Chronicles From The Sunny Side of Hell

Another Season in Hell

2009-03-06T15:52:00.000-08:00

Editor's Note: Someone famous once said that just because everything is different doesn't mean that everything has changed. How true. Here we are: A new year, a new president...and still the same story. When this blog was committed to archival memory in 2008, Feelgoode had completed his second tour of the Afghan badlands. The last, we thought, of his adventures in Pashtun country. We were wrong. He's back in combat gear and desert boots.

So the Chronicles continue.

Leon,

Greetings from the front. This deployment has remained painfully unproductive; as of now I've done little more than print, frame and hang a plethora of photos, none of which have been taken by us.

A week or so ago, I had Arthur Rimbaud: Complete Works sent to my mailing address here, which arrived yesterday. It's a rather daunting volume of verse consisting of 349 pages of Rimbaud's poetry, letters and police testimony regarding his relationship with Paul Verlaine. Included are a few letters from Verlaine to Rimbaud. The book is divided into eight "seasons" highlighting major periods of Rimbaud's life. I've been reading from it continuously, interrupted only by work, sleep, or a smoke — I've just finished Season Six. His influence on Jim Morrison is apparent in his dark, highly sexual and occasionally vulgar writings. I highly recommend this enjoyable read.

I myself haven't written much, although I often contemplate possible prose over a cigarette (though I still prefer a cigar or pipe). Sometime in the future, I believe I'd like to try my hand at composing an epic, though the thought is slightly frightening in its boldness — being somewhat of the amateur poet that I am. We'll see soon enough I suppose.

A few nights ago, two in fact, I dreamt that the world was burning and it seemed that all I could do was laugh myself to tears amidst the maelstrom of flames. I need a drink.

Sincerely,

Feelgoode

Last Words

2008-05-18T06:48:00.000-07:00

Editor's Note: After nearly eight months of trudging through the soulless sands of the Afghanistan desert, Doctor Feelgoode, our intrepid artist in combat boots, is back home. There will be no more dispatches from the front.

This is where our story ends.

On July 3, 1971, at approximately 0400, James Douglas Morrison was pronounced dead in his Paris home. The cause of death was heart failure as a result of an asthma attack. I wouldn't know who he was until nearly 40 years later, after a fateful purchase in the Spring of 2006.

I had a friend at boot camp who had spoken highly of The Doors on numerous occasions. Shortly after finishing AIT and arriving at my first duty station, I decided to explore my new surroundings and found myself browsing a CD rack at a nearby electronics shop. It was then that I spotted a single copy of The Doors Legacy: The Absolute Best sitting right up front. Remembering my friend's recommendation, I bought it and took it back to my empty barracks room.

Later that night, I would fall asleep to the sound of Ray Manzarek's organ/keyboard, John Densmore's drums, Robby Krieger's guitar, and Jim Morrison's deep, brooding vocals.

Two years later, I'm an avid fan of their music and Jim Morrison's poetry. I had come to the realization that I had always known The Doors, having heard their songs on the radio as a kid, and would even go so far as to say that my stumbling upon that album was more than just coincidence.

I'll have to pay Jim a visit sometime in the future...

A Dedication

To the poet of the damned
To the son
To the brother
To the back door man
To the Lizard King
To the friend I never knew

Thank You.

Madness and Sleep (or Lack Thereof)

2008-04-22T09:26:00.000-07:00

Yo!

Been a while since my last entry. I suppose I'm beginning to lose track of time as my days meld into one another amidst a blur of insomnia.

As the end of this deployment draws near, I find myself with little to do — my days consisting of little more than visiting the gym and compiling the daily news summary.

My recent tasks as the group illustrator have consisted of large memorial posters; my last one was for a dog handler who had been killed in action, and today I was given a request to put together a poster for a Military Working Dog who had been killed in a training accident.

Within the last couple of days I've seen the return of my transient insomnia with a side of mild depression and self-inflicted solitude. On the nights I do manage to get some sleep, it's usually drug induced, and when it's not, I tend to wake with a feeling of disorientation that resembles a formidable hangover — I'm suffering from a similar feeling as I type this as a result of the delusional nap I took at lunch.

I've also been spending quite a bit of my free time reading a Web comic called Questionable Content. Within a three-day period I've managed to read 632 strips.

That's all I've got...really. On a side note, I believe the world would be a better place if Ann Coulter were to be mauled by a pack of irritable badgers; but hey, that's just my opinion.

Feelgoode, out.

Easter in Afghanistan: Kinder Eggs and Friendly Fire

2008-04-12T21:29:00.001-07:00

Leon,

The days since my last entry have been, until recently, full of absolutely nothing. I was given the opportunity to once again ride in an RG-31 to accompany some Marines during training. This sardine can of a vehicle has seen some changes since my last romp: the interior of the vehicle is now padded as are the seats, and the leg room is slightly more abundant.

The portholes in the windows are now entirely solid, lacking the porthole that could be opened and closed for return fire purposes. I'm sure this sounds like an improvement; however, I would like to note that the turrets on all four vehicles no longer functioned by the time we headed back.

I would also like to mention that we had tested these vehicles late into the night, and at one point, a gunner who had become disoriented in the moving vehicle began to fire across the range in our general direction. Granted, the fire wasn't aimed at us, but just a little too close for comfort. Some took to hiding behind the stationary RGs, while one Marine chased the vehicle down, throwing his water bottle to get the driver's attention.

