and the backing we need to do this
job, and to do it right.
We could have won here years ago, but we never had enough men. We
were never given enough men, enough equipment, enough backing
to do the job right. We were never given enough resources to properly
establish security, to properly rebuild things, to do anything here
properly. Want the job done right? Lets fucking do it. Give us the
men and equipment, the doctors and soldiers and engineers and teachers
we need to secure Afghanistan, to rebuild Afghanistan, to heal Afghanistan,
to teach Afghanistan, and then we can win, and then we can come home.
Stop trying to bring me home before I'm done.
This is what I do for a living.
This is my job,
my profession,
my specialty.
Trust me.
Give me the tools I need and we can win this war.
Give me the committed men I need.
Make sure they receive the very best training.
Give me the equipment I need.
Take care of my family while I'm over here.
Give me the resources to secure,
to rebuild,
to heal
and to teach.
And I will come home.
And I will bring you a victory
we can all be proud of.
I know you mean well.
When you tell me you wish the war were over,
when you tell me you wish I could come home.
I know you have the absolute best intentions.
But.
You don't tell a police officer to not patrol the streets.
You don't tell a firefighter to stop fighting fires.
You don't tell the surgeon to stop operating on patients.
I am a Soldier.
And this war will not go away on its own.
Listen to me.
I do this for a living.
You trust your doctor.
You trust your banker.
Trust your Soldier.
This is a war we can win.
This is a war we should win.
We have a moral obligation to be here.
When the doctor tells you he looked at the slides, and he
saw something terrible that should not be there,
and he needs to go in with the knife,
you hope, and you pray, but you trust his judgement.
Because that's what he does.
I am a soldier.
This is what I do.
Don't try to stop me.
Don't hold me back.
I've seen something terrible, that should not be there,
and I have to go in with the knife.
Hope,
and pray,
and trust my judgment.
This war needs to be fought, and it will be fought.
And if we pull out, the war will follow us.
You cannot pull out of a war, you can only choose where
to fight it.
Let us fight it here, and now. We've chosen the field
of battle, let us fight here, where we have spent years
learning the battlefield, the people, the language.
Here, in Afghanistan, we have the home-field advantage,
because we've been here for nine years.
If we pull out, we'll fight somewhere else,
somewhere where we don't know the battlefield,
the people,
the language.
Somewhere where we don't have any advantages.
Nine years of continuous war, we've learned so much.
Our armor is different.
Our vehicles are different.
Our computers are different.
Our tourniquets are different.
Our techniques are different.
Everything we do is different.
We are a thousand times the army we were a decade ago.
Almost every one of our soldiers is a combat veteran, some of us many times
over. That experience can only be bought at one price: blood.
Our blood has taught us the lessons we need to know. And we
have learned those lessons. And we are learning those lessons.
Don't shackle us.
Don't hold us back.
Don't give us a deadline,
tell us we have to come home by a certain date.
Give us the men and the equipment and the backing we need to do this
job, and to do it right.
We could have won here years ago, but we never had enough men. We
were never given enough men, enough equipment, enough backing
to do the job right. We were never given enough resources to properly
establish security, to properly rebuild things, to do anything here
properly. Want the job done right? Lets fucking do it. Give us the
men and equipment, the doctors and soldiers and engineers and teachers
we need to secure Afghanistan, to rebuild Afghanistan, to heal Afghanistan,
to teach Afghanistan, and then we can win, and then we can come home.
Stop trying to bring me home before I'm done.
This is what I do for a living.
This is my job,
my profession,
my specialty.
Trust me.
Give me the tools I need and we can win this war.
Give me the committed men I need.
Make sure they receive the very best training.
Give me the equipment I need.
Take care of my family while I'm over here.
Give me the resources to secure,
to rebuild,
to heal
and to teach.
And I will come home.
And I will bring you a victory
we can all be proud of.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
December 02, 2010
So the depression is doing its best to kick my ass.
Now I have some advantages.
I exercise all the fucking time.
So that helps.
I keep really busy.
That helps.
I have the respect of very many
people I work with.
That helps.
but my mind wanders,
wanders in dark places.
So many dark places.
There are so many
dark places for my mind to wander.
I fight the depression.
I fight.
Every day.
Every day.
crap
All crap
I swim in a pool of shit
i feel it taste it
on my skin
in my mouth in the back of my throat
i hate
i fucking hate
so much
so much
Now I have some advantages.
I exercise all the fucking time.
So that helps.
I keep really busy.
That helps.
I have the respect of very many
people I work with.
That helps.
but my mind wanders,
wanders in dark places.
