Veteran Perspective...

I will forever be disconnected from the men and women that walk the civilian life. It's not a matter of them being lesser individuals, or me being better than they are because of my service... The void between myself and them is a matter of perspective... I’ll attempt to explain…

Take life in general... It's a fucked up mess of highs and lows... A roller coaster of complicated intricacies that we're all blessed and burdened by.... However, the complications experienced by vets are two fold... The have to adjust in order to take on this normality. So breaking it down, we have to digest what normalcy is, find the middle ground, and adapt accordingly. Here’s were shit gets sketchy….

My combat experience was light... A few bombs here... A few threats there... A lot of ass-puckering vulnerable situations in between... We traveled light, we traveled often, and we traveled to areas populated by people who would have killed us, if the consequences of doing so would not bring more of us to that area... That was the basis of our survival at times... If you kill it, more will come... I guess they didn't want that field of dreams... Just the possibility of someone getting brave was always nipping at the back of your mind... I guess this would be my only burden of PTSD, but in comparison to others... it's infinitesimal and boarder-line “chicken-shit”.

I survived quite well with my mindset. I took all bullshit, and put it aside, only adhering to the essentials; awareness of self, others, and my environment… Everything had a “what if” contingency plan as if I were mentally petting the “trigger” every second of the day... The “civilian perspective” would probably assume these situations to be very stressful, but in actuality things were quite simple. I was comfortable in these uncomfortable situations, because in a world of grey, I always had a plan. Now I don’t live in that element, so it should be easier… Not exactly…

I didn't notice anything until I got out. Then, the variables of my issues spread like fire. Fact is, I see nothing but fucking idiots all around me. Don’t get me wrong, good people lightly pepper our population, but the ratio is fucking depressing. People don’t respect one another, everyone has a sense of entitlement, and there are no standards. I could go on for fucking days. I even questioned my best friends at times…I tried to mesh at first, but it was inevitable that I would eventually lose it… Instead of doing so, I just sink back into what I know… Why should I have to adjust to this? Where is the middle ground in this fucking hurricane of perpetual ignorance? I just center my life on those that I care about. Anyone else is a distraction.

It gets lonely being a recluse, but like I said before I’d rather be to myself than around people I don’t understand... I’d say that the most discomfort I get is related to people’s perception of veterans, as if we need coddling, or special attention. People, you don’t have to hold our fucking hands through some transitional phase… We’re perfectly fucking capable of adapting to the shittiest situation this world has to fucking over, but when it comes to our own society, we baulk not because we can’t, but because we don’t want to… Our reasoning is quite logical, and I don’t know why people see it as a need for help?

I have to touch on something that is of concern, and it pertains to the individuals who NEED the help. I have a friend that fits this category of veteran… He downs a bottle of wild turkey every time I see him, and finds comfort in drowning his demons with drink. He received more information about the VFW having cheap booze, than the Veterans Affairs affording him healthcare… In fact we were both fed misinformation about our VA medical care. We were both told by ACAP that the VA medical was for those with disability only… Fuckin asses… He ended up going because three of the brits he had been deployed with, that slept in the neighboring hooch, came down with an aggressive cancer caused by the satcom equipment they were running… The last time I talked to my friend, the results of his treatment were less than comforting…

Then there is the monster of which all Veterans loathe. The Veterans Affair’s healthcare system; the bureaucracy of less than mediocrity… The doctors have the worst turn over rate I’ve ever seen... Important things fall through the cracks, like appointments being canceled at the last moment, forgotten prescription refills, and admissions is never on your side… If I have an issue, calling is probably the worst way to get things done. You will have to listen to a full skit pushing the “veteran suicide assistance hotline”, pick an option, and then eventually after 10 minutes of automated gibberish, leave a message that never gets heard or you get dropped. You eventually repeat the process, listening to the “hotline” skit 7 or 8 times, exhausting every option, only to be dropped or ignored… I actually feel suicidal afterwards… Then, I think of people that are worse off than I… No wonder suicide is so prevalent amongst veterans…

When we get down to the brass tax, Veterans are the strongest individuals to walk this earth. Maybe this is due to our perception of life, and how truly precious it is, or our perception of the other side being around every corner, knowing that every each second could be our last. Finding comfort in death isn’t so crazy, because in the big sleep, there are no nightmares, no more pain, and the friends that left you are there to welcome you… I guess you’d understand if you lost any of those friends. If you’re close to a Veteran, and are concerned about him/her, leave little veteran assistance pamphlets around. There are a lot of veteran clubs and associations not affiliated with VA, where your partner can associate with his kind… When he takes this step, the veterans there will give him all the therapy he/she needs, and if things are truly dire, will carry his/her ass to help.

