Day 194 - Day 214: Leave

My leave was awesome. I went home, hung out with friends and family, and generally did nothing productive. It was loafing incarnate and I loved every moment of it.

I will not be blogging on evey individual day, because that time was spent vacationing.
However I do have a few highlights:

Lowballing my expectations was the key to success. I expecting my family and friends to have a pulse the majority of them time, and the sun to rise at least once during my two week stay. I was willing to negeate on the later half due to my extended stay in the ass crack of civilaization shifting my preferences towards sun optional. Much like MMOs and horrible movies it helped to take my expectation and bash them in the knees until they were crawling on the ground howling bloody death rattling for help before they bled to death. I took out a .45 and laughed as I kicked those follish expectations in the bloody pulp that was formerly known as their shins and laughed manicly as I put a massive exit wound the size of texas out the back of thier skulls. I hope the fun imagery helps the lesson stick in your memory.

I established to my parents early on that this was my time and I didn’t want the be obligated into anything. The words “Family” and “Obligation” anywhere within a three sentance proximity of each other would produce the reminder that I would love to get into a few fire fights once I get back in country. If none were available than I assured them as as American there would be no shortage of wars in my life time.

Don’t get me wrong. My folks are great people but what is so hard to understand that I love dangerous fun? If being in a combat zone where adrenaline soaked fear with my mind shouting YOU ARE GOING TO DIE has only reenforced fear=fun than nothing will break me of that habit. I’d like them to understand that puting myself in harm’s way is fun and exciting. I’d rather die from an IED than from bordom.

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The Mech game session was vastly entertaining for all parties involved. Due to conflicting work schedules and limited activity on the cold reach forums (the website I used to collaborate with my friends and create the session) I had only planned for three to five players. With this in mind I could create a semi-serious atmosphere with meaningful plot where all the players could feel like they were important contributers to the story.

Unfortunately I had eight players show up and within the first 30 seconds I realized that my 1.5 years away from the GM screen could not create the proper mood for drama for eight people. Being a soldier I use the same planning for combat and appy it to nearly every thing I do. There was a list of prioritized contributing objectives with all eight players having a good time as the overall mission. I switched the mood from drama to comedy knowing I could crack jokes and wise ass commentary with the best of them, playing upon the personality types of the group to keep the momentum up.

Group of supporting NPC cast, dramatic tension, arcing plot lines, dynamic multivariate battle fronts all went out the window as they would bog down the session, and lets face it, I’ve been gone too long gauge the group for the subtle emotional responses required to pull off drama I would have been happy with.

What did happen was roll on the floor comedy that had the group in stiches. Fast paced giant robot action with custom mech that each player designed took pride in.

The high point was Shelley, playing Napa from DBZ Abridged (Youtube.com has all the episodes for your enjoyment. I highly reccomend you go watch a few episodes featuring Napa as you will find the rest of the post 10 times funnier) sees the boss I places in the middle of an airfield. On a trip upstairs (more of a drunken stumble) I had the idea of addding a boss to every encounter. The enemy mech was a giant disembodied panda head who would scream, “BAY-BEE!” and fire explosive lasers out of its eyes, and and from those lasers create smaller robotic pandas. This was five beers into the game.

Quoting Napa from DBZ Abridged Shelley exclaimes, “Look, it’s a pokemon! I’m gonna catch it!” Looking over to me Shelley asks with an excited grin and a sad pleeding puppy dog eyes (don’t ask me how he pulled that off,) “Ryan if I spend two YumsYums (GM bribery for bending the rules. One of my favorite features of the QAGS ruleset) can you allow this?”

This provokes several responses from the group:

Pete: Whaoh! thats way out of line Shelley.

Dave: Something like that is was too powerful Shelley. There is no way any GM would allow it.

Blake in character as General Patton Jr: Son, you are out of your goddamn mind!

Me: *Takes a long pull on his beer and allows a dramtic pause as all eyes turn to him*

I’m going to allow this.

Shelley starts a spree of hysterical laughter. Once he calms down enough to breath he throws a D20 (twenty sided die) on the table and shoutsin his best , “Fwufums, I choose you!”

The entire table collapsed in laughter and was only ceased by the resulting side splitting pain.

Overall the session was a success. Whenever I went upstairs to gather more beer I would hear roaring laughter ripping thru the floor boards. Unlike the hushed muted laughter that creeps thru the boards like a frieghtened mouse, this laughter bashed thru the wood like a horde of ferocious zombies ready to start World World Z. I smiled to myself, brabbed a few frosty brews from the fridge and headed downstairs into the fray.

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I few things I learned:

151 is pure pain distilled into a bottle. I don’t know how my friend Drew can drink it straight let alone go thru an entire bottle on his own power in one night. I’m fiarly certain he gained Chuck Norris like bad assery upon completion. I had a bottle cap of stuff and wan an inferno in my mouth for the fraction of a second it was there. Dragged its way down my throat kicking and screaming, and and trashed in my stomach burning some more. Any who thinks drinking 151 for thier own sake needs to be given a thourough psych exam.

