no title
Sometimes I just get so tired of it all. The calls to prayer, the call to fight. What difference does it make? Religion. None of it make any sense. Four guys from Michigan died this weekend. Four guys, three, different units, but none of them will see the beautiful Michigan autumn again. One was from Detroit. Three-one-tray. Maybe he went to Cass. Maybe he went to Denby. Maybe he walked down Seven Mile Road from Tony’s Place, like we did. Maybe he played Parks and Rec ball, and waited for the damn bus in the cold, and swore at his girlfriend when things got rough between them. Maybe he had a temper, like me. Maybe his folks don’t even know that it’s their son I am writing about. Maybe his brother is sleeping in his bed right now, the first time he ever had a room to himself.
I am so fucking sick of this place. Sick of the flares at night, and the sound of shots in the distance. Of the fifties. And of knowing. Knowing that someone’s dying. You see, my problem is that I can’t shut it off. I can’t stop thinking. Socrates had it so wrong, you know - some things are just fucking better left alone.
Clark ran in and shouted that three rockets had just hit ECP 13. I just sat there. Sometimes I just get down. Right now I really, really want a drink. And right now I am really, really glad that I don’t drink.
Just don’t forget the bagpipes, Keith, okay. You know what I‘m talking about. Good bye, guys. The next time I am in Michigan I’ll say a little prayer for your families - so what if it doesn’t make a difference? So fucking what?
I am so fucking sick of this place. Sick of the flares at night, and the sound of shots in the distance. Of the fifties. And of knowing. Knowing that someone’s dying. You see, my problem is that I can’t shut it off. I can’t stop thinking. Socrates had it so wrong, you know - some things are just fucking better left alone.
Clark ran in and shouted that three rockets had just hit ECP 13. I just sat there. Sometimes I just get down. Right now I really, really want a drink. And right now I am really, really glad that I don’t drink.
Just don’t forget the bagpipes, Keith, okay. You know what I‘m talking about. Good bye, guys. The next time I am in Michigan I’ll say a little prayer for your families - so what if it doesn’t make a difference? So fucking what?
posted by Jack at 12:28 AM
6 Comments:
Don't let your circumstances get the better of you. Don't let them win. Soon you'll be back with Lisanne and the kids and you'll be able to touch and feel and smell the good again. And they will renew your spirit. When you can't stop thinking, try to think about only them.
Please don't talk about the bagpipes. Twenty years ago you told me about the bagpipes. It's too soon. It is way too soon!
I love you.
Lise
No bagpipes for a long time brother.
Mark, you got me crying again and you know I never cry. Don"t be soo sad-- I wish I could kiss the hurt and make it go away. Now that you have children of your own, you know how hard it is to know they are suffering and you are helpless to make it better.
You'll be home soon where you belong and when you go back , it will be only for a short time.
Yo Yo Ma
Not yet, Mark. Not yet.
I am sorry guys. It was late and I couldn't sleep and I was tired and that is always the worst time.
Don't worry about me - It's past. I am fine. No bagpipes. I will talk to Chris.
Post a Comment
<< Home