Doug: This was my morning.

“At approximately 0610 this morning, Bulldog squad one came into contact with a squad sized enemy force in quadrant alpha, grid point thirty seven.” Our squad leader, Jordan Harris, shined a flashlight on his map, indicating the aforementioned grid point. Several guys nodded, including myself. It was an area we had patrolled before, and knew well. Harris continued, “They have radioed requesting ammunition re-supply.” He took a deep breath. “They also have wounded Marines.” A low snarl ran around the squad at that.
Harris nodded. “I know. Ammo dump is here.” He indicated another point on the map, also familiar. “Our mission is to move from Battalion HQ, to the Ammo dump, move to Bulldog 1’s position, re-arm them and assist in their mission. Helicopter extraction point is here.” Another X on the map. “Bulldog 3 has the same mission, but is taking an alternate route in order to ensure success.”
Bulldog 3’s route is not indicated on the map, I consider asking for it, in case we needed to rescue them too, but Harris anticipates the question and says: “I do not have Bulldog 3’s route. So unless they radio for help, both they and we are on our own.”
A few unhappy grunts greeted the information, but no bothered to bitch about HQ’s policy of ‘need to know basis.’ There wasn’t any point. Harris glanced at his watch. “Time on deck is now 0625. We leave at 0630, buddy checks.”
I turned to the Marine next to me, Donte Larry and gave him a quick once over, ensuring that he had all his gear. He did the same for me and we wordlessly bumped fists and smiled. We’d been squad buddies for so long we could almost read each other’s thoughts. Larry was wound up, like he always was before a mission. He retied his boots just to give himself something to do. Similarly, he could see the eagerness in my eyes that I locked away with an effort. This wasn’t a game, there was a job to be done, and we could very well be dead at the end of this.
I surveyed Bulldog 2 while we waited for the final word to come down. Our squad was small, a victim of attrition in a combat zone. Staff Sergeant Pederson, to the eye a skinny white guy, but he was also the strongest and toughest Marine I’d ever seen. He knew unequivicably how to push though pain and keep going. His endless motivation never to lose kept the team up and fighting even when we were exhausted. He was deadly serious now, arms folded across his chest, surveying everyone else, watching for screw ups. Fortunately for us, we all knew our business.
Next to him was a short Marine, built like a barrel, a very solid barrel. Another Staff Sergeant, Ben Poaster was on loan to us from the scout snipers. He was the antithesis of what you’d expect a scout sniper to be. Cheerful in disposition, he was cracking jokes to Pederson, who occasionally cracked a smile on that icy face of his.
Yu and Yi stood together, both Korean immigrants who had joined the Corps. Both were quiet, Yu out of habit, Yi out of nervousness. He was new, and shifted from foot to foot anxiously. There was a running joke in the platoon that the next guy to arrive would be a Me, to complete our triangle of Li, Yi, and Yu.
Speaking of Li, the slightly built Lance Corporal was busy checking the stretcher attached to Lewis’s pack. Li was a mix of races, his facial and body type was very Anglo European, but his light brown skin and almond shaped eyes revealed the Asian in him. Sarah Lewis, was just a shade darker, and about three inches shorter. The toughest (and only) female in the squad, she easily beat out other male members at physical competitions. She never had any trouble earning anyone’s respect, all you had to do was ask to arm wrestle.
My shoulder gave a twinge at the thought. Last but not least was our Squad Leader, Jordan Harris, and John Winslow. Jordan and Larry were the only two black members of the platoon, and both of them were half black. The joke was that two halves made a whole, so we only had one black guy period. Dumb, but funny. John was the tallest member of the squad, towering over the rest of us at a six feet, five inches. In full armor he looked absolutely terrifying, but was actually one of the nicest guys you would ever meet. He was quiet and his voiced twanged with the slightest of country accents.
Harris, who had been talking into the radio, made his way over, checking his watch. “Time to move, and guys…” He paused, “There’s reports of them taking sniper fire, so keep your heads low.”
All eyes swung to Winslow, who stuck out like a sore thumb, even in camouflage. He shrugged, acknowledging the risk. Part of the business; eyes swung back to Harris.
“Move out!”
We double timed it for the jungle, in a column, Pederson and Poaster, the most experienced out of all of us moving through on either side, flanking and looking for any hint of an ambush. Several times Poaster raised his hand in the classic ‘freeze and shut up’ position. Instant obedience characterized our reactions, weapons raised, eyes flicking over the dense foliage.
We made it to the Ammo dump with little trouble. The friendly guards there loaded us up and sent us on our way, we were now moving over open ground and could see and hear the firefight from Bulldog one.
By now the exertion of our movement had begun to take its toll. Running in combat boots is no joke, but running through foliage in them is just murder, add gear, weapons and now thirty pound ammunition cans to the mix and we had to slow down, otherwise we were going to lose someone to heat exhaustion.
