Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Souls on Parade

“It's about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I`ve got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
What else is there?"--- Royksopp

I have been involved in exceedingly long drawn-out emotional conversations about nothing lately. Maybe that’s why I haven’t written anything of substance. I used to be a much better blogger when I knew nobody read this page. Now, I have no idea who see’s this, much less, who even cares about it.

And yes, lately, too, I admit I’ve been intellectually lazy. Anybody else ever feel that way? (shouting into the void!) Maybe it’s the summer heat, hell.. I don’t know anymore and I’m out of excuses.

Also, has anyone else been feeling utterly uninspired by what’s happening out there in blog land? I’ve become highly disillusioned by the internet feminists. I have never seen so much drama, hatred, and monotony spewed forth in such a methodical fashion. Blah. and Barf.

The radical feminist versus this person and that person has become a little predictable.

What else is there to say?

Also, sex.

So, you like it rough? So, you have a rubber crotch? (tribute to Sylvia Plath), so you like come fuck me boots, so you don’t like any of those things and eschew all items of that nature? What else is there?

If you’ve given away every secret in every conversation you’ve had, what else is there?

Last night, at a lovely Piano Bar in the company of my sister and three not so lovely gentlemen, my sister’s date said..

“Yeah, I agree with the War in Iraq, it’s a good thing….” or something to that effect. I honestly quit listening after the first line tho’, looked at him menacingly about three sentences into his diatribe and said, “yeah, if you don’t have a soul.”

I’m just done with it, ya know. Convincing these fuckwits that their opinions are wrong isn’t really important anymore. Once upon a time, Sally would’ve dueled verbally with this gentleman to the death, but no. Even if I could convince him to, oh, I don’t know, get a soul… “Hey, buddy, go pick up a fuckin’ soul, they’re on sale down the street!!” what difference does it make?

It doesn’t help matters that on Friday night I ran into a killing machine. Not yet, mind you. He’s not a killing machine quite yet- until he finally gets to go to Iraq and kill some people, he’s still a double-d douche bag with a small dick in the old U.S. of A.

Seriously, at a party on Fri. night I actually over heard the guy talking about how excited he was to “go kill some people.” Again, fuckwad, souls are on sale down the street. He also spoke about basic training and how his superiors degraded and humiliated him, physically, emotionally..even sexually? Straight out of the killing machine’s mouth.. he told us about how his commanding officer made him jerk off in front other men in big room. Sounds like a scene straight out of G.I. Jane to me, but nonetheless, true or false, this guy felt it necessary to recount the experience.

I found it hard to muster any compassion for this fellow. Yet, at the same time, I felt this young insecure lad probably was being or had been brainwashed by the government. Weird, huh? It was just the vibe I got. A shy self-loathing boy doesn’t turn into a killing machine overnight, you know. Or maybe they do.


Elizabeth McClung said...

I have always had a sort of strange "look at the train wreck" facination with the odd sexual elements of male hetero bonding. I've always found a good follow up question to be can he give us the story of his mother walking in on him wacking off (it's amazing how many will actually tell you the story if you ask).

I guess my problem would be what to say, probably not "Good luck" or "have you looked at yourself in the spiritual mirror lately." Probably something like, "Well, if you really want to kill people, I'm glad you are going far away (from me)." Still probably not affirming for either of us I guess.

SallySunshine said...

Hi Elizabeth, and thanks for stopping by.

I was speechless when Mr. Killing Machine said he couldn't wait to go to Iraq. Who say's that? And most of all, who actually feels that way? I was astounded and disgusted. Yet, I felt the guy was seriously lacking in the "manhood" department. (Not in reference to size, of course, but in attitude.) He was one of those dudes that walks with a puffed out chest and flexed bicep constantly. Pretty gnarly if you ask me. Ick.

I can definitely understand the train wreck fascination as I couldn't stop staring at him in disbelief, while at the same time wanting to club him with a flat iron.

Did I mention I knew this guy in high school? I mean, he was younger than me so I didn’t really know him per se, but I knew of him. He was a pretty sweet kid, certainly not a killing machine. I’m not sure how the army does it, but they break em’ down and change something in their psychology, from what I’ve seen at least.

Cassandra Says said...

jgmwoYikes. Seeing a sweet kid you knew in high school transformed into a killing machine? That has to be some serious mindfuck right there.

When I first saw Full Metal Jacket I remember thinking that it must have been exaggerating for effect, but the more I hear from people who've actually been in the military the more I doubt that theory. I don't know what they do to them, but they definately do something, and it's not something good.

It's always a wierd feeling, isn't it, being torn between compassion and visceral loathing?