I hope you didn’t get too lost in this rant…

-^-Pulse

Dalmatians...

I have a book I read on the crapper from time to time... A.J. Jacobs: The Know-It-All... It adds depth to my trough of useless knowledge. I'm fascinated by overlooked details, survival techniques, and factoids... I break this retarded shit out from time-to-time just to bring conversations to an awkward plane... I'm wired different, and jump subject habitually, and it's fucking difficult for me to communicate.... Hence, this blog....

Anyway.... About Dalmatians....

Their urine is very similar to humans, because apparently we're the only two mammals that produce uric acid... I don't know if the goons at the lab could tell the difference between the two, but I'm sure the first thing that comes to mind if they see anything out of the ordinary is not the conclusive "IT's DALMATIAN PISS!!!"

So, i guess if you're one of those individuals freaking out over an upcoming drug test... Or you don't want to ask "THAT" favor of someone... there are options... Hell, this could actually prove to be a beneficial tidbit for pet adoption...


-^-Pulse

Thank you Ancient Aliens...

I can break out my "Jesus is actually an alien" belief...

Every member of his fan club that hears this oneliner, stops preaching instantly.... It's probably the most legitimate God grenade out there....you could argue it out for days...

Gnar!

-^-Pulse

I couldn't touch this kind of awesomeness with a rocket ship...

We got on a topic at work the other day that left me gasping for air.... Here, I'll play the ending first card...

I was gasping for air...

15 minute earlier...

I was running about 40 lbs. of trim through the grinder when the conversation evolved into something unreal.... Sure, if you're a guy, you're no stranger to the conversation... You know, that list.... The list of 10s you've screwed in the life before monogamy drove a blunt spoon through your happy gizzard... I'm sure every single average looking guy has em hidden in the spank bank, only breaking them out to brag or reminisce... Then... The conversation evolved into the funny stories you'd never share with your current significant other... for example: fucking the preachers daughter durring service, and throwing off the quire hymns with the noise, or the time you screwed the bigger girl in the back of your best friend's Volkswagen, both of you waking up to the warm gaze of his parents burning stare through the back window.  There were 3 of us, throwing our hysterical smoke about, then the torch was passed to my boss... It was his turn to tell...

I have to describe my boss in order to correctly recite what was said, because the elements of his personality make it funnier... He's a 40 year old baby-faced, skinny, third-generation italian-american who is very down to earth, quiet, and docile. He rarely gets excited over anything, and has a very laid back, just above monotone, voice that never stresses inflection.... There... we can move on to the grits and gravy...

Boss:
You ever watch a porn? Like a really nasty one where people are doing weird shit? You know, the ones that leave you disturbed instead of turned on? Yeah, well I dated a chick that had a sexual apetite geared toward that weird shit.. Oh, and she was deaf.... (confused grin amongst audience)

She liked to tie me up, and was into S&M; that asphyxiation stuff... I was a sophomore in college, so I had nothing better to do...  One saturday night, when the roomies were out partying, she came over... She brought over a leash one of those choke collars... You know?, the ones that have the prong thingys? Well, She tied my hands up to my closet door by the towel hanger, took the rope around the backside of the door and pulled it through underneath, where she tied my feet... She was no spring chicken to the skillset of tying knots, call it her craft, I wasn't goin anywhere... Then she handed me the leash, of which she was attached to.... smeared peanut butter on my balls... and proceeded to lick it off... barking when I tugged the leash with my wrist... The harder I tugged the leash, the more she got into it... She started barking and shit.... not like a real bark... like the fake bark... You know? "Wooof!!! Wooof!!!.. (the audience is lit with anticipation ;)

So, she's garbling on my nuts making these hideous sounds, and then I hear a loud commotion... Shit... My friends were back.... I had to get this girl to fucking stop. So I start off with telling her that my... fuck! SHE'S DEAF!!! So I start tugging on the leash like a mad man... She proceeds to dive deeper into character with the WOOOF!!! WOOF!!! WOOF!!!... I knew I was fucked when shit got quiet outside the door... then i heard the giggling and woof woofing coming from the hallway... by now I'm having a fucking heart attack trying to get this psycho to stop, but the harder I tried the worse she got.... then the knob started jiggling... shit... shit... The door was locked... shit, they found a way to open it... Next thing I know they busted through the door, starring in horrifying silence, and wtf grins... My girlfriend's face came out of my crotch looking like she just had her first birthday cake all over again........

