Vultures
Friday, August 18, 2006
Vultures
Some of us,
We're hardly ever here
The rest of us,
We're born to disappear
How do I stop myself from
Being just a number
How will I hold my head
To keep from going under
I think the worst kind of job your father can have is to be a signed-on military man.That is to say,his job is with the country,his time is in camps,and if you do not wake up at the given timings you might just end up sprawled on the floor,legs wide apart and counting all the way from one to a certain number between twenty to infinity,depending on your father's wishes.
Okay,perhaps it is not too bad.I know a couple of people whose fathers are military people.But i guess the worst thing for you,especially if you are a guy,is that when you are in the service yourself,and one night your dad decides to bring you to a gathering with his friends,or rather coleagues,you know that you are probably going to meet a bunch of other suicidal signed-on nutcases,who chose to live a life in the military and not anything else in the brave new world.Whatever were they thinking,you might ask yourself,as you quietly sip your orange juice in the dark shadows of the restaurant,with other men sitting around you talking about the latest full troop exercise that happened in their camps and stuff like that.Colonels,Lieutenant Colonels,or even some Generals here and there.Crabs and stars,you name it.All sitting around you and you have your fingers crossed,praying hard that your father wont mention the fact that you were just enlisted,making you the smallest fry at the table and possibly the plankton in the restaurant.Because,let's face it,when you are a recruit or a private,you are the smallest organism in the society.The biggest shot,is not the biggest general with the most stars.But,take this: Civilian.
Anyway,so there you are sitting at your table,and suddenly out of nowhere your lunatic military father puts a hand on your shoulders,icy cold and unfriendly,you know you are IN for it.He introduces you to the other fellow lunatics,and you wonder if you were committed to a lunatic asylum without your knowledge one peaceful night.The rest of the suicidal maniacs stare at you,like vultures waiting for a dead carcass to be stripped,then enjoy the leftovers later on.
Let's say,that all of the above is happening right now.And your father introduces you to one of the lunatics,and he so happens to be MY current CO,Mr. DHC.Of course,i dont think i should reveal his real name here,but "DHC" really stands for "Duty","Honor" and "Country",a motto i learned from the ridiculous Ninja Company.
How did they find me here
What do they want from me
All of these vultures hiding
Right outside my door
I hear them whisperin
They're tryin to ride it out
Cause they've never gone this long
Without a kill before
If you are meeting my CO,or rather Mr. DHC for the first time,you are going to see those three words right across his forehead.It is not difficult to guess that this man lives and breathes these three words in his life.He probably chants those words in his puny mind while he eats,sleeps,baths and masturbates.He is the typical sort of military man,with little more than guns and ammos,and duty and responsibility,and country and nation in his head.His favourite colour is red and white,and his favourite thing in the sky are the moon and the stars.Five stars,to be exact,and a crescent moon to go with that.
To further prove that he is the sort of man,who is probably the actualization of those three words,we can take a look into the car he drives to camp.I dont think that car belongs to him,but inside that car,if you are going to rate this person by the number of accessories he have,is going to be a pathetic car.He has a sunglasses on top of the panels,and then a handphone earpiece hanging from the rearview mirror.And that's it,nothing more than those.Just two things,and you can tell that this man is as simple as the brains of all military signed-on personnels: Simple.
Now,why am i giving a summary of this man,Mr. DHC for?Well,let's just say i just returned from one of the worst outfields,ever.I am not just saying this because it is human nature to complain that the latest is always the worst,trying to brag about how bad your week was,or how tough you are just because you survived those military bullshit they threw on your by the buckets.No,i am not that kind of person.This outfield lasted for merely one night,less than a day,and i went through pure HELL with that outfield alone,and hell is not filled with raging fire and little demons with pointy horns and pitchforks,poking at your rear and screaming with devilish laughter.Hell,in fact,is quite dark.Very,dark.