Yi, the new guy, was having a hard time keeping up. Lewis shouldered her rifle and grabbed his ammo can, allowing the squad to move at an acceptable pace though we lost potential firepower. After crossing a wood bridge, Poaster realized we were inside a minefield, and it was a miracle none of us were dead yet.
“Freeze!” he yelled, throwing his arm up in a belated gesture. I looked down.
“Shit.” That was Larry.
“Nobody move a fucking inch unless I tell you to.” Pederson snapped. He glanced around him and very, very carefully began to move people back to the edge of the minefield. When Lewis, the person in front and the last person out, finally made it, Harris was consulting the map.
“That minefield is between us and Bulldog one, we’re going to have to go around it.”
Minor swearing, this added at least ten minutes to our projected ETA, the firefight we could hear across the minefield was getting more intense, with fewer cracks of M-16’s mixed in with the ever increasing sharper snaps of AK rounds.
“Let’s move then.” Winslow said, his country twang more pronounced in the high stress environment.
Pederson glanced significantly at Yi, who was bent over and throwing up.
Just that moment we heard the *zing-hiss* of a round passing close to us and a grunt of pain.
“Sniper, Pederson , Poaster and Li all yelled at once and we dived for cover. Glancing around from behind my tree I muttered a litany of swearwords that would have made a sailor blush. Snipers are hell for infantry units. One sniper can tie up an entire platoon for the better part of a day if he’s good.
“Roll call, anyone hit?” Harris yelled.
“Winslow’s down!” Lewis yelled, pulling the what I hoped was unconscious and not dead form of Winslow into cover with her.
“I got the sniper.” Poaster’s voice was a few octaves lower than normal, and devoid of any life. I glanced over at him and wished I hadn’t. His eyes were cold, and glaring down the scope of his rifle. “Just poke your head up one more time you son of a-” His rifle cracked. A second later: “He’s down, get Winslow on that stretcher.”
Lewis and Li were already on it, Pederson rushing to their side.
“Still breathing! Li yelled.
Harris pointed to Larry, who had the radio gear. “Call for a medevac.”
Larry nodded and spoke a few lines into the set attached to his back. After thirty seconds of me watching the trees and listening to his one sided conversation he shouted over to Harris, “There’s a clearing about a half a click north of here. It’s big enough for the evac chopper, and on our way around this minefield!”
Harris nodded, “Let’s move.”
Pederson took the back end of the stretcher by himself, with Lewis and Li on the front end. We’d slung the ammo cans on top of Winslow’s unconscious body, in order to make us move faster and free up more firepower.
The helicopter, a Little Bird, zoomed in over the trees just as we entered the clearing. Harris waved it down and we deposited Winslow’s stretcher on it. It roared away, and we continued on our mission without stopping. Ten minutes later we encountered an irrigation ditch that was too wide to jump.
“Oh balls.” Lewis whispered as we plowed without pause into the ditch. She hated swimming.
The water was ice cold, and smelled awful. My long legs hit bottom and I began to sink, raising my ammo can above my head to keep it dry. The official bottom must have been no deeper than three feet, but an additional three feet had piled up over the years, in the form of silt, the weight of the ammo can over my head was causing me to sink upto my eyeballs. Larry, ahead of me, indicated that I should toss my can to him, swim ahead, and then repeat the movement. Just as I sunk beneath the water I tossed the can.
The mixture of stagnant water, birdshit, fertilizer and god knows what else stung my eyes as I kicked off the bottom, hard. The mud sucked at me, trying to keep me down, but sheer momentum carried me through to the surface. There was no way after all that shit was I going to die drowning. Larry was ahead of me, doing his own sinking maneuver.
I moved to get ahead of him, trying to get there before his head went under. I just barely made it. We did this twice more to get ashore on the other side. Lewis, the shortest, was the only one who sank fully into the muck, still managing to hold the ammo can in the air.
Sopping wet, we hit the beach, growling angrily. Our objective is now within reach, and we can see the Marines in Bulldog 1 pinned down behind makeshift barricades. They were clearly hurting for ammunition. Bullets snarled past us and Poaster yelled for us to hit the deck yet again. I was getting tired of the ground. The field we were in smelled of duck shit and rotting compost. Barely audible, I heard Yu mutter, “This shithole smells like Korea.” Yi grunted, seemingly the extent of his verbal capabilities after our run.
Low crawl for a hundred yards and the Marines in Bulldog 1 were back in business. Automatic rifle fire bit out at an increasing pace. Our combined firepower demolished the enemy positions, and it was only half an hour later the helicopter pickup thumped over our heads.
Larry and I sat next to each other on the copter’s landing struts. His eyes scanned the brush, watching for anything hostile. I glanced at my watch. “Time on deck’s 0800.” I said, conversationally.
“That only took an hour and a half?”
“Yep.”
He sighed, and leaned his head back against his pack. “Another day in the life, man.”
I grunted, “You can’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”
We laughed together, the genuine humor feeling good after the stress of battle. “I think it might be a long day.” He said, watching the trees that were now below us.
“That’s the job.”