A day or two later, I was requested to provide photo coverage of a competition that was being held by one of our battalions; a competition, might I add, that I had made the flyer for. This competition consisted of multiple stations, which would present some sort of challenge. Upon completing a challenge, the teams would run to the next station, which provided a new challenge. Between each station was a distance of a number of meters, and by the end of the competition, the accumulated distance would be roughly four to five miles.

I was given a vehicle in which to drive between the two stations I would cover, while the combat camera that accompanied me on this task would cover another two. After my second event had finished, I headed back to camp to take my comrade's place and finish photographing the final challenge.

Afterward, I changed into a set of civilian clothes, which would be my attire for the remainder of the day, and later headed back to the battalion to photograph the winning team. I also attended a barbecue that the host of the competition had invited me to.

Today was particularly interesting. I awoke 15 minutes before I was to be due in the office, dry shaved with a dull razor and gargled some mouthwash. Within 10 minutes of me sitting in my chair, I was called — by the same individual who had hosted that competition — and told that I was needed at the memorial site ASAP; no camera needed.

Upon my arrival, I was placed in a spot within a formation designated specifically for me, and we proceeded to march in a circle before being dismissed. Confused and irritated, considering I hadn't had my usual cup of coffee, I headed to the Commander's Update Brief, since I was in the area.

Upon completion of the brief, I exited the building and was informed that the waste of time I had just committed was in fact a rehearsal for a ceremony in which I was to be awarded the Army Achievement Medal — imagine my jubilation, which as you should know, was nowhere to be found at the time. However, over the course of the ceremony, I began to feel the joy of being awarded for the work I had produced.

After completion of the ceremony, I shook hands with a number of fellow soldiers who had attended and proceeded to the dining facility for coffee and a power bar. The rest of my day, even as I type this, was fairly relaxed, despite the fact that the folder I needed for a project seems to have been eaten by cyber nymphs.

After lunch, I played a quick round of Super Smash Bros, brawled with a friend and headed to the office to finish out my day. It would be shortly after that our office would receive a large box of pleasantries.

From the box of Pandora, I was blessed with what was called a Kinder Egg, which happened to be a chocolate egg that hid a small toy within itself. My little toy was to be constructed from numerous small parts that had been concealed within a yellow, plastic capsule.

When pieced together, it turned out to be an anthropomorphic paint bucket, which would shit a plastic paint blob with eyes upon lifting his paintbrush. I found myself enthralled with the little gadget and it now sits with pride upon my office laptop.

I was also given an opaque white bag adorned with a blue smiley face. Inside this happy bag were three bran muffins that, much to my delight, had been baked with Guinness beer — my personal favorite. These wondrous muffins shall be rationed over the next few days.

With the closing of this entry, I believe it to be important that I mention the return of my odd dreams featuring Jim Morrison. These dreams, of course, see me waking to extreme disorientation and unfamiliarity with my surroundings. Like before, these are not a result of my weekly mefloquine.

I'll have to set some time aside to evaluate these visions.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Observations on Freedom and Other Prose‏

2008-03-22T11:43:00.001-07:00

Leon,

Recently, I've acquired the license required to drive vehicles around Bagram. This, of course, leads to me being the designated chauffeur. The problem being, I never bothered to learn on a manual transmission. Thankfully, I had a grasp of the basics I had picked up from observation, so learning was a little easier.

I still hate driving the damned things, though.

And now these poetic contemplations...

Observations on Freedom

Freedom given
People appalled
Freedom taken

Mad Men

An ancient people
In mud brick dwell
The Mad Men roam
This forgotten hell
w/ beards
w/ guns
w/ sandals
The Mad Men roam
The Mad Men kill
Oh!
The Mad Men kill

Blood Red Wolf

Blood Red Wolf
w/ blood red mane
Take me away
To the castles of Spain

Haunt my dreams
Pierce my eyes
w/ golden gaze
Pierce my ears
w/ melodious howl

Blood Wolf is free
To roam the land
And invade the dreams
Of miserable men

And we shall follow her
Wherever she may roam
To find our freedom
Or a way back home

To war torn lands
She may go
To peaceful kingdoms
To Heaven
To Hell

Follow her
She calls
Love her

Shaman Man

Oh Shaman Man
In black leather clad
Show us the way to break through
There's blood in the streets
The End is near
My eyes have seen you
There
Side by side w/ Unknown Soldier
A bullet in his head
– The war was never over

Oh Shaman Man
Let us ride on the Crystal Ship
To your Orange County Suite
We'll drink with Los Angeles
On Love St.
– I've been riding the storm too long

I want not to touch Earth

Public Affairs is a Pain in the Ass!

2008-03-16T13:16:00.000-07:00

Leon,

What's up? Between now and my last entry, I've been flooded with completely random taskings from every corner of Camp Vance.

It would seem that at the last minute there had been a change of plans and it is no longer just myself in the office. With our NCOs gone, we have been left in charge of anything having to do with Combat Camera and/or Multimedia Illustration, which has kept us rather occupied.

On top of this turn of events, I've been given the job of compiling news articles relating to the events in Afghanistan, complete with a table of contents, a highlight of the separate sources, and a television broadcast summary. I have to do this every day. This particular task reaches far outside of my area of operations and places a third occupation on my plate — only one of which was voluntary.

Outside of that, I received a request to make a sign for a Sergeant First Class who aims to start his own business. I've been having fun with this over the past couple of days and will continue to work on it when given the chance.

In my free time, I've been continuing to watch various anime and movies. My most recent viewing escapades have consisted of a rather disturbing anime called Elfen Lied, and a hilarious movie titled Run, Ronnie, Run!

Last night, I hooked up with some friends and watched a bootleg copy of Walk Hard, which goes on to poke fun at various famous musicians, from Johnny Cash to Bob Dylan to The Beatles — Jack Black plays Paul McCartney with fairly comical results.

