iraq

it's been awhile since i've written something about iraq.
i just watched "operation homecoming."
it put a wild hair up my ass.
the whole film seemed very contrived.
the soldiers and marines were extremely polished.
composed and articulate.
handsome and neat.
a bit on the melodramatic side.
but it made me think.
a strange little creature inside my head (that resembles an asian hobbit with progeria) whispered in my ear that these kids joined the military with an agenda. i know it sounds horrible, but their stories were too straight.
hell, it's been about four years since i dug sand fleas outa my pores and reclined inside a 100 degree porta-shitter while gagging down a luke warm o'douls.
but in those four years, i've yet to understand my experience.
i've yet to figure it out.
i've yet to deduce anything from it; war is bad, withstanding.
i don't have this resolute comprehension, as many of these interviewee's/writers had.
the film makers attempted to connect iraq and vietnam.
it was well-meaning, i guess.
i'll share a story:
i was in washington d.c. a few years ago.
a kennedy center thing.
i made it a point to visit the vietnam memorial.
planned it,
mapped it,
and @ 3am i walked past the great white statue frozen in place, the rectangular pool, and headed towards the long strip of black marble we've all seen on tv and in the movies.
it was dramatically lit.
it was big.
it had flowers and letters.
i was all alone.
i expected some sort of pathos or sadness to sweep over me.
i mean it was 3AM, i was ALL ALONE, the black stone and names and flowers and letters should've had some effect on me, right?
it didn't.
in fact, i only thought about how pointless it all was.
some 60,000 men and women died in vietnam.
we've got this striking memorial to these dead americans.
not to mention the korean memorial and the new WWII memorial.
what's it all mean?
these memorials?
these statues?
not a thing.
so i stood there, in front of all those names; it was getting very cold out, and i walked back to my room near the watergate hotel.
i had a letter in my hand that i took from the memorial.
some kid in new york writing that she thought wars were wrong and bad and a bunch of other silly horseshit that's peddled on oprah and dr. phil.
she was probably right, but i didn't want to hear it.
not from some kid in new york.
not from some hippie retread.
not from robert redford or anybody else.
when i got back to my room it was warm and i laid down on the bed naked and folded up the kid from new york's letter and tossed it in the trash.