Meghan: Webs

It’s quiet, so quiet in the place where the webs are kept.
Always alone, seeing yet blind, they spin their gauzy threads on the dripping rocks of the cavern.
But for their keeper, cursed and saved, the girl who watches webs twine around her but will never spin her own.
She makes candles day after day, using bits of the white wax to stick the lights around the endless cavern. It’s impossible to light up all of the vast darkness, but she tries, sometimes burning the tips of her fingers in her hurry.
Because if she didn’t make the candles she would just sit in the darkness, listening to the soft shushing sounds that the webs made as they spun.
Waiting; wondering when they would spin over her in the dark. The sticky soft masses would wind around her waist and tangle her arms and legs, climb down her throat and film her eyes as she screamed into them.
And she would live. In that cocoon she would live because this girl without a web could not die.
So she lit the candles.
In the center of the cavern was a deep pool, with a surface like black glass. It was by this pool that she often crouched, in between tending her candles. She would gaze, mesmerized at the surface of it where she could almost see her face. It was the only thing she knew that was hers, solely hers, not consumed by the webs.
She smiled at the pool, leaned close to let her long hair trace on its surface. She let her hand hover above the dark surface and bit her lip, hesitating. She had never touched the water, not wanting to take away the only thing that was hers, but the bright mirror-like surface drew her fingertips and she dipped them in.
The water was deliciously cool on her fingers and she closed her eyes in bliss. But she felt a tug of resistance. Frowning, she opened her eyes and lifted her hand out of the water. There, dripping and entwined in her fingers, were webs.
They grew there.
They grew in her lake.
Crying out in disgust, she stumbled back and tried to scrape the substance off. Her knees bled on the rough rocks as she crawled into a circle of candles nearby. Sobs wracked her chest as she tried to gently remove the strands from her fingers.
Mustn’t hurt it.
The thought made her hesitate. And why not? The webs had hurt her.
Don’t hurt the webs
The thought was ingrained in her mind, pressed into her being.
She had removed the web and looked at the thing as it dangled from two of her fingers.
Don’t…
Lips parted, breathing raggedly, she reached over to pick up one of her candles. Almost ceremoniously she stuck it to the ground in front of her and lit it. The flame danced brightly in her vision and threw sparkles off of the web in her hand. She stretched it carefully between two of her hands, a smile stretching on her face at the same time.
Delicately, gracefully, she lowered the silver web into the candle flame. As it grew nearer she could almost hear it shriek under her fingertips and she hummed with pleasure. The bottom of the web caught and it went up in flames so fast that it was almost as if it had evaporated in her hands.
Too fast, it was too fast.
She looked around her at the room full of webs
Well, she had plenty more to practice on.
She would make the next one last


“Life is just a chance to grow a soul.” -A. Powell Davies

-Meghan

Jasmine: Johnson Field is Treacherous

I bow down to your wind. Not because you are all powerful, though you are, but because if i do not, you will cut my legs out from under me and throw me to the earth. and when you have me on my back you will crush my body, grind my bones to salt your seas, and mash my flesh to grow something new and wriggling from the rot. I bow to you, because to do otherwise is to die a self inflicted death.

Jasmine: Always Next Week

It’s been eleven days since I’ve posted. Eleven days since I’ve written… anything at all. I’m starting to get that itch. The itch where I need to write put something down on paper. Not necessarily my thoughts, though that’s what this is probably going to end up being. But something. Something out of nothing. That’s what writing really is. Creating something where there was once nothing. Making someone else visualize something. You usually try to make them see a specific something. But mostly they read your words and see what they want, hear it how they want. If you’re good you might be able to direct it. But if you’re not, they’ll still see something.

I know Doug say’s he gets an itch every spring. Like clockwork he needs… a change? Not sure what? But lately I’ve been getting a kind of itch of my own. It went dormant while I was in Seattle. While I was doing something every day. While I was with someone I cared about, someone who I missed, someone who just by being there made me smile. But when I’m away from these types of people I itch. I don’t know what to do. Well I know what I should be doing. Homework, looking for a job, working on my overseas bit, working out, exploring this place. Instead I find myself sitting in my room watching something useless online. Television. The death of creativity. But if it wasn’t the tv it would end up being a book or something. Because this is what I do. And it makes me feel lost, and purposeless. I need to get my ass in gear and do something. And I will. Next week. Always next week.

Random thought thing from yesterday:

The afterlife… I never much believed in life after death. No proof for it, no proof against it. Sure a whole bunch of people claim to have seen ghosts, angels, even demons. But really who are they kidding. Maybe there’s something there, or maybe we just end. Imagine that. Ending. Your consciousness just snuffed out like when you burn a candle to its last. No bringing it back, no relighting that wick. You’re just gone. sounds kind of peaceful. But really it’s not. It’s not hellfire and brimstone pain either. It’s just nothing. As if you never existed. No memory no nothing. No purposelessness driving you mad in a corner. Just nothing. It’s hard to imagine one’s self being nothing.

Doug: We See but Through a Glass Darkly...

It's like living in a dream. Watching your past life in slow motion. The slow motion is so you can see the subtle changes. The differences that both reassure and disquiet you.

This world turns without you. Life goes on, people love, live, laugh... die. With or without you around them.

And you slowly drift away. The tides of the world ebb and flow, current and gulf stream travels East, West. Convection takes you up and down. The poles reverse, North becomes South. It's easy to get lost, forget who you were. See clearly who you're becoming.

They say in a few thousand years Polaris won't be the north star anymore.

Everything stays the same, everything changes. They say we see but through a glass darkly....

Glass is a liquid, mutable, changable. Glass in churches hundreds of years old has flowed to the bottom of the pane. The top is paper thin, the bottom thick as a finger.

We see but though a ever changing mixture of molecules and atoms what became of the lives we left behind. It is strange, the world turns, and no one notices.

Miracles, such as life, love, happiness, they're so fragile. How can they survive gaps in space and time? Distance is imaginary. You are where your thoughts take you. An idea takes you home. A longing brings your love.

Where is home when you are a stranger to your own people? When the people you trust your back to are not who you remember them to be? When you are not the person you remember being? How can you trust anything when you cannot trust even yourself?

Take the one link tying you to your old life, examine it, hold it in your hands, feel the weight of it.

Cut it.

Freefall.

Wings spread. The ground rushes to close the gap.

Not going to make it.

Updraft.

Sunlight breaks over the mountains to the east.

New Dawn.

Curtains.

-Doug

"Do I look like a guy with a plan?"