I've still been entirely unable to write poetry in any way, shape or form, and have been looking in the oddest places for inspiration. This includes Gorillaz: Rise of the Ogre, the semi-fictional autobiography of the virtual band — a funny read.

As of now, I just received an update on recent events in the country and need to start working on cutting and pasting these articles together. I will then submit my veritable media Frankenstein to our Public Affairs Officer for review and call it a day.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Movies and Man-Jams...What Else is New?

2008-03-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

Leon,

Been about a week since my last entry and I have some free time (a lot, actually) so I figured I'd shoot out a fresh one.

The time since my return from Salerno has been spent reading Wikipedia articles and watching movies — Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang is an outstanding film, and dragon fruit is also called "pitahaya." Now you know.

My poetry and art have been less productive, but not for lack of thought. I just can't seem to put my visions on paper.

In recent days, I've found myself listening to the funky and enjoyable tunes of Gorillaz. I've always enjoyed the band since I had seen the animated music video for their single Clint Eastwood. The band itself is, in fact, virtual. In other words, they're portrayed as cartoon characters with their own fictional backgrounds — most of which are humorously ridiculous.

The individual who provides the artwork for the group is mostly known for the comic book series Tank Girl, which has been made into a cult live-action film. Plans for a Gorillaz movie also are in the works; this, however will be animated.

Their sound is varied, often mixing various genres from hip-hop to Britpop to spoken verse. I recommend lending an ear — their second studio album, Demon Days, is amazing.

My taskings have been small with the most important request being to take pictures of a Major General eating breakfast and receiving a number of briefings. I've once again declined to attend the promotion board, stating that I had no desire to be an NCO.

My NCOIC respected my decision and withdrew my name from the list. Later, in my monthly counseling, he would state that my refusal to attend the board was a "Blatant slap in the face to him and the Corps." I certainly didn't intend for it to come off in that way, but made no attempt to reconcile.

Oddly enough, I'll be the only one in charge of the office for the following week — I have a water bottle filled 1/4 of the way with moist, empty sunflower seed husks, which will surely be filled in the process.

Currently, I'm busy trying to hook up with a local interpreter in an attempt to procure a set of what we call "Man-Jams" — the traditional articles of clothing worn by the local males, consisting of the baggy button-up shirt and loose pants, often worn with a cloth vest. I just have to get a tailor to take my measurements.

That's all for now.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Commandos and Chickens and Mad Cows, Oh My!‏

2008-03-01T08:13:00.000-08:00

Leon,

It's been a while since my last entry, but that will be explained in the passages to follow. I've spent the past two weeks in Afghanistan's Khowst Province — FOB Salerno to be exact.

I had been assigned to accompany a team and provide photo coverage of their missions and training with the Commandos, Afghanistan's Special Forces. My incoming flight on an AC-130 was less than pleasant. Now, I'd like to say that I am a man who enjoys flying and has never experienced any form of motion sickness — until now.

The flight in itself was a mere 30 minutes; however, the heat combined with the constant turbulence involved with flying low over the mountains left me yearning for a swift landing.

Our landing was perhaps the worst I've experienced of any plane ride, being easily able to toss me from my seat had I not had a seat belt. After the plane came to a halt, the rear ramp was lowered to allow the airmen to unload our equipment.

Now, remaining on the plane to recover would have been fine, but shortly after the ramp was lowered we were assaulted by the noxious fumes of burning jet fuel.

Our eyes began to burn and it became difficult to breathe. We were left to marinate for another 10 to 15 minutes before being rushed off the plane. Glad to be free of that coffin, we hurried to the terminal to download our equipment before being picked up by the team I would be staying with for the next two weeks.

My comrade — a true combat cameraman — and I were led to where we would be sleeping, which turned out to be a large open bay lined with cots. I set up a cot, unrolled my sleeping bag and squared away what would be my temporary home.

Now, for the record, I would like to mention that the inside of this building, in its entirety, had been painted sky/powder/baby blue. Also, over these 13 or 14 days, I would acquire the best sleep I had ever had since I joined the military. Within two days, I was tasked to photograph Commandos firing mortars and administering IVs to one another.

I would then eat lunch on the Commando camp, which consisted of a large helping of rice cooked with small sweet berries and creamed corn, eaten by scooping with a piece of flat bread resembling a large pita. Dessert consisted of two oranges and the meal was washed down with a hot glass of chai. I'll go ahead and say right now that the food was delicious.

I slept for most of the following day, then tagged along on a mission to find and recover a suspected weapons cache hidden in a housing compound.

I sat in the open bed of an armored humvee with an Air Force dog handler and his dog named Carlos. The convoy took roughly 45 minutes of driving through rough side roads with a driver that held no regard for his passengers — more than a week later I still have a large bruise where my M4 came in contact with my knee on numerous occasions.

Upon arriving at our destination, the team commenced to clearing the compound, making sure that the women and children stayed out of our way. It was then that I was allowed into the compound to take photos.

I began snapping away at whatever caught my interest. Most of these photos consisted of Commandos searching rooms and pulling security. The compound itself was empty save for the livestock left behind, and oh God, there were chickens everywhere! They were in baskets, baby cribs, under pillows (no, I'm serious), and much to my amusement there was a chicken tethered to a stick in the ground, its leg outstretched as it tried to get away.

Here, I would also see the ugliest cow I've ever seen. It's difficult to describe its face, but it had these weird, bugged-out eyes — possibly blind. This cow, as it stands, was dubbed "Psycho Cow." There was also a large cow that tended to fly into a rage when approached and foamed at the mouth.

