Saturday, May 10, 2014

Wasted Time

"War. It's the only thing that has meaning. Those who live under the illusion of peace live at the mercy of we who wage war. We are the gods of the world. Hell is the true reality we face. Love is just to help you fight harder.

"You are a machine, a forged tool to be used. Fat cats who live in castles in the sky will profit from your blood. Those who sent you will claim the glory even as they pin you with the medal. Civilians will call even your greatest acts of evil godly in order to keep the blood off their hands. That's how our lives have more purpose than any other.

"You are treated as you deserve. What do you do with a can after you've finished your drink? You throw it away. You're only useful as long as you can fight. To take part in the Great Struggle of mankind is the highest of honors. War is life, peace is just waiting. Cowardice is in the soul. Death to the soul."

There are dangers to being a smart ass. It really stings to find out you've pigeonholed someone wrongly. When Kolovsky, aka "The General", handed this to me my heart was pounding. To be called over to have a look at someone's written word was an unusual event. Plus, I could feel this was intended for me. I'd always called Kolovsky "The General" but I'd been gentle knowing his Vietnam wounds may be hidden and my anti-war agenda salt in those very same wounds.

Might first thought was to deflect. Technically that should be "us who wage war". But I swallowed that cop out and prayed to God I wasn't about to be laid into for my outspoken opinions.

"That's really good. Hard words. I like the honesty, it's very refreshing. I certainly won't say I represent the norm but I find this uplifting and even a bit horrifying."

"I was hoping you would say that." Shit! "I guess you could say I was channeling my inner Harry, making my own general speak." Oh, wait. I think he's complimenting me.

"Sounds very Patton-esque, only more bent. I like how it ends because I could see the rah-rah crowd buying into it until that point but then have to realize where their passions lead them."

"Exactly. All these years these clouds of fog been floating in my brain, never really forming. When I heard you talking about that "Dirty Wars" film it got me to thinking. It was easier for me to condemn a war I hadn't been in but after I wrote this I realized I was talking about all wars."

"So why now? Why all the sudden?"

"I'm a lot closer to the end than the beginning. I don't want to die with this buzzing in my head. I've seen you blogging and thought maybe it could work for me."

"That's awesome! You going to put this online?"

"No. I think that would only stir things up all over again. People get locked in and they don't care what you say right or wrong. I'm too old and too tired for that. But I did get excited after writing it. Is this how you feel after you blog?"

"Sometimes." I was cryptic on my own pain.

"Well, can't say I'll do any more. Been a very long time since I felt a sense of direction. I came back in '74. Hard to believe it's been forty years...took me this long to find my voice. That's a lot of wasted time."

"Sometimes," I replied off the cuff hoping I wasn't full of shit, "you have to breathe a deep breath before you can sing the high note."

"That's a good way of looking at it. I wonder if I'll have another note to sing!"

I handed the paper back to him. Kolovsky had more life in him than I'd seen in a long time. I'd always put him in the Don't-give-a-shit category. He wasn't going to "reform" or conform (thank God). But people in this category are, well, let's just say the jury is always out on them, you never know which way they will go. Life without purpose is a heavy burden that can break any soul.


I too have no place to go, nowhere to be. I tried to step into the spotlight but failed. There can be no true success anywhere else, though. I don't even have to hear the words. Just by tone of voice - the quiet, seething anger laced in bitterness - I can know of a meaningless man. Woe to he who's wasted his treasure - or dared not seek it in the first place.

Like my fellow lost brethren I must contend with our natural predator in the wild: the Work Pimps. Work Pimps feed off others' feeling of worthlessness, driving them into the blind labor of a communist. "You must contribute!" they wail with the maniacal intensity of a jihadist. Under the guise of social responsibility these soul stealers will use you up and leave you to die in the desert. Too many fall for this false clarion call of the devil's disciples, hoping against hope that to be used is to be useful.

It's sensational to report a man been's killed over twenty bucks or some other trivial item. But I know whether it's a mugging or an argument the real culprit is a meaningless life. That's when the smallest of things can seem life and death. Rage like lava builds up until finally the volcano explodes in tragedy. But it's not sexy to lead with a headline of "Meaningless Man Shoots in Frustration". That somehow implies society should be helping more - and responsibility never sells.

That night in my cot my own head buzzed:

Deep breath before a note...that's probably all bullshit...I'd have to have honest success to find out for sure...but I lie here instead with promises in the dark...the cell of uselessness forbids freedom's love...they can't give it and I can't make win God, I've no way many resentful eyes in this world, looking for their place...

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