Heath Ledger "The Dark Knight"

Meghan: Come Away

“Come away with me in the night”
She whispered the song to the child in her arms
“Come away with me and I’ll write you a song”
She rocked him slowly in the chair, comforted by the warm heat of him as she touched her lips to his wispy blonde head.
He had the heavy weight of unconsciousness and she didn’t want to move, so she sang.
“I want to walk with you on a cloudy day”
“Won’t you try to come?”
Her voice choked a little on the words, but as her baby shifted she cleared her throat and continued
“Come away with me and we’ll kiss”
“On a mountaintop”
She hummed a few bars, rubbing her cheek gently along her child’s head.
It worked, every time
It put him to sleep, every time
But damn, she wished she didn’t have to sing it
But maybe it was better, to rip the scab off over and over?
Then it might get better
The hurt, the pain
The loss
She tilted her head back as the tears started to fall, feeling them trickle down her cheeks
She didn’t cry every time
It was even getting better, not as often
She didn’t curl around the child and scream like she used to
The one piece of him she had left
Besides a few knick-nacks and pictures, there wasn’t really anything. And who could hold onto a picture and say it was him?
No, he wasn’t in his things.
But he was here in their baby
And he was here in his song


-Meghan

That guy: A day at work

A guy came in today. Needed to ship two things. One was pre-paid.

We pack them up.
He fills out the necessary forms.

Yada yada. Here comes the price.

He snorts exasperatidly sarcastically when we tell him how much it's gonna cost.
He peels off a few bills from his stack of cash.

Melissa
"I know. We're just taking all your money away from you."

Guy
"It's a good thing I collected from my bitches this morning."





Sometimes I remember why I enjoy customer service.

That guy:Training Day

I can taste it. It’s such an ever familiar taste.


I spit. Blood sprays everywhere.
I glare at him from my seat. My prison. My cold, unfeeling lament.
I can feel it. The IV of irony is jammed directly into my brain. He
glares right back.

“Go ahead. Gloat.”
I nearly choke on blood trying to speak.

He laughs.
I still hear that laugh in my nightmares.

He crouches down, puts himself on my level. He’s taunting me.
“Give up.”

I can’t move.

But I can still see it coming.

He draws back.
His kick forces the rest of my lunch out.

And I love it.
He draws back again.
I manage to wrap my arms around his leg, and pull it into my chest.
He pitches forward, and lands square on my chest.

Oxygen is for the weak.
The rhythmic punching beats a metronome into my face.
One fist is so covered in blood that it slips. And I grab it.

But there’s too much blood on it. He wriggles free.


I feel the pressure vanish off my chest. Was the ceiling always so beautiful?
A figure steps in my view.
A hand is offered to me.

I muster the last of my energy, and raise mine.

I am ripped off the ground.

Never has a chair felt so good.
He hands me the bottle and a towel.
I press the sweet fabric to my face, and open the bottle.

Rubbing alcohol never smelt so good.

I turn the bottle upside-down over my head.
The liquid washes away the blood.

The towel does nothing to stop my jaw from clenching involuntarily.

Another day in paradise.

Jasmine: Albuquerque to Oakland

38,000 feet up, or was that 3,800, I’m leaning towards the former, it makes more sense. Seven miles up. Clear blue sky, lower gravity, less air. A pressurized cabin keeping our souls safe from… who knows.

Airports and planes are inherently depressing. Or maybe they’re just boring… which depresses me. there’s nothing to do there but sit and wait for hours. Unless you brought something, or someone entertaining to do that is. You aren’t where you’re going yet, you’ve already left home and its security. There’s nothing. And I’m bored. Thus the writing.

Airport security isn’t what I thought it was. I got through in about 15 minutes including walking itme and staring at the board wondering which was my gate. Not realizing that the bag checker had written it on my ticket. I thought that it was supposed to take longer than that. I got here two whole hours before a different plane could take off from it I fumbled around. Bought myself some breakfast and caffeine. Stared at people. Then I realized I had my laptop with me. I watched supernatural’s season two finale. My name is Jasmine, and I’m an addict.

When I was younger, age eleven and under, my family traveled a lot. Not out of the country except once, but we still flew, a lot. I don’t remember it being nearly as boring as this is. Is that because my memory has faded out what isn’t worth remembering? Probably. But I also used to reed a minimum of one book per plane ride. Even now I have my book sitting there waiting for me to finish this blog. Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton, may his lordship rest in peace. I’ve also brought some homework, but we’ll see if that happens at all. Fat chance. I’d rather watch the people on the plane than write out anthropology notes. Fuck anthropology notes.

I was in the B group for loading. What that means is 90 plus people got to sit on the plane before me and by the time I got here there were no window seats available. Disappointing. I like the watch the clouds. I’m a watcher. The council would have loved me and all my knowledge of demon lore. I also like ancient languages. Weird. But I cant stare out the window and watch the wings of the plane viciously plow through the fragile cloud fluff. So I sit here and watch the people.

Two other people in my row. Both male. One maybe watching me type this. If you are hi random person I don’t know. I’m getting the feeling that some school is having a kind of class trip, either from Albuquerque, California, or somewhere else entirely. No idea, but there are a lot of teenagers here. Most of them seem to have some kind of interesting piercing to make my watcher happy. The window seat male has and arc hanging from the front of his nose with little metal balls on the end. A blonde girl in front of me has a piece of metal through the back of her neck. I wonder if she likes electricity? The boy I’m sitting next to has no piercings that I can see… but eh lots of places I can’t see… He may or may not be affiliated with the school group. If he is his friends are sitting in another part of the plane or he doesn’t have any, because no one talks to him. he was reading a fizzix text book. One you guys might remember, long live the ill used Gianccolli. Miss that guy. Not really. Textbooks suck, the teacher actually talking to you is much better. Fizzix Rules!