The highlight of the mission, for me at least, was the discovery a small puppy which seemed to be in surprisingly good health for where it was. In the end, we found nothing, but as we exited the compound, preparing to leave, a large explosion on a road visible from our position succeeded in capturing our attention. As we rolled out, we found no signs of an explosion — just an eviscerated coyote slumped over a large rock.

Over the next couple of days, I did nothing but sleep and play Call of Duty 4 with the team. The rules were relaxed, allowing me the freedom of going unshaven and out of uniform. Then came the real reason I was there. The mission was for the Commandos, with the support of U.S. soldiers, to infiltrate two compounds and capture three suspected insurgents within a two-hour time limit.

We air assaulted from a CG-47 Chinook not far from our target and fell back as a breach team took down the doors. We then filed into the compounds, gathering women and children to be searched. Among the crowd we discovered a male Afghan dressed as a woman in an attempt to hide. He was quickly taken into custody. The other compound yielded six more suspects (and another puppy). When it came time for extraction, we headed to our respective extraction points and waited.

Much to our chagrin, our Chinook touched down roughly 1000m from our location on the other side of a plot of land riddled with large trenches and pits. We took off running for our new extraction point in full battle rattle, finding it difficult to navigate this veritable obstacle course. We quickly loaded into the CH-47 and lifted off.

On a side note, the Chinook was surprisingly smooth, albeit noisy. After the completion of the mission, I would sleep for the next couple of days before flying back to Bagram, where I will no doubt spend the rest of this deployment.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Rock, Booze and Apathy‏

2008-02-11T16:19:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Lunch today consisted of a walk away from our camp to the chow hall just down the street.

I wasn't too pleased with the selection so I ended up with two improvised patty melts, consisting of a hamburger patty sandwiched between grilled ham and cheese. They also lacked tea and V8, so I decided for a water and cranberry juice instead.

The snow has managed to pile up these past few days, with less traveled areas easily being ankle deep — the snowball wars are soon to follow, I'm sure.

My task this morning was to finish a request I was given a few days ago, which called for the beautification of a Medal of Honor Citation to be framed at a later date.

This was a fairly simple task, as my stylus worked its magic, eventually concocting seven different versions of final product in the span of a few hours. These were presented to the client to choose whichever he pleased. With this tasking finished, I decided to write up this entry.

I've recently taken up interest in a band called Coheed and Cambria, a progressive rock band whose four albums make up an epic science fiction narrative written by frontman Claudio Sanchez.

Each album represents a chapter of the story, which has also been presented in the graphic novel medium. In fact, I'm listening to their third studio album: Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness, as I type this.

Though the band is mostly considered progressive rock, there are those that have tossed them into the "emo" category — a much overused term that I myself am not too fond of. Though I will admit that Coheed maintains some elements of that same genre, which happens to be the brunt of a number of jokes within the online community.

I've spent little time preparing for this promotion board, only taking the time to memorize the first paragraph of the NCO Creed — I have until Thursday to commit the creed, in its entirety, to memory.

My lack of enthusiasm and indifference is rather obvious to those around me. My jaded apathy has become a joke within the office, much to my amusement. However, it would seem that promotion to Sergeant within the time frame of my service is "inevitable" as my NCOIC has put it.

I couldn't be less indifferent.

***

Drowning in Flame

Drink it down
The Burning Water suffocates the mind
And murders the senses

Poisoned vegetable
Demonic fruit
Aethir's Ambrosia

Our desire is this liquid fire
Which frees us from the cages of Reality

So

Drink it down
Drown yourselves in the Flame
And free the world from ourselves

***
Peace,

Feelgoode

All Quiet on the Afghan Front

2008-02-02T14:14:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Good morning. The days since my last entry have been decent, to an extent, although the promotion board has reared its hideous maw once again.

I have little more than a month to prepare, which means I have roughly 30 days to memorize countless pages of crap along with the beloved Creed of the Noncommissioned Officer.

Now, I'm sure that I stressed my feelings plenty on the subject last time, and I would like to stress the fact that those feelings have not changed. I just don't see the worth in a leader with no desire to lead.

My free time these days has seen very little in the way of video gaming and is more often spent watching anime, reading, or just listening to music.

I recently purchased Bruce Lee's Art of Expressing the Human Body, of which I've spent a couple of hours reading over, as I intend to make spiritual and physical improvement part of my life in the near future.

In fact, I've already started; I can feel the burn of yesterday's session as I type — or reach for the phone that just rang. My work hours have been filled with silly chores, including the logo that consisted of Scrat with a massive set of genitalia (those were eventually removed, poor guy).

Another odd job that has managed to manifest itself is the prospect of a giant poster in the gym that consists of numerous exercises, a few of which I've never heard of. This is a rather arduous task, considering the fact that I had to scan multiple pages from a massive weight training book, which I will later crop and beautify for presentation.

Wikipedia has also seen quite a bit of me as of late, as I've spent countless hours amassing a plethora of useless but interesting information — hurray for the Visions of Zosimos!

In other news, my artwork and poetry have seen much less productivity as of late. However, I've been looking to artist and rock instrumental composer Daisuke Ishiwatari for inspiration. The hamsters are hauling ass, as Metallica blares on but I just can't put it on paper.

Well, that's pretty much it for this entry.

On a completely unrelated note, I find it funny that my desk is sporting Ziggy Marley's Love is my Religion along with a pair of solid black John Lennon glasses.

