Shit Damn Motherfucker...

Shit. I don’t even have the Army to return to. Not like Pirate Prentice after an fling. Not like An Officer and a Gentleman at boot camp with nothing else but the Army. I was never of the Army so it was never the only thing I had. And although I’m from Vietnam, I’ve never laid in bed, in the stinking heat, looking at the ceiling fan, waiting for my next mission. Hoping and getting a granddaddy of a mission. One that after finishing, I would never want another.

A mission. Joyeux de Vie/Rodney King/Joyeux Noel. What Dostoevskyes-college age youth spend endless nights in smoke-filled coffee houses (before dying on the eastern front) and now internet chat rooms (before dying in eastern jungles and mideastern sands) discuss. God/existance/existentialism. The meaning of Life . And more importantly, the meaning of MY life.

As the days pass into a thousand Arabian Nights, I live in a blur. A modern Oasis Blur. I would claim my Blur is a unique Oasis. But in reality, it's all a blur with no real distinct or redemption, in Song or otherwise. It’s all crappy rock music we live. Well... certain Brothers do offer a Chemical that make for a palatable Oasis voice. Tha't swat I need mohr ov... sumbrudhud looped uhp ahn synthetic Chemicial.