It started at 7pm,the moment we leaped off that tonner.Two guys from our section made themselves absent from the outfield,and thus the rest of us had to carry their load.QinYou ended up carrying the manpack set(Something like a giant telephone),and i had to carry five hundred MG rounds for Henry-fucking-pointy-tits-Hoe.The usual load,by the way,is a little more than 250 rounds,by the way.Not to mention the bloody rations i stuffed inside and the MG barrel,which is about the weight of a M16,perhaps lighter by a tad bit.
It was dreadfully heavy,and i was swearing to Nicholas that by the end of this outfield i am bound to be 5cm shorter.And of course,besides swearing to my mother about that,i plainly swore.You know,vulgarities.I couldnt help it,as the sky grew darker and the number of people in the platoon growing smaller.Weaklings,you might call them.But the way Mr. KTM decided to fall out ten fucking minutes into the outfield was just plain ridiculous.Have some balls,your moon-surFACED man.You are 23 years old,and you cannot even spell words like "Expensive".Get a grip on yourself,and if you can with your free hand,grab on to your balls.Because i am about to rip those eyeballs out and stuff them down your pants,so you can see me pluck your balls out and bury them ten feet under and feed the hole with cement.Yeah,steal my iPod and handphone to get some quick cash mofo?Witless worm.
QinYou fell out,leaving Shi Wei to handle his manpack set.Then See Hwee fell out,followed by Ah Chang,complaining about sharp pain and the likes.And those,not even halfway through the nine hour dismounted mission into the deep of the night.
By midnight,i was still carrying MY load and by myself.Terence helped along the way,but that lasted for about twenty minutes and i was given back the bloody load.At least i carried everything by myself all the way till the end,and thanks to Jonathan at least HE bothered to help me out with the clearing of the rounds by spraying the enemy with those blanks like they were flies or roaches.
In the dark,everything merges somehow.I think i have a new phobia: Darkness.I think people are afraid of the dark because of what they think might lurk inside them.But not for me.That night,while i was out in the dark,amongst trees that joined at the top to form some kind of natural ceiling,even the moonlight was blocked out.It got darker and darker,and the shadows before my eyes swirled into a dance of death.I was hallucinating,literally as i looked into the dark,imagining invisible branches and leaves,or sometimes soldiers squatting on the floor just waiting for things to happen.I admit,i was groaning with both pain and fear then,not because of the possibility of spirits and ghosts,but rather the feeling of being out of control.I hated that feeling,how i couldnt find the proper footing,and getting my way through those God damned roots.I collapsed at the end,with the skin on my left shoulder torn off by the strap of the bag,and bruises on my thighs i found out about soon after.
Wheels up
I got to leave this evening
Can't seem to shake these vultures
Off of my trail
Power is made, by power being taken
So I keep on running
To protect my situation
It was a terrifying experience for me,in the dark and out of control.The exhaustion that found its way up my spine was unbearable.The mission ended at 3am,and we didnt catch any sleep all the way till 7am.Sure,no swamp or snakes were involved this time,but i think if i was given a vote on things to go through,swamps or hell in the dark,i wouldve voted for swamps.Period.
So,the relation to Mr. DHC is this.I felt that he was playing us like chess pieces.We just had our ATEC Stage 1,and we obtained a REDCON 1 for that motherfucker,and the best Armour Unit EVER,the highest scoring one that is.For the ill-informed,ATEC is like the A levels for the Armour Regiments.And Redcon 1 really is the best result you can get.We got that result for him,and all we got was a pathetic half day off.To top that off,we went through hell on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning,out in the field and in the dark cursing our heads off with the most brilliant display of vulgarities i have ever heard."This is too much..." people mumbled.Too much,indeed.
But i am not going to be disheartened by the existence of that asshole.Not just because i will be out of that accused camp in a little more than a hundred days,but because of the plain fact that i am not going to lower my head to this bloody psycho,this chess player,this vulture,who probably sat in the comfort of a tentage,watching the monitor as little white dots moved through our training area.I hope you enjoyed that experience,you dirty twat.And at the end of this i am going to be the one with the sniper rifle,sniping you off the skies and making sure that i will be the one feasting upon your flesh.