Peace,

Feelgoode

This Just In From Afghanistan: Blocked Web Sites, Cutesy Photo Ops and a Cartoon Character With a 'Massive Scrotum'

2008-01-26T09:46:00.000-08:00

Yo,

It's been quite some time since my last entry. I've been unable to access my AKO and a number of Web pages have been blocked, yours included.

Last night was the first full night of sleep I had gotten in the past few days. Me being the acting NCOIC of the shop, and the only individual available, has seen me staying in the office for hours beyond close of business.

I woke up this morning, still feeling (and looking) exhausted. I'm unshaven, my eyes are bloodshot and framed in dark circles, and I haven't bathed in two days.

Motivation is much scarcer, with simple everyday tasks such as eating, bathing, and conducting physical training becoming mundane and troublesome. My appetite has become less voracious and is sated in smaller portions spread throughout the day in place of three to four large meals.

It's become excruciatingly cold, falling anywhere between 10 to 20 degrees, and with the frequent power surges we've experienced, our heat has been known to shut down for a few minutes to an hour at a time.

However, in spite of all this, I've picked up drawing as a pastime once again and my cross-training as a combat photographer is progressing nicely. This morning, merely thirty minutes after the Commander's Update Brief, I was tasked to accompany a small group of soldiers as they strolled out the back gate to speak with the locals and hand gifts to the children.

It was my role, of course, to document this event for a later press release — but first, I found it necessary to stop and play with a stray cat I found.

This turned out to be a rather amusing romp in the Afghan village as I watched the elders do their best to restrain the children from bum rushing us and the boxes of candy, toys, and clothing — which was somewhat successful, to my relief. I began snapping away with my camera, taking pictures as an attractive Filipina — by appearance, at least — major helped a child put on a pair of small gloves and handed out gifts.

The elders had the children line up a couple of meters away and sent them up four or five at a time to receive whatever gifts they were given. What amused me most was the manner in which the children acted: The boys were obnoxious and demanding, and were sent away quickly. The girls, on the other hand, quietly accepted whatever was given to them, and were given extra items and special treatment as their reward.

Quite the opposite of our social structure in a comical fashion.

I snapped a few more pictures then moved on to my next point of interest. I looked off to the side and found it funny to see a veritable termite hill of small Afghan kids riding along on a vehicle that was obstructed to my vision. This phenomenon turned out to be a pile of children receiving a brief ride on one of our ATVs. The highlight of the entire endeavor was at the end of the little mission, where toys and candy were simply thrown out to a mob of younglings like Mardi Gras, just less fun.

I took pictures as I watched these kids leap into the air, climb on each other, and throw each other aside to grab whatever they could as if they were starved ants. It wasn't long before they rushed our small group, grubby arms and hands flailing, to grab whatever they could.

I found myself at the front of this as I snapped away with my Nikon. Upon suppressing this riot of sorts, half of our group — myself included — left to head back to the camp while the others stayed behind to speak with the elders.

My mission was finished, but I decided to climb my way to the top of a guard tower to snap a wide overview of the village and snow-capped mountains at the lovely major's request. We finished half an hour before lunch, so I took advantage of this time to take a shower. I intend to do the same in the future, considering the showers are normally empty at this time and noon is the warmest time of the day.

I enjoyed a simple lunch and the company of my First Sergeant and Group Commander before heading back to work.

Within the time frame between now and my last correspondence, a number of things have come about. I was able to tag along on a couple of missions to Kabul, both of which were uneventful. The first time I was tasked to accompany a Brigadier General and his entourage to ISAF, while he spoke with other officers of importance.

Unfortunately, I was not given the chance to take any photos; however, there was a nice coffee bar where we had cappuccinos served to us by a beautiful young Indian barista, so it wasn't a complete loss. My mission was to cover an LCLA flight that was going down at Camp Moorehead — we stopped by ISAF and had cappuccinos again, of course.

Moorehead was a nice camp stationed along the base of a small mountain. The food in the chow hall was great and most of our time before and after the mission was spent watching movies in the television room. Unfortunately, the heater in my room didn't work. When it came time to perform what we had come to do, we hopped on a couple of ATVs and rode down to the drop zone to wait.

An LCLA is a Low Cost Low Altitude equipment drop where a supply bird flies by at roughly 200 feet and drops a couple of pallets of supplies, which are then recovered by a ground team. I snapped photos of the plane as it flew by and dropped supplies, then hopped on my ATV to intercept the ground team as they prepared to gather the supplies in two Humvees. Upon completion of the mission, with no time to rest, we loaded up our convoy to head back to Bagram.

I was scheduled for a few other missions but was denied by my Sergeant Major. Since then, I've been stuck in the office performing menial, mundane tasks. I was sent out to take pictures of some Officers and Command Sergeants Major touring a new compound currently under construction. I haven't had much in the way of illustration work, having only made a flyer for a spades tournament and a logo for the IMO section.

It was requested that this logo consist of Scrat — the saber-tooth squirrel from Ice Age — and whatever I could do to make him look gung-ho. I completed this task, giving him a tattoo of our group crest, the helmet from the cover art of Full Metal Jacket, and an M240. My work was praised, but that's when the specifics came in.

Most of these were simple adjustments, but one in particular caught me off guard. I was asked to give this children's cartoon character a massive scrotum which he was to drag behind him. I found this difficult, considering that I hadn't drawn anything of the sort since elementary school, and I believed that I was above such a thing. Needless to say, this is still a work in progress.

That's it for now, but I'm sure plenty of other things will make for good writing material soon enough.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Respect on Demand?