A fat woman sitting in front of the blonde girl walked past me on the way to the bathroom. She smelled like shit, which I guess makes some kind of sense. She brought her baby on the plane with her and the kid wont shut its trap. Or it wouldn’t earlier, it seems quiet now, maybe she killed it. I understand its screaming though. The pressure changes and it doesn’t know how to equalize it, it was probably in pain. Poor baby. Poor us that suffer because we got up to early in the morning to survive this mess.

There is an adorable old couple to my left across the aisle. They held hands through the take off and now the old man is sleeping. At first I thought one or both of them were afraid to fly, but if you’re afraid to fly you don’t sleep on a plane no matter how old you are. Nope, not afraid, just very, very adorable. Still holding hands in their what, sixties, seventies. Awww.

The guy in front of me has his lap top open and is watching a horror movie. Maybe a zombie flick. It looked like it when I glanced at it the first time. A pale girl corpse with rotted out teeth hissing at the camera. The camera then proceeded to beat the corpse girl. Blood everywhere, then she lay still its better when they doo that. Corpse girls and crying babies. I don’t like them. kill. Kill.

I’m probably going to pull my lap top out soon so I can type this up an send it off at Oakland airport. The airport in Albuquerque had free wifi, all airports should be required to. Like starbuck’s, or a college campus, because they are exactly the same. Yes. It doesn’t have to be fast, but it should exist damn it. Please exist when I get there.

Anyways I’m bored and lonely. In just a few hours I will be neither, but for now I will complain. This is my first solo plane ride. No one to talk to. Fizzix boy put away his textbook and is now playing with his ipod. Lame. But hey I’m not initiating conversation either.

The turbulence just struck. Hate the world. Kind of fun, but I’m less enthused by this multi ton hunk of metla being held up in the sky by magic and imaginary numbers. Not afraid. I know the statistics and I still leave my dorm every other morning. I just remember enjoying this more when I was tiny. Ah to be young again. Wait, I’m only nineteen. Damn it. This doesn’t bode well. Hate the turbulence.

Jasmine: Sunday

I wake up alone and miserable. It was day light savings time. I’d somehow lost an hour in my sleep. I remember wondering briefly where this hour may have gone and how it was possible to lose track of time. That’ll happen. I tried to go back to sleep, it was only nine/felt like eight. I was getting picked up late. I deserved to sleep. Orpheus, the god of sleep and neo didn’t think so. It was my birthday. Bastard should have cut me a little slack. No such luck.

I crawled out of bed unhappy, bleary eyed, and cold. It’s always cold in the mornings. I fixed myself some tea high to sugar before sitting in front of my computer. I do that a lot. The computer staring a bit. I should learn to mix it up a bit. Do some wall staring or books staring or even maybe close my eyes. But this morning I stared at the computer. For film I have to watch a movie I’ve seen a lot, so I chose the Bourne Supremacy.

Yep. Action. Yep.

I got ready. Rushed about. Tried to go to the honors building to print something but it was closed. Sunday happens to the best of things. By the time I was walking back my ride was here. The woman who birthed me who I sometimes call mom, her husband. One of the offspring they had together, another offspring that that woman had with another man, and a strange boy I’d never met before all waited for me in the car while I ran up to my room grabbed my shit and ran back.

It was my birthday and for the first time in years, perhaps the only time something like this has ever happened. I was spending it with my momish person.

We went to the flea market. Sort of spread out. Charlie, the husband, was pissed off at the world. My mom tends tod o that to people. All they have to do is be near her and they feel their good mood start to ooze from them. I’m immune. I got the good genes. I think my love of other peoples suffering, or at least my entertainment comes from her. More proof to the nature tops nurture theory. So he went off on his own. My brother Jacob and his strange friend went off on their own. My mom, My sister Amber, and I sort of wound our way through together.

My sister was looking for a belly button ring that apparently had dangly cherries. She’s twelve. Her belly button is pierced. Yep. She did find it by the way, but only after she’d begged her dad for the money for this other belly ring. It was heart shaped and had the word sexy on it. She’s twelve?

My brother found chopos, pronounced shopos, read slippers. I don’t know really. He has a fetish, and apparently a competition. I’m confused by it. But he bought some green chopos.

Mom bought socks…yep

I found knives and swords and ornate antique boxes. I also hadn’t brought any cash with me. I do that a lot. No cash no buy in the flea market. At least until I came across something I’d never really seen in person before. A bayonet piece for an m16 though Doug say’s it would fit on any of the m series, I have no idea I’m not really that big of a gun or knife buff. I see something I like I go oooh pretty I want it. I’ve only recently gotten some knowledge of the genre. Anyways it was beautiful. And I wanted it. I turned my pleading eyes towards my mother, I the fruit of her loins. She rolled her own eyes and handed me a twenty which I had to pay back at the end of the night. It was my birthday I deserved a knife. But if I wasn’t going to be given one I could definitely buy my own. Uhuh. Got to love the knives.

The flea market wasn’t really a planned outing for my birthday. It was mostly just a place to kill time before my appointment. Yes I was getting a sex change. Fail. No. I was getting my first tattoo.

My mother’s husband’s brother does tattoos. Yes I know how that sounds. Yes I was freaking nervous about going to someone who wasn’t actually a professional, and was well… family. family gives better prices, but generally isn’t the best option when you want something on you forever and ever. So I agreed to go but I wanted to see the work before I got the tat.