...... Not one of my proudest moments....
From then on out my buddies would always start woof woofing before knocking on my door...

I was gasping for air....


- too good not to share...

-^-Pulse

I never got the chance...

The wind howls a cruel song, and the shadows creep about.
The sun burns into cancer, and the sky weeps away the drought.
I gaze upon the dreams that will never come to be.
They are left as nightmares that will never set me free.
My mind is restless creature, my anger only satisfied by immeasurable rage.
No matter how much strength I have I could never turn this page
I am left drowning in a chapter where all I see is my own face
There were three, now two, and now one heart begins to race....
Oh God!!! Why is this happening to me?
All I wanted was a good life for my son to grow up free.
I will walk this path alone. My soul a prisoner of shame.
There was nothing that I could say or do, the ending would have been the same.
I never got the chance to say I love you, that it will be okay...
I never got the chance to kiss your innocent face.

Carving Plaster...

There is a definite sense of comfort in the repetition of removing mass from a solid. I would have to chalk it up to an whelming feeling of control. A chisel here, a scrape there... Every time you stroke the knife over the grit of the stone-like finish you take away exactly what you wish from the form. Many times you find yourself using finesse, and repeatedly going over the same area gently, to match the vision in your head. Everything is fluid, every motion is controlled and meaningful, every tool mark is meant to be in regards to the form's structure.

Other mediums tend to do the exact opposite. Supplementing the form with brush strokes, slip, mixed media, ink, etc. Stressing the outward extension of aesthetic form by compiling mass to create. There is a great deal of unrest in this medium for me, because I strive for perfection, overcoming my physical and mental coordination as well as juggling the application of my wandering creativity.

Is it strange that working the plaster medium is somewhat a reflection of my own subconscious.  I find comfort in digging for exactness, because I relate stone to my own soul. Every time I give a stone form, I take a scrape away from the rock of my own being. Not to say the accomplishment takes away from my entirety, it just takes away the unnecessary layers that do not and should not define me.

Other mediums reflect my discomfort of extenuating creativity beyond the comforts of my reclusiveness. I strive for perfection, but when it comes to my expressionism in said mediums I find that I am in a constant state of fray. No matter how many times I go over a line to make it straight, I can never quite get it right. Sadly there is no real option to repeat a stroke and carve away the imperfections, so I get pissed and end up breaking shit...

Pulse-^-

Oh. my. fuck.

I'm headed into this semester with a fresh new perspective; never assume shit will ever get easier. I guess you could shorten it to never assume. I'm diving head first into an 8 week crash course of Algebra, Programming Concepts, Calculus, and Statistics... Thank god their split up over 16 weeks, so I take 2 at a time... Still, I can smell the ass-pain a' comin'... I swear, this "being an adult" gig is becoming a bed of fucking nails and turning my brain, or whats left of it, into a slushy... I've laid everything out in my schedule, and to complete everything over the span of 8 weeks, I have to devote @ least 3 hours each day to my studies... Not so bad, but if you add my teething 9 month old and a 25 hour work week to the equation, things start to look grim...

On a positive note, I've discovered P2P sharing.... So at least I get to listen to some nice tunes as the academic cheese grater runs across my nuggets... I've avoided using torrent sites for the longest times be it I was operating on a PC platform... P2P sharing on a PC is like fucking without a rubber on a pile of used sharps from a dark ally. Now that I have the MAC, I feel somewhat more comfortable with the activity.

Overmedicated and functioning... Kinda...

I'm a slave. The no-named legless zombie, pulling his limp carcass across great distances, never attaining the satisfaction of ever feeling full. I have this delusion that oxygen becomes sweeter with the conquering of the academic world, this will surely carry over to my professional pursuits...fuck... No rest for the wicked little things tearing at my temporal lobes. I feed them insatiable amounts of caffeine seasoned with amphetamine salts, and the taste of their efforts slowly fade to the liking of chewable aspirin.