Keep an emergency car repair kit in whatever vehicle I drive. I met up with my sister Jenni in Breezewood PA where her battery cables corroded into nothing. The mechanic used a pair of jumpber cables to bridge the gap between the battery cable to the battery terminal. Lesson learned that statically speaking the car I’m driving, or some one I know is driving, will eventually break down and I’ll be the closest one available to assist.

Day 193: Flight Manifest

I’m going on leave soon. The journey back home for a short respite has been described as absolutely nightmarish, horrifically bad, and in most cases will crush the will to live. If first hand accounts are to be believed than I”m to expect bad things from the get go until I’m back in Cleveland Hopkins.

The day before I’m scheduled to depart is spent making last minute arrangements to ensure all my various badges and clearances are turned in for safe keeping. What I don’t like is that I have to turn in my weapon. I’ve spent every hour of every day within close proximity of my rifle and its absence is sorely felt. Eating dinner in the chow hall my foot was constantly tapping the floor searching for my missing firearm. When ever I set down my weapon, at the chow hall for example, I have the sling wrapped around my ankle with my foot on the barrel so I have physical accountability of it at all times. It was a habit I built in basic and not having physical contact with my rifle is drawing my bat shit up a wall.

SGT Barahona informed me that the worst part is the customs search. He went thru three rounds of inspectors finger F****** every inch of his possessions with the most invasive clothes on searches he’s ever experienced. Once I empty me pocket I’m to just leave the whole mess inside my hat and not bother with repocketing for at least a half hour. Everything in my bags will be taken out and questioned like I’m a terrorist up to no good. Is it just me or does anyone else think its F***** up that I’m an American Soldier sworn to uphold freedom and I’m being treating like an unsavory vagrant.

And if I even think about bringing my knives they’ll be confiscated. That's the biggest kick below the belt, I’ve been in a combat zone for 4 months and hardwired to have a weapon on me at all times: ready and willing to engage and destroy the enemy and they disarm me. Let’s completely disregard how the soldier feels. How about we slap him about and laugh in his face for good measure. When I get home one of the first things I’m doing is stopping by the police station to get my CCW (Concealed Carry License) and a side arm to keep with me.

On an up note the PAX terminal had dogs. Any day I can proximity to dogs is a good day.

Day 192: Talking Helps

I was talking to SGT McGraw in the chow hall today over one of the issues that’s been bothering me. As I discussed in day 190 when I was a kid I saw one of my friends pumped full of mind bending drugs by his parents. It set in stone what society, particularly people who you think you can trust, will do to those who are different.

Personally I won’t have any of it. I’d rather have a bullet rip thru my head than be turned into a drug zombie bent to obey. SGT McGraw told me, “You’re an adult now. They can’t do that to you, and if they do I have no problem harborring a fugitive.” It helped click on the switch that I had feared being turned into chemical husk with the same pure child lke terror I experienced when it was formed during my childhood.

Fear is a powerful thing when you are a kid. There is no reason or doubt or rationallity to interefere with pure mind breaking terror. He’s right, I’m an adult now and a great marksman. As a proud soldier I’d prefer to die on my own terms. If the people who I think I trust try to force mind bending pills down my throut I’m strong enough to force them to stop. If there is no safe harbor I’ll just leave. I’d rather throw away my career and everything that was my life is that is what it takes to live my life on my own terms.

Day 191: Hit The Weak Point For Massive Damage

My weak point as a writer is dialogue. Imagery and pacing are my strongest points, sufficient to send chills thru us the spin of a reader until creeping paranoia nestled into the base of their skull to lie in wait for a harrowing nightmare. There is no greater complement that to hear that a simple string of words violate the reader's sense of security. HP Lovecraft was a genius at removing the false sense of security that blankets the masses.

Think about it. For effect imagine its the dead of night. You can rest easy in your home because you believe outside your window only contains the world you know and trust. People are just people, night is just night, and the inky blackness holds nothing to be afraid of.

Remove that sense of security. What if the world outside you believe is only a lie you tell yourself to provide the illusion of security. People are twisted with sinister intent aimed solely at you. The night is home to feral nightmares that dream of your torn meat between knife sharp teeth. The darkness is endless hunger with predatory intent beyond your human understanding that will relentlessly hunt everything you love, the pain will not stop until everything that keeps you alive is devoured, and in the end you will beg for it to all be over.

Sadly two people talking back and forth evades me. Dave told me a trick. Imagine yourself in the conversation. Focus on the mannerisms that go back and forth. Invariable after each party at Blake’s house Dave and I have strange (yet deep and meaningful) conversations on nearly random topics. Think of the subtle expressions that go back and forth, long pulls on beverages, and the shifting movements around the room. Dialogue is only half of what is being said, and more importantly with the monotone of text, how it is said.

Day 190: Chemical Husk

This post deals with one of the lessons I learned as a child.

When I was eight I met kid called David Griggs Jr. He and I were both strange kids in middle of nowhere suburbia and became fast friends. David told me that his parents had put him on Prozac

because “I can never sit still and I can’t keep my thoughts straight.” He always told me the so called medicine only made his problems worse. He wanted to stop taking the pills but he was afraid of what his parents might do to him should he defy them.