His name was Daniel Lucero. In case any of you want to look him up. He doesn’t have a parlor, he doesn’t have a job as far as I know. I think he lives off of his parents money still. Which is stupid. He’s in his thirty’s. he needs a job. And he’s actually a good artist. If you haven’t seen my tat check facebook. It makes me smile.

I got to his house and pulled out my laptop. The attempted printing had failed so I brought this. I told him what I wanted and sat on the couch with my family and his for half an hour. He has two sons and two daughters, one of which is just a baby and her name is jasmine. Jasmine and I pretty much bonded immediately. I have the feeling our names were involved somehow. But she was adorable. And all babies, cats, and men like my hair. It’s a thing. So we had a good time. Then she got hungry and my mom fed her. Apparently I’m not yet capable of that kind of baby… thing.

I took off my sweatshirt and he set to work. Yes I watched him unpackage the clean needle with my own eyes. My blood is safe from contagion. I’m not going to give any of you aids.

I expected it to hurt. It’s a tattoo. A needle driving in and out of my body leaving trails of ink behind in a hopefully beautiful pattern. And it’s not that it didn’t, it’s that it didn’t hurt as much as I expected it to. I’m not saying that yours wont should you get one. But people have a lot of meat on their shoulders and it didn’t hurt much. My brother was disappointed. He expected some kind of wincing action or at least a face. But no. I just sort of grinned at him and complained from hunger so they brought me tea and chips. What it did feel like was a sort of burning sensation, and it still sort of feels like a sunburn. A light sunburn.

It didn’t take him long. An hour tops. And he was done and everyone was staring at my back so I had them take a phone picture which a few of you have already seen. He smeared me with baby ointment of a kind and put some plastic wrap over my shoulder. I had my first raven.

In all I have four tattoos planned. The one I now have is a raven in flight on my right shoulder. The second one will be a raven at rest on my left shoulder. I also want a black jaguar on one of my ankles, and the poem Invictus on my back ending at the base of my spine. Out of the night that covers me… I am the captain of my soul. It’s amazing, it’s my favorite, it will happen, probably not for a few more years though.

The rest of the day is nonessential to my story. They fed me. I visited their home again. My tiny brother was there. I like him best. The most amazing, also high, kitty was there. Nitro, he’ll melt your heart and nuzzle your face. I want him or a kitty exactly like him. because he is perfect. Also probably stunted by pot… oh well.

Then in mass they took me back to my dorm. Maybe this time the interaction with my family will stick. Maybe not. Only time will tell. I have my first raven. Its name is Munin!

Meghan: Ice Cream

I feel like retelling the tale of the park and the car and the Thomas…so here we go

It all started when Jasmine savagely attacked Sarah with her knee (or Abe used Jasmine as a projectile to attack Sarah, not sure which), causing copious amounts of blood to pour from the innocent freshman’s nose. So we took a break from the glory that is laptag to watch her try to stop the bloody fountain with lots of tissues. It was then that the light playful sounds of an ice-cream truck could be heard on the wind.
I froze and whipped my head towards the sound while asking in almost religious tones, “Does anyone else hear an ice cream truck?” They did and all of our faces were pointed to where it coasted, gleaming and white, on the other side of the park. I blinked at it for several seconds, pondering running to the thing, when I was beaten to it by Thomas. He sped towards it with a childlike glee that would be his doom.
A heartbeat of silence passed and while we pondered what we would do Abe noticed that Thomas had left his wallet and everything on the table, and so would be unable to purchase delicious ice cream.
So he logically suggested that we take his stuff and hide it.
In the precious moments that we had, we scooped up all of the stuff on the table and started running away. Where were we going to go and hide said stuff? Someone suggested we take Thomas’ car, since his keys were so handily left with us.
Having decided on a course of action, while yelling at all of them that we were insane, we sprinted towards the gravel parking lot. After all, Thomas had probably noticed that we weren’t at the picnic tables anymore.
Sayre was the designated driver, being that he looked reasonably responsible, he got there first, and he knew Thomas better. He opened the car and unlocked the doors so that we could all pile in the backseat.
We drove Sarah home, we could have gone many terrible places but…we are good people and we restrained Abe.
In the car Abe sat in the front seat going through Thomas’ stuff and plotting to take over his identity. In the back were Me, Jasmine, Jarrod, Malcolm, and Sarah, doggy piled. We fit. Sort of. After dropping Sarah off we fit better.
After driving around a bit we headed back to the park and left the car in a different spot. We went back to the picnic tables and after failing to find Thomas there left to get ice cream at Dairy Queen figuring eventually he’d appear. We all got cones (except Jarrod who got a banana split khhh non conformist) and Abe told the nice DQ people that we took all of our friend’s stuff and if he wandered in there lost and confused to direct him towards the park. On the way back to the park we met Thomas coming across the road and all was well. He went to get ice cream and freak out the DQ people with some bloody rags…But it was fun.
But unfortunately I don't think Thomas will ever skip innocently after ice cream again.

-Meghan

Doug: Wistful

The warm drink in my hands helps fight back the morning chill of the desert. I never took to coffee, but the caffiene and the smell always get to me. I bring the cup up to my face and inhale deeply, the scent alone energizing me.

The sun is rising behind me, soon it will turn the sand beneath my tank so hot that you could literally fry an egg on it. The armor I'm sitting on will sear unprotected flesh, and the gloves tucked in my pocket will get pulled out.

In a few hours I'm sure orders will come down. We'll move out, armored titans, giant hammers sent to make a mess out of everything in our path. For now though, I'm content with enjoying this sunset. It reminds me of a place. Of a girl.