I live with the desire to attain motivation from within, but cutting back on the medication gives me migraines. I can handle the usual headache, but the bastards that start knocking at my brain-door break through in well armed trigger-happy stacks, throwing lead in all directions. Poorly constructed analogy aside, the pain brings me to my knees. I feel like peeling my head open like a banana, the pressure is awful. I don't want to end up letting my gradual tolerances turn me into some toothless Appalachian hillbilly, so I'm cutting back. good for me.

I've started to do some research on nootropics, and I have to say some of the supplements I've recently invested in took me by surprise. NADH seems to work wonders even through the second week. I think I might actually be able to cut back on my dosages. I don't want to fully rid myself of the meds, because they genuinely help me through the day.

People tend to belittle individuals like me for medicating myself. Their take on this is that it's unneeded, and I'm weak-minded for even considering the approach. My reply is that there is a constant need for balance. If there is an existing medication that can aid you in your life, and it works for you, take it... There are people on this earth with chemical imbalances inherited by genetic dispositions, diet, and life's fucked up experiences. Why stick your nose up at their happiness?

Please don't preach therapy. Therapy is shit. I would laugh at you if you told me that an individual, more fucked up than myself, could coach me through the fucked up shit hidden in my closet of skeletons. I have a shrink. He looks like Stephen Hawking, and his rolling briefcase contains 20 different prescriptions and 2 manila folders. I swear the last time we delved into my issues he was sleeping with his eyes open and half-cocked. One person does not need a full 20 seconds to ask one question consisting of 5 words...

Just wish me luck, I'm seeking balance...

Pulse-^-

Never fails... Carraba's makes me puke...

I am in no way shape or form a finicky eater... I can literally eat things that would make a goat turn inside out. The acception to the rule is Carraba's. This conclusion isn't due to some horrible night of yacking up bad food, it's 4 experiences spread out over time. I should have called it quits after trial number two, but my girlfriend has a love affair for the place, so I make sacrifices.

The food smells like vomit as soon as it hits room temp. Doggy bags last only 2 nights max in the fridge, because the smell becomes so pungently rancid.  Even if I dodge the outing in it's entirety, I suffer the same feeling opening the fridge in the middle of the night when I take my midnight swig of milk...

I can't be the only one.

She is whom resembles God...

Rest assured opportunities and disappointment forever dance. The sins of flesh and consumption of alcohol fill the void torn from the eager heart's mind. The dust of war has settled, but parts forever strangled by the roots of ruin and disappointment. Still and cold is the heart, the eyes, and their vulnerable six o'clock. Drive on, with torment, no, reeducation negating that total disillusion of those sappy doctrinal manifestations of that elusive creature named love. It should be shot, frozen, pent up with hyped enthusiasm… sigh… shaken off as a myth. Grey moments of a child, untamed and free of being let down, flicker with the light, and fade to realization that imagination hurts, intuition, not faith, is a word worth following, and, no matter what, feeling the tickle of rain will always make you smile. To navigate bitter beacons of cold harsh seas further exacerbate that hunger for warmth and comfort. Love waits, wanders, weathers, yet never fades, and forever burns in us all…


Pulse-^-

Fine Art falls... as will humanity...

For my entire life I have viewed art as a break from meaningful and boring subjects such as science, mathematics, and history... I never really put any more weight into the subject, thinking it was something frivolous and lazy, and chalked it up to a profession pursued by hippies.  This all started to change with my 4 years spent in the U.S. Army. As a PSYOP soldier, under USASOC, I was deployed in support of OEF-Philippines. My area of operations, throughout my 2 deployments, was the island of Mindanao and the entire Sulu Archipelago... PSYOP focuses heavily of transmitting messages via a whole array of mediums ranging from leaflets, radio broadcasts, SMS texting, T.V. spots, along with many others. Sadly, I never played a role in the creation of said products, but collaborated base concepts through the collection of cultural expertise and the passive collection of intelligence.