So many dark places.
There are so many
dark places for my mind to wander.
I fight the depression.
I fight.
Every day.
Every day.
crap
All crap
I swim in a pool of shit
i feel it taste it
on my skin
in my mouth in the back of my throat
i hate
i fucking hate
so much
so much
November 20, 2010
There's this dream I've been having.
First, though I have to tell you some stuff.
Last year, I was in Afghanistan. And I came home for a two week R&R break.
And when people saw me, I'd tell them "I'm in Afghanistan, I'm just on leave"
It was kind of a joke.
Kind of a short hand.
Kind of.
See, I've been having this dream.
Each time, most of the dream is different.
But each time, I'm in America.
Some times I'm on leave.
Some times I'm about to deploy.
And I tell people
"I'm in Afghanistan"
And it's like what I said last year, when I was on leave.
And maybe you could say that it's my sleepy mind,
telling me that I'm in Afghanistan, and dreaming it.
Or you could say what the guy down the hall says,
that I dream of the states because I haven't accepted that
I'm back in AFghanistan.
But I dont think thats it.
I dont think I ever left Afghanistan.
I dont think I ever came home.
I think it was all a dream, and I'm here.
In afghanistan.
Just like I said all along.
First, though I have to tell you some stuff.
Last year, I was in Afghanistan. And I came home for a two week R&R break.
And when people saw me, I'd tell them "I'm in Afghanistan, I'm just on leave"
It was kind of a joke.
Kind of a short hand.
Kind of.
See, I've been having this dream.
Each time, most of the dream is different.
But each time, I'm in America.
Some times I'm on leave.
Some times I'm about to deploy.
And I tell people
"I'm in Afghanistan"
And it's like what I said last year, when I was on leave.
And maybe you could say that it's my sleepy mind,
telling me that I'm in Afghanistan, and dreaming it.
Or you could say what the guy down the hall says,
that I dream of the states because I haven't accepted that
I'm back in AFghanistan.
But I dont think thats it.
I dont think I ever left Afghanistan.
I dont think I ever came home.
I think it was all a dream, and I'm here.
In afghanistan.
Just like I said all along.
November 15, 2010
Twenty one days in a row I have gone to the gym.
I write down my scores.
Each day I attempt to surpass the day prior.
I have studied Farsi for 8 hours, 55 minutes.
I have studied Pashto for 9 hours 15 minutes.
I learn a bit more.
I start to be able to read a bit, some of the
letters I recognize and know what sounds they make
some words I know and can use.The languages use the same alphabet, though
most or perhaps all the words are different.Each day I study.Each day I work out.
No one understands how bad I am at languages.
Or how weak I am.
But I persevere.
That they see.
They see my belief.
Shining through
the dust of my ignorance
and my weakness.
My belief will carry me
to where that dust is long gone.
I write down my scores.
Each day I attempt to surpass the day prior.
I have studied Farsi for 8 hours, 55 minutes.
I have studied Pashto for 9 hours 15 minutes.
I learn a bit more.
I start to be able to read a bit, some of the
letters I recognize and know what sounds they make
some words I know and can use.The languages use the same alphabet, though
most or perhaps all the words are different.Each day I study.Each day I work out.
No one understands how bad I am at languages.
Or how weak I am.
But I persevere.
That they see.
They see my belief.
Shining through
the dust of my ignorance
and my weakness.
My belief will carry me
to where that dust is long gone.
November 10, 2010
Every dayI grow a little more distant from
the soft
slow
fat
people around me
i grow a little more
angry
a little more lean
a little more hungry
a little more savage
a little more pure
a little more me
a little less them
I grow a little faster
a little stronger
a little more pure
a little more angry
I see the waste
the waste
the wasted resouces
the wasted time
the lack of effort
the lack of dedication.
And every day
I become a little more me.
the soft
slow
fat
people around me
i grow a little more
angry
a little more lean
a little more hungry
a little more savage
a little more pure
a little more me
a little less them
I grow a little faster
a little stronger
a little more pure
a little more angry
I see the waste
the waste
the wasted resouces
the wasted time
the lack of effort
the lack of dedication.
And every day
I become a little more me.
November 02, 2010
So each day we have a big briefing.
On the JOC floor, where everything happens.
Think of, in the movies, when NASA launches a mission. All the guys at computers
and phones, organizing shit.
We organize RC(S), the second busiest quarter of Afghanistan.
And each day we have a briefing on everything that is going on.
In the same room as everything is STILL going on.
SO.......
usually its quiet while the briefing happens.
Once in a while, an event comes through.
