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
Friday, March 6, 2009
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Last Words
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Madness and Sleep (or Lack Thereof)
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.
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.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Easter in Afghanistan: Kinder Eggs and Friendly Fire
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
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
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Observations on Freedom and Other Prose
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
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
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Public Affairs is a Pain in the Ass!
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
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
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Movies and Man-Jams...What Else is New?
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
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
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