Kate Macdowell

I started to understand that the work that went into a product was uncanny. To give you some idea, the target audience focus ranged from a general populace level to a specific village, taking into account more than 8 different dialects. A shit ton of analysis had to be compiled before we could even think of pushing product, because good PSYOP could win a war, bad PSYOP could start one. The experience subtly exposed me to art and its effect on the human psyche; the manipulation of human perspective,  impacting and swaying the hearts and minds of a specific target audience to behave according to U.S./PI interests.

Fast forward 6 years>> I'm now in pursuit of a degree, and this semester I decided to take a few art classes to maintain/boost my GPA. In my two years, I have never been challenged, but these art classes have changed that comfortable position into a self-seeking crucible of sorts. I've started to understand common subjects as cerebral and mundane, and that they are easily conquered by the manipulation of formulaic responses and language. Mathematical equations are pragmatic puzzles, Science stresses these same puzzles as well as memory recall, and subjects like history, humanities, or literature stress memory recall and the manipulation of literal knowledge to express what you have learned (term papers). Art is something completely different... Something beyond all other forms of subject...

Art brings to light one of life's true challenges: the manipulation of one's self instead of the manipulation of others. The endless pursuit of transitioning your being into an aesthetically pleasing form. This challenge is further complicated by it's perceived beauty by exterior individuals.

Fine Art is sadly being overlooked by many institutions as non essential, due to there not being any real stable employment in the art world. Technology is rapidly consuming our art departments, encroaching upon hammer and chisel, ceramics, printmaking, and figure drawing. The reason behind the shift is the existing job market for graphic arts, drafting, and advertisement. More money is allocated to said programs based on this principle alone.

The loss of ground, in my opinion, is devastating. Technology negates the ugly stress on one's hands, mind, and body. It takes the challenging inner struggle of self accomplishment, and dilutes it into yet another subject filled with cerebral solutions.

Everyday humanity shrinks into this shadow of technological advancement. I take a shit, the toilet flushes itself. I wash my hands, the sink discharges soap without touch. The water turns itself on and off without touch, and I don't even have to unroll the paper towel to dry my hands. The door opens itself. The list goes on... We're drowning ourselves in it. The only saving grace would be some sort of applied balance. We need to be well rounded and seasoned, not square and bland.

Pulse-^-

The sick feeling I get when people celebrate his death...

Just last night, the American populace caught fire. The news chatter soaked the universe with "Osama Bin Laden Killed!!!"... by elite special operations unit... People took to the streets in celebration, waiving american flags, chanting "U.S.A!!! U.S.A.!!!!"... Facebook was strewn with updates perpetuating the celebration... Everyone was thanking God, joking about how they would handle his remains, stating the day should be a holiday with the suggested food of choice being pork... I, however, don't exactly know what I'm feeling.

What's the cause for celebration? It took 10+ years and thousands of fucking American lives to bring one man to justice... Hardly something I would want to have a BBQ over.  I'd rather have my friends back...

You can't kill one man and expect an ideology to fall, so where the fuck is this sense of closure everyone seems to be propagating? Do you think the young boy without his mommy/daddy is going to wake up with some new found motivation? Or that the widow raising said child will smile and say "Finally, I'm at peace..."? Across the board: FuCk NO!

Still, a mass murderer died today, and he deserved it. Too bad the playing field was leveled with 10+ years of collateral death and damage; domestic and foreign.

I can't wait for the onslaught of bumper stickers to fade into eggshell. I cant wait for the flags in the car windows to shred away to nothingness...

The true story here, the golden pudding of this parade, is the force that swiftly carried out their business. JSOC, CAG, SPookies, whoever you are, and wherever you may be, thank you. I'm truly proud that there are Americans like you out there making swift work of individuals that wish to do us harm. The tried and true silent professionals. I wish the general public celebrated your accomplishments in the same fashion.

Pulse-^-

Crossing the line

Peter Root- Line Drawing

Lines are the most elemental variable of form. The true aesthetic genius behind the practice is balancing the economy of line to perfectly represent form without the unnecessary weight of unneeded value. Society draws a parallel to this artistic methodology by illuminating the minimalistic representation of ourselves to one another, and not crossing the threshold of too much information. Its a subconscious understanding, through minimal communication. It's quite a beautiful concept. Sadly, this quality has an open and pumping wound, inflicted by the era of social media. Why do we feel the need to ejaculate our thoughts and actions upon our acquaintances through hourly updates? Is there a need to continue? If continued, where will the boundaries fall? Guilty and bitching about it...