2007-12-24T20:13:00.000-08:00

Leon,

I awoke this morning to the sound of my NCO knocking on my door. I wasn't late for work, but I did manage to sleep through his morning racket, which usually consists of anything from blaring Prodigy to something out of the Godfather sound track. I answered the door, looking and feeling very hung over despite my two month sobriety — which I'm now convinced will be a regular occurrence for the rest of my rotation.

I threw on a uniform that I had tossed in my chair last night when I shed it just before crawling into my bag. I wandered to the showers, brushed my teeth, then headed to the chow hall for coffee and a muffin – not bothering to shave – and sauntered to the office.

Following the untimely crash of my graphic station, I've been forced to work from a laptop that happens to have my monitor attached to it. Both a blessing and a curse; I've had few requests for specialized graphics since then. This has left me with quite a bit of time on my hands, which for someone like me, who contemplates the very existence of the universe on any given day, tends to wear on my sanity.

I've been passing the time reading various Wikipedia articles and doing simple busy work, such as cleaning out the desks in our office or seeing what I can procure from the chow hall and supply. I also finished Scar Tissue, the autobiography of Anthony Keidis, which was an excellent read.

My seniors around me are beginning to stress the need for me to become an NCO, and I've been thrust into a leadership position on a few occasions, with another one on its way. However, I currently have no drive or desire to become a "leader" of any sort and have already declined attending the board once, for which I was given a counseling statement. Not necessarily a negative action, just an aid of sorts to help me reflect on my decision and the advancement of my "career."

The military, as it stands, will not be a career. The prospect of working as a writer or poet is too appealing to me.

Yesterday, I was given the opportunity to assess the military's beloved concept of respect. This is the belief that anyone of a higher rank than you deserves your utmost respect and obedience — most of which is purely by demand. Early in life, I adopted the "Respect those who deserve it" creed. And I'm a firm believer in the fact that respect should be inspired, not commanded.

The military fails miserably at understanding this concept. NCOs, especially those in the E-7 range, demand that they receive the highest respect and honestly believe they deserve it. These people follow the "I am Alpha and Omega" concept of leadership. This is something I despise, but given the military's policy on customs and courtesies, I have no choice but to concur. As it stands, I can no longer suffer my military service and anxiously await the day — four years from now — when my contract is over. Unless I can find a way to cut it short without causing damage to my civilian reputation.

And now:

The Dogs of War

Bark
Growl
And howl ye Dogs of War
Do as your master commands
And tear at our enemies' hands

You are merely beasts
Wild and feral
Suffering no will of your own

Peace,

Feelgoode

Whispering Morrison in the Sand

2007-12-21T15:10:00.000-08:00

Poetic musings from the Front.

******

The Wolf

A howl
Somber and cold
The Wolf cries out in loneliness
A low melancholy moan

For him alone
Cry not my brother

For we are kindred spirits
You and I
Though the pack has abandoned us
We will find our way
Lift your weary head
And howl in pride

For you
My friend
Are a testament to our
Freedom

******

Retreat

Run! Soldier! Run!
Or the Mad Men w/ beards
Will kill you!

******

Solitudarity (Or Observations: On Solitude)

Alone in my little box of wood
The carpet collects dust
My bed will break
And my weapons will soon rust
Outside
Airplane roar
Jet fighter scream
The Ghosts walk the white Earth
The Big Voice
Oh it's her again

Time out of Mind

2007-12-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

Leon,

I found myself awake at roughly 0200 this morning to the sound of my cell phone screaming its cheerful beat of Super Mario fame. Peeling myself out of my sleeping bag and reaching for my phone, I glanced at the caller display which read "Unknown."

No sooner had I read this, the music stopped abruptly, as if the phone had suddenly been placed on silent. Understandably disgruntled, mostly in part due to my rude awakening, I rolled off of my bed, unable to sleep due to an excruciating, hangover-grade headache and nausea that had manifested itself out of the abysmal confines of my weary mind.

Recent nights have been laden with unusual, almost delirious, dreams, often involving friends, new and old, family and an icon — Jim Morrison — on numerous occasions. Now, normally I would chalk these up to the mefloquine — a drug we're required to take once a week to fight malaria. But these are slightly more awkward than the standard mefloquine dream.

These dreams have led to a rereading of Morrison's published poetry and a reassessment of my existence as a whole. I've spent a number of hours since my arrival in this country looking back on the choices I've made in my life and the odd and unforeseen twists and turns I've taken to reach my now not known goal in life.

I don't see myself maintaining a military lifestyle. It goes against everything I am, or at least everything I believe I am. I consider myself a nonconformist, which, as you know, is a major staple of military service. You're expected — commanded — to think and act a certain way and anything otherwise calls for on-the-spot reprimand and "corrective" training — brainwashing, if you want a call to extremes.

I feel I've lost the very freedom I'm supposed to be fighting for. I've grown disgusted with my current lot in life. Simply put, I want to start over. I've grown tired and want so badly to sleep. I'll grow a beard, find a place to myself, and write a book under an alias of sorts. Or even travel the country and write of my misadventures and experiences when I'm finished and spend the rest of my life as an anonymous poet.

Perhaps I should take inspiration from Jack Kerouac and indulge in a little spontaneous prose — see what magic my tired thoughts may concoct. In fact, I may start on that today and e-mail a verdict.

"The 'stranger' was sensed as greatest menace in ancient communities" ~ Jim Morrison.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Observations: On Afghan Winter

2007-12-13T16:45:00.000-08:00

Awake
2 am
Eyes burning and mind reeling
The Ghosts are wandering the white Earth
Glowing in the darkness
Shallow broken hearts
Delerium
Ashes in the air
Burning garbage
The thick stench of shit

The Mad Men with gray beards are coming to kill us all
The snow is blood red
There's blood on my boots

The RG-31: No Ordinary SUV

2007-12-12T13:05:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Sorry about the extended moment of silence, but for the past week I've been pleasantly occupied and haven't had much to complain about. I've been spending my free time watching Japanese TV dramas and a hysterical BBC sitcom called "The IT Crowd."