"Where do you go?" Stilgar, our translator asked, "When you go away like that."

I glanced down at his robed body, reclining on the side of the tank. He'd slept outside in the cold.

"Home."

He nodds knowningly. "A family?"

I frown. "No. Could have, but I let her go. I was afraid."

He drinks from his coffee, a much stronger arabian brew. "Then what do you fight for? Country? King? Honor?"

I shrugged.

He looks at me, black eyes clashing with his slowly greying beard. "Do you love this woman?"

"Yes." I replied unheasiatingly. "Always have, always will."

"You tell her this?"

I shook my head no.

He frowned. "You will. When you go home. When this war is over, you will find her, and you will tell her. You fought for your Love. She will love you in return." His frowned deepened. "But watch out for mothers in law, Yes? They are..." he trails off, twisting the ring around his finger, "troublesome."

Our barking laughs welcome the day.

Meghan: family

I’m here flying all alone
No need for me to atone
Daddy dearest hear the screaming
All the while your thoughts are teeming
Of your perfect little girl
Who loves her not so perfect world
Hide your eyes and stop your ears
She might confirm your darkest fears
Then what would you do?

Daddy, Daddy, save me, save me
Daughter, Daughter,
What have you done?
Spare me, spare me, father dear,
I don’t want to run
You don’t have to, I will save you,
No matter what you’ve done
No matter what?

You would not, you were not, you were never there
I cannot, will not force you to care
So I’ll wear this shining mask
I can do this simple task
So you won’t
hate me
or maybe
break me?

I love you
you love me
we’re a happy family
with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you
won’t you say you love me too


-Meghan

Jasmine: Saturday

I woke up in Meghan’s arms. Her scent, her warmth, the weight of someone other than my pillow there behind my back. It wasn’t a dream. She was actually here with me. I woke up and didn’t move for the next hour and a half because it was way too early. No one gets out of bed at nine. Yee gods no. except that we did have things to do. Damn it. Meghan had stirred awake when I reached for the clock to see what time it was. And we lay together talking for that hour and a half making not very successful attempts to coax each other out of the bed. It was finally the promise of a shower that got us out.

We showered, dressed, and hop skipped to frontier, a bag of bread swinging between us. Frontier… nuff said.

From frontier we made our way to the duck pond. It was cold enough to need a light jacket, but other than that it was perfect. The sky was clear unlike the day before where clouds were everywhere, unlike today when it rained. It was a clear New Mexican sky from one horizon to the other.

The ducks were waiting for us at the pond. (now the swinging bread becomes clear)Ducks are entertaining:

A flake of bread arcs through the air floating there almost, spinning just a little in the wind, softly coasting down when snatch a beak ends its existence

I let a particularly large chunk fly. The smallest duck gets there first and starts running for the water. It’s a race. The other ducks are after him. he leaps and hits the water paddling madly for the open space at the end of the group. He is besieged on all sides for his little piece of happiness. It doesn’t look like he’s going to make it but then he does and the bread is his.

Duck stands on the ground between two groups of ducks. One in the water, the other up on a raised area getting fed by a mom and her kids. Duck waddles over to raised area and looks. Turns head. Waddles up to the water and looks at ducks there. Turns head, waddles over to raised area, back to water, raised area, water, area, water, ar, wat, a, w,… aaaah. Sits down. One of the ducks from the raised area leaps into the water. Our indecisive duck follows him.

Drop a piece on the ground. Duck eats it. Drop a piece closer. Duck eats it. Little bit closer. Duck eats it. Little bit closer. Duck stares longingly at the bread wishing it were one inch further away from the people. Pigeon lands in front of duck and eats morsel. Pigeon looks at human. Human feeds pigeon. Duck becomes flustered by the pigeon’s bravery. Duck wants bread too. Human feeds pigeon more. Duck knocks pigeon out of the way. Human feeds duck, then battered pigeon.

Ooooh sparrows!

The bread and one leftover frontier tortilla went quickly. The birds sensed our empty handedness and floated away to molest other people sitting alongside the pond. Meghan and I sat and watched them for longer than we should have because it made us late. Somehow I don’t regret it. There’s something incredibly peaceful about ducks. Even ducks who peck and bitch each other out for some slight us mere humans cannot even dream of.

We left, picked up Jarrod, drove sadly down the road formerly known as Alameda just to reminisce, and met up with the laptag group. This time it consisted of Abe, Jarrod, Thomas, Malcolm, a new guy named Ser, Sar, Sir, not sure, it was pronounced S-air…, and Sara (also known as Freshman, though she’s a sophomore now btw), plus the two of us.

No pictures from this laptag. Abe had a camera but eh, we all wanted to play. Even numbers meant we had a threesome. Injuries from this game included Malcolm’s bloody nose from my elbow, Sara’s bloody nose from my foot, but driven by Abe’s arm, Meghan’s slightly bruised eye, from… something on me. I hurt people. But they had fun. Malcolm’s bleed didn’t last long, but Sara’s was amazing. Bloody American flag and copious amounts of red tissues amazing. Laptag officially ended with my foot in her face.

We cleaned her up and washed away the droplets of blood she left on the concrete. And just sat there for a while hanging when we heard in the distance the sound of a great man. The ice cream truck was near. Thomas spotted him first, he was weaving through the apartments that run along one side of the park. He shouted “I want ice cream” and ran off after the man. Abe flew into action.

“Come on let’s take his stuff.”