Like yesterday, DURING the briefing, we got the MEDEVAC mission for 8 US
CAT A soldiers.
When you get hurt, and we assess you, we categorize it.
Cat C, you'll live, but should be seen by a doctor, MEDEVAC within 24 hours.
Cat B, you are stable, MEDEVAC within 4 hours.
CAT A. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
So we had 8 cat a yesterday, during the briefing.
So, when a 9 liner comes in (a 9 liner is a MEDEVAC request, called so because it has 9 lines),
we usually yell it out so everyone in the room hears it.
For yesterdays event, one of the senior people in the room said "9 liner" loud enough for
everyone who needs to know to know, but not so loud as to mess up the brief. Makes
sense, right?
Today, again during the brief, we had another 9-liner, this one for 4 CAT A ANA. The ANA
are the Afghan National Army. They do something like what we do, with less equipment, training,
pay, medical care. So four of them were in a truck and hit an IED. MEDEVAC.
So I see it, I say "9 liner" in a tone of voice quiet, but loud enough to be heard. JUST IN CASE
the people in medops two rows behind me are tieing their shoes, or looking at the speaker, or ANYTHING besides looking at the screen (and there is ALWAYS the chance that the message came through on my screen and not theirs, THAT HAPPENED EARLIER THIS WEEK).
THEN
I take the grid coordinates that show where the patients are, and the grids are wrong.
The Army has a complicated grid system for the whole world. A grid looks like 41 RSR 41689 98888. Thats a grid that makes sense. Other grids are NOT POSSIBLE IN AFGHANISTAN. The grid that is given is NOT POSSIBLE IN AFGHANISTAN.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Someone typed in the wrong grid. Too easy, I check on a second type of program to be sure. yep, does not work. So I post in teh chatroom we use
"request confirm on that grid" or words to that effect.
And the medops chief of operations sends me a private chat to the effect of "the grid is correct:,
So I'm like "roger"
and
I go check again.
Because thats the kind of soldier I am.
AND ITS WRONG.
So I say in the private chat, no, grids still not working on two programs.
Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
She posts updated grid.
BUT
NEW GRID IS EVEN WRONGER.
See, all Army grids have an even number of grid digits.41 RSR 41689 98888Makes sense, 10 digits.41 RSR 4168 9888less accurate, but still makes sense, 8 digits.41 RSR 416 988less accurate, still makes sense, 6 digits.An army grid CANNOT have an odd number of digits.
This grid she has reposted has 9 numbers.SO IT CAN NOT BE RIGHT.
I SAY AGAIN, CAN NOT BE RIGHT.
so I post "grid given has 9 digits"
a minute goes by
she sends me a private chat message with the full grid.
BUT NOONE POSTS FULL GRID IN THE CHATROOM.
So I wait for a minute, see there is still no accurate grid, and copy the line with her saying the full grid and paste it intothe chat room window.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAfter the briefing she comes downand first informs methat we dont say anything during the briefingandthat her medops people were tracking the eventandthat we are all intelligent peopleand we could have easilyseen that the numbers from the first WRONG gridwhen combined with the letters from the second WRONG gridmade a POSSIBLE grid, so CLEARLY that was the right oneand my posts added to the confusion.
Yep.My battle captain stood up for me.The best moment was when he asked if the whole grid had ever been posted,And she said "yes, of course"and I squintedand looked closely at my screenand said"i can only find it posted here, at 1929"and my captain says "didnt you post that?"And I said "yes".Precious.
Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosomeone taught me a trick about lies. When someonesays something to you and it makes no sense, reverseit and see if that makes more sense.So:
You shouldnt have talked during the brief!We had it under control!We are all smart people here!YOur comments added to the confusion!I'm mad!
does not make sense.Try this on for size:You did the right thing talking during the brief!We didnt see that event and you pointed out for everyone what we had not noticed.You are an idiot!Your comments made sense and pointed out my mistake!I'm mad because you made me look stupid!
Odd how the second version seems to make sense and be believablewhile the first doesn't.
So that's what I did today: I made an officer mad at me by doing my job.
On the JOC floor, where everything happens.
Think of, in the movies, when NASA launches a mission. All the guys at computers
and phones, organizing shit.
We organize RC(S), the second busiest quarter of Afghanistan.
And each day we have a briefing on everything that is going on.
In the same room as everything is STILL going on.
SO.......
usually its quiet while the briefing happens.
Once in a while, an event comes through.
Like yesterday, DURING the briefing, we got the MEDEVAC mission for 8 US
CAT A soldiers.
When you get hurt, and we assess you, we categorize it.
