LAMENT OF THE FRONTIER GUARD

By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now!
Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
I climb the towers and towers
to watch out the barbarous land:
Desolate castle, the sky, the wide desert.
There is no wall left to this village.
Bones white with thousand frosts,
High heaps, covered with trees and grass;
Who brought the flaming imperial anger?
Who has brought the army with drums and with kettle-drums?
Barbarous kings.
A gracious spring, turned to blood-ravenous autumn,
A turmoil of wars-men, spread over the middle kingdom,
Three hundred and sixty thousand,
And sorrow, sorrow like rain.
Sorrow to go, and sorrow, sorrow returning.
Desolate, desolate fields,
And no children of warfare upon them,
No longer the men for offence and defence.
Ah, how shall you know the dreary sorrow at the North Gate,
With Rihaku's name forgotten,
And we guardsmen to fed to the tigers.

By Rihaky 730 AC ?

when the night comes

On Bagram an amber alert means incoming fire. This is also the signal to head for the bunkers. The Big Voice came over the loud speaker. Tonight, it was feminine (a softer gentler voice for the war) coming through the midnight air alerting us of incoming rocket fire. On the way to the bunkers we heard the first explosion that was distant. You couldn’t feel the earth shake but a slight charge of adrenalin quickened my step towards the bunker.

The bunkers were about 5 ft. compounds with sandbags girdled around the concrete. Johnson was in the middle of the bunker with his helmet and body armor on. He didn’t say a word curled up in ball. I don’t believe he was frightened. He was alert, concentrating - perhaps saying a prayer. This was all serious.

There are stories and rumors that circulate about someone getting wounded or dying before they redeploy. The week before a rocket blew up a B-Hut killing a fireman in his sleep. More than a rumor more than bad luck just a fact of life in Afghanistan.

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How To Win The War on Terrorism

Drive Smart Cars and build nuclear power plants in Greenwich, Ct., Carmel, Ca., Austin, TX. and Highland Park, Il. Starve the enemy out. Petro dollars fuel terrorism. Saudi's fund maddrass's in Pakistan. Iran sells arms to anyone. Hit them where it hurts in their pocket book. Let the golf courses in Dubai dry up. Make it mandatory for anyone that has been on the cover of People magazine to own one house and confine them to 5000 square feet. Sacrifice.

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Set em up Joe

I’m in the air terminal in Bagram waiting to go home. It is what Sinatra called “the wee hours of the morning” or more accurately closing time for a bar. You don’t hear the clink of the glasses or the ice cubes swirling for the last the drink of the night. You don’t have a bar or anyone saying, “set up them Joe. I got a little story I would like you to know.“ You hear people snoring or the cumbersome movement of soldiers with body armor as they are called for a flight assignments. But they all have stories and I wonder how many have happy ending.

We are headed to Ali Al Salem in Kuwait. The group ahead of us was called for a flight to Kandahar. There the weather is already 10 degrees warmer with winds bringing dust storms. A marine in the hospital said he was going back down to Kandahar for some more “hooking and jabbing.” His unit was hit with IED (improvised explosive device) he was lucky walking away with a little glass in the eye.

It is good bye to Afghanistan. I have no idea of what that means yet. I haven’t disconnected. Home is still like a dream and not real. Afghanistan is very real.

In the review mirror

Taking Leave of a Friend

Blue mountains lie beyond the north walls;
Round the city’s eastern side flows the white water.
Here we part, friend, once forever,
You go ten thousand miles, drifting away
Like an unrooted watergrass.
Oh, the floating clouds and the thoughts of a wanderer!
Oh, the sunset and the longing of an old friend!
We ride away from each other, waving our hands,
While our horses neigh softly, softly…..

Li Po


We are heading home today. There will be a great deal of waiting, standing in line and waiting. Patience and more patience and waiting to sleep. Our goodbyes have started some are obligatory and others are laced with sorrow. There are never enough words when it comes from the heart.

Needs a hand

“It takes him 20 minutes to jerk off and he is doing it four or five times a week.” Johnson said.

“Wow!“ I said.

“ I don’t mind him jerking off but it should take him ten minutes. I can handle ten minutes.” Johnson said.

“Can you play Jackie Gleason’s music for young lovers maybe it will help speed it up.” I said.
Johnson wasn’t listening. We live in B-Huts that are eight men to a building. We are separated by ¼ inch plywood living in an 8x10 space. Privacy is an illusion and right now Johnson is having a problem.

“How about “Pillow Talk” by Sylvia” I said. “I will download it for you.” I was too old school.

“Why can’t he just hurry up and finish it off. I am not unreasonable but it is bugging me.” Johnson said.

“You don’t think music is the answer? Janet Jackson?”

“For me all I need is Jamie Lee Curtis. She is my dream girl.” Johnson said.

Who was going over the edge first Johnson or his over zealous masturbating neighbor. I wanted the thought out of my head before I went to sleep. Everyone has a weapon here and I didn't want to wake up to the sound of gunfire. Blessed are the peacekeepers.

"Hey Johnson would Carrie Underwood do the trick for him?"

Al and Jean taking coffee.

I was very young when I read Albert Camus’s “The Myth of Sisyphus” and I will be very old if I ever reread it. Camus and Jean Paul Sartre sipping coffee on the Left Bank of Paris talking about life, existentialism and politics. How they suffered. In his essay Camus asks why not suicide? A nice tight intellectual dialectic with a hint of ennui. Later after coffee they might have discussed male pattern baldness.

William Styron thoughts on suicide have nothing to do with ennui. In his essay on depression and suicide “Invisible Darkness” Styron deals with his personal experience with depression. He believes people take their lives to escape the very real and tangible pain of depression which he terms the “Invisible Darkness.” A pain so great that suicide becomes the only option.

The message on the computer was highlighted in red for a possible suicide attempt. Last year I did three possible suicide attempts while working in Kuwait. This year in Afghanistan I’ve lost count. The soldier was a woman somewhere in or near Kandahar. She had e-mailed her mother that something had happened in her unit and to say good-bye to her family. She wanted her mother to take care of her of nine year old daughter.

What happened in her unit that she wanted out? Was it the physiological creeping darkness of depression that entered her body. Or did something or someone violate her in way so profound and damaging that she couldn’t make it anymore? Or maybe she entered a world without love? There was a rupture.

The air conditioner is on at our office in Bagram. Ten days ago the snowflakes were large and the base was filled with sloppy mud. Now, it is hot and summery. After delivering the message of a possible suicide I stared at the computer screen letting the coolness of the blue ether settle in. Now, I'm waiting to hear from command if she is safe. Kandahar would be hotter and dustier more oppressive with summer coming on. The Spring called for an offensive on the Taliban. Drones were already flying into Pakistan dropping bombs. Bagram was attacked twice in the last week killing one. The trees bud, the snows melt and to everything under the sun there is a season .. It appears to be the season for war. I am waiting for a call from command...

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