Now, penny for my thoughts: I recently had the chance to play around with the RG-31, one of the Army's new toys. This piece of equipment is a large SUV-style vehicle that comes heavily armored with portholes in the thick windows that can be fired from.

It's been seen to survive IEDs and is predicted to drastically reduce the deaths of American soldiers like myself. However, the gravy on those potatoes is the fact that the vehicle is equipped with remote-controlled .50-cal or Mark 19 turrets that can be fired from the safety of the inside of the vehicle, via a joystick and computer screen.

Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Well, it is.

Despite these advantages, the vehicle has its defects. First of all, let me point out that I now know what a sardine actually feels like — minus being dead of course.

The vehicle can be configured to accommodate 10 personnel, but ours had room for the driver, the Truck Commander, the gunner and four passengers. Now, being the former three of that list isn't really a problem. It's the passengers that have it the worst.

There are two seats that line each side of the back of the vehicle, each one just barely large enough to conform to my ass — and I am by no means a large person. Add the fact that there's roughly an inch of space between each side-by-side seat and about one-and-a-half feet between the opposing seats. This fact left me shoulder-to-shoulder with the guy next to me and sharing the experience of having someone's knee, and my weapon, in my crotch with the guy across from me.

The top hatches on this vehicle can be pushed open, allowing soldiers to stand up to provide fire from outside the vehicle, with the armored hatch providing cover. Of course, as is the case with the seating, there's barely enough room for two. When the time finally came to exit the vehicle through the new-fangled hydraulic back door, it felt great to work some feeling back into my left leg and ass cheek.

This brings me to actually exiting the vehicle, which is a timely and cramped task, making the procedure sorely inefficient, should it be required in a firefight.

Now, you may be thinking, "What about the turret?" Yes, the turrets provide excellent coverage and suppressive fire, but this brings me to the next issue: reloading said turret.

Having had first-hand experience with this weapon allows me to say that its accuracy is something to be envied, and applying the three-round burst to any target with the .50-caliber munitions is more than enough to neutralize the opposition before having to reload. However, in the case that you do have to reload, you're looking at a genuine Matrix: Revolutions situation.

Any available soldier will have to climb on top of the vehicle, break open an ammo box, and reload the ammunition cache and weapon before it can open fire again. If the weapon malfunctions, it's usually an easy fix.

I do have to give credit where it's due, though. Provided there's a convoy of these vehicles — maybe four or so, like I had — the problems I've listed above most likely won't be much of an issue. But let's hope this new piece of equipment does what it's designed to do. Namely, protect us and neutralize the opposition.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Travails of a Poster Boy

2007-12-02T11:53:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Good evening, my friend. I've just finished dinner and have found time to dwell on recent tasks which serve as this entry's muse. It would seem that word of my occupational specialty has made its way across the camp, as numerous fellow soldiers have come to me with various requests. Most of these requests revolve around the same thing; that is, they want a special logo just for them.

Naturally, these kinds of tasks fall to the bottom of the barrel as I have a multitude of other tasks that take priority. One such task is the creation of a propaganda poster for the Afghan National Army (ANA). My problem is that we already have one.

The issue is that the top brass, for some reason or another, doesn't like the one we already have, after I took the trouble to frame it and hang it in the conference room. You see, our current poster was put together by the PSYOP command, but what these guys want is their own claim to fame.

So, they task me, one of two illustrators — the other never really does his job, so all tasks get pushed to me — to create a brand new one from scratch. But wait! There's more! They want this bitch to read in Dari. So, on top of creating a brand new poster, I have to somehow pull an English-to-Dari translation from the deepest recesses of my colon — a very difficult process, mind you.

Of course, a task coming from the highest ranks in the unit precedes everything, but there's a problem with this. I've been working toward some designs for some T-shirts and sweatshirts for the re-enlistment NCO. I've been working on this project for roughly two weeks now, with other tasks interrupting the process at every turn. This is wearing on my client's patience, which in turn is wearing on his clients' patience. This all comes down on me in the end, which wears on my overall sanity — and I'm disgruntled enough as it is, I assure you.

There is a light at the end of this long tunnel. I put in many an extra hour in the office last night working on said poster, which is currently near completion. I'm just waiting on the Dari. With this extra time, I was able to work on another design for the shirts, which I will turn in to my client as soon as possible.

Oh yes, four more years.

Peace,

Feelgoode

A Breakfast With Champions

2007-11-25T13:51:00.000-08:00

So I found myself barely awake at 0530 this morning, my small room lit only by the light that poured over the wall from the room next to mine. It was my cell phone that woke me on this particular morning, having set my alarm before going to sleep the previous night.

I rolled out of my bed, slowly and deliberately as my bed wobbled about on its two-by-four legs, and my phone screams out the theme from Super Mario Brothers. It would be this morning that I would enjoy a breakfast with the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as my friend in the room next to mine took our pictures.

I was looking forward to an awkward and unenjoyable romp through the world of military celebrity. Fortunately, I was pleasantly mistaken. We entered the chow hall, grabbed our breakfasts, and asked to be directed to the appropriate room. Upon our entrance, we noticed a handful of familiar faces and decided to join the small group, making a total of five misfits.