Years later it would be shown that 20% of the children taking the medication would have adverse effects and the dosage designed for an adult was dangerous to children. But no on ever listens to a kid. Here we have a messed up eight year old reaching out to every adult he knew and they ALL ignored him. Where were the so called responsible adults children are programmed to trust? They didn’t exist and I saw my friend suffering because of their ignorance.

I told him just not to take the pills and he rebutted that his parents counted the pills every evening when he came home from school. We sat at the back of the bus, and every afternoon we would wait until most of the kids had left for home to chuck the day’s poison out the window. Pill gone, David isn’t pumped full of mind bending drugs, and his parents were non the wiser. Everyone wins.

Overtime the chemicals filtered out of David’s system. His conditioned improved, and after trying to think the a drug induced haze his mind was weight trained to handle daily life like a champ. His parents eventually noticed the change and he was officially taken off the meds a year later.

It still infuriates me to this day that every so called responsible adult ignored a child’s plea for help. He was different and loving parents responded by pumping him full of mind bending drugs until he was a chemical husk; a dead body that hadn’t figured out how to stop moving. It taught me that most of the mindless herd will attach anything they see different, and that being different was punishable by chemical death.

Day 189: Philosophy Lesson

If you are squeamish about death, or the reality that the military exists to kill people, stop reading now.

Death is an inseparable part of life. To me it is the most significant, usually occurring at the end. Murder is a reality every soldier has to accept before they can be an effective weapon. When I fire my weapon at another human being it is done for the sole purpose of ending that person’s life. I am a soldier first. My primary role in the military, before mechanics, avionics, and networking, is to kill people.

Death has wide and long lasting effects. Killing a person not only ends their life, it ends everything they could be from that point forward. Everyone around them, friends, family, etc, has had every possibility of their lives dependant on that person being alive, snuffed out at that moment. Think for a moment just how far those ripples echo. The magnitude of ending a single life. The wide spread fear and trauma caused by one bullet and a single order to KILL.

Most people can not accept that reality. Many will coast thru their lives blissfully unaware, able to live safe an happy from cradle to grave. Those content sheep can only exist because of people like me.

There are three kinds of people in this world. Wolves, Sheepdogs, and Sheep. Sheep are the herd of harmless people who will live in relative safety and security thru out their lives. Wolves are predators who are capable of killing, and live by eating the sheep. Sheepdogs are predators who protect the herd, and fight off wolves and other sheepdogs.

Most people in the military find ways to block out the harsh reality of murder. Often I hear “Its either between you and them.” and “They are only haajis not people.” In the former people can console themselves that they are alive and any sympathy would have gotten them killed. Civilians often offer much support after hearing that. The later is the standard objectification used in previous wars. If a soldier see the enemy as less then human than the psychological impact of killing them scales proportionately.

Here is how I see it. Every excuse to lessen that truth that bullets kill people only causes more psychological down the road. I’ve tried to block out nightmares and it only collects metric fuck tons of interest in a depressingly short time. The only proper method I see is to face the truth head on. As a soldier am I required to be willing and able to kill people at a moments notice without hesitation for no better reason than “My sergeant told me to.” They are nothing less than people, the same every where else in the world, the same back home. When I kill a single person it brings incalculable pain and suffering to everyone they know and love.

If you take anything from this blog post understand this:

The sheep of American only exist because they have the best sheepdogs in the world. We are stronger, faster, and more vicious than every pack of wolves. We are willing and hungry to hunt down every last threat to the herd and educate our enemies that aggression invariably results in oblivion.

Day 188: Everything Has Its Time.

Read the next line. I want you to read it until you understand and accept the concept in its entirety.

One day you will die.

Scary thought isn’t it? Most people prefer to forget the side effect of mortality that in the end it is always fatal. I have a Greek outlook on death. It is neither good nor evil, for such concepts only exist in the perception of man. It is equality in the purest sense of the word. Everyone, be they young or strong, powerful or clever, brilliant or kind, will die regardless of what was their life.

Death gives meaning to all things. From desire to ambition to compassion, all aspects of life are given significance because they will end. Think about it, I thrive on danger and excitement because its the thrill of risking life and limb makes the moment fun. What would be the point of an existence where everything I did was perfectly safe and sound?

I don’t get the idea of death is evil. Think of the elderly whose bodies and minds are slowly withering into nothing. It would be cruel to keep them in rotting shells for all eternity. From a logistical point of view the world would run out of biomass for new life forms and the life cycle would come to a screeching halt.

As a soldier I have a skewed belief of death than most people. Death is not something I can shut out and forget for 50 years while working behind an office desk. People die, its what they do. They tend to do it rather quickly when I, or one of my brothers, pumps them full of bullets. I can’t shut out the significance of death like most people, and still hope to function as a human being.

No one is alone. Parents, siblings, children, friends, and no end of people who will miss them. No end of pain that comes with every life snuffed out. But pain causes growth, and helps the living appreciate what they have.

In the famous words of The Doctor, “Everything has its time. Everything dies.”