Cat C, you'll live, but should be seen by a doctor, MEDEVAC within 24 hours.
Cat B, you are stable, MEDEVAC within 4 hours.
CAT A. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
So we had 8 cat a yesterday, during the briefing.
So, when a 9 liner comes in (a 9 liner is a MEDEVAC request, called so because it has 9 lines),
we usually yell it out so everyone in the room hears it.
For yesterdays event, one of the senior people in the room said "9 liner" loud enough for
everyone who needs to know to know, but not so loud as to mess up the brief. Makes
sense, right?
Today, again during the brief, we had another 9-liner, this one for 4 CAT A ANA. The ANA
are the Afghan National Army. They do something like what we do, with less equipment, training,
pay, medical care. So four of them were in a truck and hit an IED. MEDEVAC.
So I see it, I say "9 liner" in a tone of voice quiet, but loud enough to be heard. JUST IN CASE
the people in medops two rows behind me are tieing their shoes, or looking at the speaker, or ANYTHING besides looking at the screen (and there is ALWAYS the chance that the message came through on my screen and not theirs, THAT HAPPENED EARLIER THIS WEEK).
THEN
I take the grid coordinates that show where the patients are, and the grids are wrong.
The Army has a complicated grid system for the whole world. A grid looks like 41 RSR 41689 98888. Thats a grid that makes sense. Other grids are NOT POSSIBLE IN AFGHANISTAN. The grid that is given is NOT POSSIBLE IN AFGHANISTAN.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Someone typed in the wrong grid. Too easy, I check on a second type of program to be sure. yep, does not work. So I post in teh chatroom we use
"request confirm on that grid" or words to that effect.
And the medops chief of operations sends me a private chat to the effect of "the grid is correct:,
So I'm like "roger"
and
I go check again.
Because thats the kind of soldier I am.
AND ITS WRONG.
So I say in the private chat, no, grids still not working on two programs.
Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
She posts updated grid.
BUT
NEW GRID IS EVEN WRONGER.
See, all Army grids have an even number of grid digits.41 RSR 41689 98888Makes sense, 10 digits.41 RSR 4168 9888less accurate, but still makes sense, 8 digits.41 RSR 416 988less accurate, still makes sense, 6 digits.An army grid CANNOT have an odd number of digits.
This grid she has reposted has 9 numbers.SO IT CAN NOT BE RIGHT.
I SAY AGAIN, CAN NOT BE RIGHT.
so I post "grid given has 9 digits"
a minute goes by
she sends me a private chat message with the full grid.
BUT NOONE POSTS FULL GRID IN THE CHATROOM.
So I wait for a minute, see there is still no accurate grid, and copy the line with her saying the full grid and paste it intothe chat room window.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAfter the briefing she comes downand first informs methat we dont say anything during the briefingandthat her medops people were tracking the eventandthat we are all intelligent peopleand we could have easilyseen that the numbers from the first WRONG gridwhen combined with the letters from the second WRONG gridmade a POSSIBLE grid, so CLEARLY that was the right oneand my posts added to the confusion.
Yep.My battle captain stood up for me.The best moment was when he asked if the whole grid had ever been posted,And she said "yes, of course"and I squintedand looked closely at my screenand said"i can only find it posted here, at 1929"and my captain says "didnt you post that?"And I said "yes".Precious.
Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosomeone taught me a trick about lies. When someonesays something to you and it makes no sense, reverseit and see if that makes more sense.So:
You shouldnt have talked during the brief!We had it under control!We are all smart people here!YOur comments added to the confusion!I'm mad!
does not make sense.Try this on for size:You did the right thing talking during the brief!We didnt see that event and you pointed out for everyone what we had not noticed.You are an idiot!Your comments made sense and pointed out my mistake!I'm mad because you made me look stupid!
Odd how the second version seems to make sense and be believablewhile the first doesn't.
So that's what I did today: I made an officer mad at me by doing my job.
November 11, 2010
The only one who can teach you
is your enemy.
And every year,
every year
they learn from us
every year
they get smarter
they get sneakier
they learn
but
every year
we learn from them
slowly
We learn
slowly
we didn't used to know
but we're learning
we're learning.
We're learning.
And when we learn enough
when we learn enough
when we learn enough
is your enemy.
And every year,
every year
they learn from us
every year
they get smarter
they get sneakier
they learn
but
every year
we learn from them
slowly
We learn
slowly
we didn't used to know
but we're learning
we're learning.
We're learning.
And when we learn enough
when we learn enough
when we learn enough
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
from last deployment
these are from last deployment, just copying them here to have them all in one place.
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