We finished our breakfasts and began discussing our situation, when in walks a Maxim model by the name of Mayra Veronica—a Latino woman who was well endowed on both ends. Followed by her were two men: Wilmer Valderrama and Russell Peters, Fez of That 70s Show and an Indian-Canadian comedian, respectively. Now I had seen these three the previous night, having attended the USO show and been treated to a humorous stand-up act by Mister Peters.

(I would later get an autographed photo and have my picture taken with each of these individuals, but that has nothing to do with today's anecdote.)

My comrade who had accompanied me took this as a cue to start doing his job, and promptly stood up, snapping away with his "weapon of choice." The Vice Chairman—a four-star general—made his way into the room without anyone noticing, which at this moment is beyond my comprehension.

As the event went on, our four celebrities took their seats among the 30 or so soldiers in the room and struck up conversation. Mister Peters decided to grace our table with his presence, but having seen and enjoyed his show the previous night didn't stop me from informing him that he was in my friend's seat and asking if he could relocate. He obliged, and my friend returned shortly after, finding great amusement in the story that he would be told of the event that had just unfolded in his absence.

After the event was over, each soldier was allowed a photo of him/herself with three of our four "stars," and a number of soldiers broke off to have their picture taken with the Vice Chairman. It was about this time that our motley crew decided to do a group photo with the Vice Chairman—so we did.

For the record, this was far from a serious photo. Having accomplished this task, we each shook the Marine General's hand and continued on to our next objective: a group photo with the other three VIPs. I took up a spot, sandwiching myself between Fez and Miss Maxim as the rest of our group filled in around and behind me. Having taken the picture, we shook their hands and proceeded to move out, our morning mission being complete.

Upon return to our camp, I swung into our chow hall and grabbed a cup of coffee before heading back to the office to embrace whatever other tasks may or may not rear their ugly heads—albeit with a smile.

Peace,

Feelgoode

Morale, Welfare and Recreation (Or the Lack of It)

2007-11-21T11:36:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Good morning. I sit here, at 0810, writing to you and enjoying my cup of warm coffee with a hint of vanilla. I'd say I'm in a relatively decent mood, having gotten a good night's sleep and waking up early to shave, brush my teeth and indulge in a modest breakfast. In fact, I don't think much could go wrong today. At least, that's what I thought as I watched the stream of scalding hot brew pouring into my Styrofoam cup at 0700.

Having woken up earlier than usual, I decided to spend some time at the MWR — a small building dedicated to upholding the rare commodity that we soldiers call "motivation." However, it would seem that very little effort is put into this subject. The two pool tables we have are warped, torn, and generally non-serviceable. Fortunately, playing pool was not this morning's objective. No, what I had in mind was spending roughly 30 minutes on one of the four computers, chatting with old friends on MSN Messenger before they tucked themselves in for the night.

It started off well enough, getting in some conversation with my mother, an old flame, and a couple of other friends. This, however, didn't last long. Somewhere in the vicinity of five minutes I got this little message at the top of my window that read "You cannot send messages because you are not logged on." My eye twitched. I attempted to log back on, only to receive a message relaying the fact that the Messenger service could not be reached at this time.

Now by this time I'm frustrated, borderline irate. Not because that happened this particular morning, but because this has been happening for two-and-a-half weeks now. Just, this particular morning saw it fit to connect me for the first time in over a week, only to shut me down as I was finally able to get in touch with someone. I'm beginning to think this is the punch line of some long-running joke that I've missed.

Here we have a facility dedicated to providing entertainment and morale for the soldiers, which fails miserably at its task. Not only that but it gets worse. Last rotation we had six computers and a number of phones that worked well enough so as not to incite complaint. Near the end of said rotation, we had dropped to four computers and fewer phones, but they still maintained a satisfactory working order.

This rotation is a different story. Our four computers work, however, I'll be damned if your 30 minutes is up by the time you get one page to load! Every day I see fellow soldiers and civilians storm out of the MWR in utter disgust and dissatisfaction at the poor service that we're expected to put up with. As it would turn out, the phones seldom work as desired and given the 15-minute time limit, contacting friends and family has become a frustrating and difficult endeavor which leaves most tapped out and demoralized.

Yes, we do have the Net in the offices. Unfortunately, these connections either don't work at all, or block you from visiting an excessive number of Web pages. So as it stands, I'll be reading random tidbits on Wikipedia until this issue gets fixed. Did you know that the creation of pizza is often credited to the peasants in Naples, who would deck their bread with the tomatoes that the upper-class thought were poisonous?

Peace,

Feelgoode

Greetings From Afghanistan

2007-11-17T06:29:00.000-08:00

Leon,

Long time no see, bro. How are things? The situation here is simple enough, although I'm working both as an illustrator and a combat camera. No local watch for me this rotation—it would seem they've earned the right to meander about on their own. I've taken up pipe smoking as a relaxing past time, though it's been a while since my last smoking. I also enjoy the occasional cigar.

I'd be lying if I said my time here was well spent. The vast majority of my time is spent providing graphics for any videos we happen to be putting together...oh, and watching movies, I do a lot of movie watching. You should watch Transformers, if you haven't already.

I may get sent to the more southern portion of this forsaken country where things are a little less uneventful, but until then, I'm here. If I could afford a computer, I could make better use of my time doing what I joined the Army to do—taking college courses.

I'm sure there will be more to come as my deployment unfolds. Until then, I'm off to create a flyer for the local soccer tournament.

Peace.

*****
Meanwhile in Washington this week, Defense Secretary Robert Gates warned Congress that without an urgent infusion of another $196 billion, U.S. military bases in Iraq and Afghanistan could face partial closures and civilian job losses.