We quickly gathered everything ours, and Abe got Thomas’s stuff and we started running for Thomas’ car. Thomas must have gotten to the ice cream man and not only realized that he failed to bring his wallet with him, but that the table had emptied and we and his stuff were running across the field away from him. He started to run after us but he was too far away. Ser… sar… sair, got into the driver’s seat, Abe in the passenger’s seat and five of us leapt into the back of the car and we peeled away just as Thomas came into view. We’d just stolen a car.

Now we could have gone offroading, we could have driven to cruces, we could have done any number of things to trash his car. Instead we were semi good little thieves, we drove the injured Sara home and drove the car back to the park. Thomas wasn’t in the park so we walked to DQ and got ice cream.

We did eventually find Thomas. All ended happily and well. There was a few minutes there where Abe decided to take on Thomas’ identity, because well, he had everything to do so, but when he found out that Thomas had no money in his account he decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Finished with laptag the group minus Jarrod came to my dorm to watch Live Free or Die Hard. It was awesome, Meghan and I didn’t get to finish it though because her parents were taking her out to dinner and on account of the fact that the next day was my birthday she got me invited. Unprecidented. Her parents, who long ago decided to hate me, were going to pay for my meal, at the Melting pot none the less. Shit. A lot could be said about that dinner, mostly about how amusing it was. But this blog is getting really really long and I’m working at wrapping it up. So, we ate, there was a flirty waiter, her parents got me gifts, what? And then we left.

Now the original plan was to go to pick up Abe and go to Nikki’s party after we left. The next plan was to head back to my dorm and go to Nikki’s in a little while. So we did that, except when we looked at the clock after spending some time at my dorm it was 10:30. Her party had ended at ten. Slight feeling of guilt towards Abe, but other than that, eh, I don’t regret it, I’d rather have done what we did then go to Nikki’s party any day. Meghan and I spent the evening together, talking and touching, at one point we turned on my computer and played a bunch of songs from youtube and sang. It was an amazing night. But close to one we walked out to her car and kissed goodbye. I went back inside, cried a little and went to sleep.

See you in two months

“There is never enough time to do everything, but there is always enough time to do the most important thing.”
-Brian Tracy

Doug: 5 days.

The clock is counting down in my head again. School is almost done for a little while. Only a week, but a week is good. I get to visit my family for a week.

Five days.

Five days and then it's finals week. Only I don't have any finals. All my finals are essays. All of them are due this Friday.

Jasmine arrives this Friday, after all my classes are done. I get a free week with her. This is going to be fantastic.

Five days.

I just have to get through five more days of this crap. I can do this.

I can do this.

-Doug

"His palms are sweaty/
Knees weak, arms are heavy/
There's vomit on his sweater already/
Mom's spaghetti/
But on the surface/
He looks calm and ready."

-Eminem. "Lose yourself"

Doug: "I'll bet they're asleep all over America."

Bogart's larger than life face fills my computer screen, blasting the dark room with his soulful eyes that look deeper than any well, and far more mysterious. "Here's looking at you, Kid."

Ingrid Bergman now, her eyes managing to convey a world of pain, relief and love all wrapped up in a package so beautiful that even in black and white few women can hold a candle to her. She is a beauty in the same way that Venus is beautiful; glorious, unattainable godlike beauty. She and Bogie are like twin stars, orbiting each other, each battling for control, feeding off each other's energy. All trying to approach fall like Icarus, no one even comes close.

Bogie's drawl finishs off the movie: "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Fade to black.

Beside me, Alice stirs. "Did you like it?" I ask, closing the computer screen.

Like a cat, she wiggles closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "Yes."

"Good. I love that movie."

"It's very good."

I put the laptop away and curl up next to her. It's been strange, sleeping next to somone. I've done it before, and like it, but it's not really the sleeping that gets to me.

The late hour seals my eyelids like steel shutters and my last clear memory is wrapping my arm around the girl next to me.

***

My alarm goes off and I snap awake. I dreamed, but, as with most of my dreams, I can't remember. The arm trapped under Alice is asleep, but I still manage to turn off the alarm. Alice, underneath me now, moans softly. I plant a kiss on her cheek and shimmy out of bed as quietly as I can.

The hot water of the shower wakes me completely. I dress quickly, Battle Utilities. We're going to do the CFT today. The boots are still dirty from last time, up downs in the mud.

Alice somehow remains asleep while I dress. It blows my mind, waking up next to this girl. Something about having to go work and her still being there when I get back, it's... different, and good.

I kiss her on the cheek again, she emerges from sleep a little hazy, but still cozent. "Hey."

"Hey. I'm off, I'll see you in a few hours." She nodds, and closes her eyes again.

I don't move for a long moment. Even in the dark, I can see well, and trace the lines of her face. All of a sudden I don't ever want to leave again, I just want to stand there and look at her forever.

It takes serious effort to tear myself away.

I do the CFT on automatic and still get a personal record. I'm thinking about something else. I talk to my ROTC friends on automatic too, managing to laugh in all the right places. All I want to do is get back to my room, where Alice is.

Finally, I open the door and see her sleeping again. I have to leave again though, cursing fate, God, and whatever else standing in my way, I change quickly and kiss her again. Telling her to get some more sleep.

And now I sit. "Listening" to Shapiro tell me about some dead naval hero.

I can't wait to get back.

-Doug

"I love you so much."
-Ilsa, "Casablanca"

Jasmine: Dreams, Glare at the Dreams

I can feel the weight of her body in the bed next to mine, the warmth of her arm around my waist curling me in tighter. a tickle of hair not my own crosses my eyes and i'm hit with her scent. Mind reeling i turn over and wake up alone.

two more days

Jasmine: Film Project