Down to the wire
I wanted water but
I'll walk through the fire
If this is what it takes
To take me even higher
Then I'll come through
Like I do
When the world keeps
Testing me, testing me
Because i am in so many ways,better than you.So what are you going to do about that,dear CO?What you going to do?I am the man,and you are vulture.And at the end of the day men prevails,and you are no more than a feather duster.I know it sucks to be you but,C'est La Vie.Boo-Fucking-Hoo.
Some of us,
We're hardly ever here
The rest of us,
We're born to disappear
How do I stop myself from
Being just a number
How will I hold my head
To keep from going under
I think the worst kind of job your father can have is to be a signed-on military man.That is to say,his job is with the country,his time is in camps,and if you do not wake up at the given timings you might just end up sprawled on the floor,legs wide apart and counting all the way from one to a certain number between twenty to infinity,depending on your father's wishes.
Okay,perhaps it is not too bad.I know a couple of people whose fathers are military people.But i guess the worst thing for you,especially if you are a guy,is that when you are in the service yourself,and one night your dad decides to bring you to a gathering with his friends,or rather coleagues,you know that you are probably going to meet a bunch of other suicidal signed-on nutcases,who chose to live a life in the military and not anything else in the brave new world.Whatever were they thinking,you might ask yourself,as you quietly sip your orange juice in the dark shadows of the restaurant,with other men sitting around you talking about the latest full troop exercise that happened in their camps and stuff like that.Colonels,Lieutenant Colonels,or even some Generals here and there.Crabs and stars,you name it.All sitting around you and you have your fingers crossed,praying hard that your father wont mention the fact that you were just enlisted,making you the smallest fry at the table and possibly the plankton in the restaurant.Because,let's face it,when you are a recruit or a private,you are the smallest organism in the society.The biggest shot,is not the biggest general with the most stars.But,take this: Civilian.
Anyway,so there you are sitting at your table,and suddenly out of nowhere your lunatic military father puts a hand on your shoulders,icy cold and unfriendly,you know you are IN for it.He introduces you to the other fellow lunatics,and you wonder if you were committed to a lunatic asylum without your knowledge one peaceful night.The rest of the suicidal maniacs stare at you,like vultures waiting for a dead carcass to be stripped,then enjoy the leftovers later on.
Let's say,that all of the above is happening right now.And your father introduces you to one of the lunatics,and he so happens to be MY current CO,Mr. DHC.Of course,i dont think i should reveal his real name here,but "DHC" really stands for "Duty","Honor" and "Country",a motto i learned from the ridiculous Ninja Company.
How did they find me here
What do they want from me
All of these vultures hiding
Right outside my door
I hear them whisperin
They're tryin to ride it out
Cause they've never gone this long
Without a kill before
If you are meeting my CO,or rather Mr. DHC for the first time,you are going to see those three words right across his forehead.It is not difficult to guess that this man lives and breathes these three words in his life.He probably chants those words in his puny mind while he eats,sleeps,baths and masturbates.He is the typical sort of military man,with little more than guns and ammos,and duty and responsibility,and country and nation in his head.His favourite colour is red and white,and his favourite thing in the sky are the moon and the stars.Five stars,to be exact,and a crescent moon to go with that.
To further prove that he is the sort of man,who is probably the actualization of those three words,we can take a look into the car he drives to camp.I dont think that car belongs to him,but inside that car,if you are going to rate this person by the number of accessories he have,is going to be a pathetic car.He has a sunglasses on top of the panels,and then a handphone earpiece hanging from the rearview mirror.And that's it,nothing more than those.Just two things,and you can tell that this man is as simple as the brains of all military signed-on personnels: Simple.
Now,why am i giving a summary of this man,Mr. DHC for?Well,let's just say i just returned from one of the worst outfields,ever.I am not just saying this because it is human nature to complain that the latest is always the worst,trying to brag about how bad your week was,or how tough you are just because you survived those military bullshit they threw on your by the buckets.No,i am not that kind of person.This outfield lasted for merely one night,less than a day,and i went through pure HELL with that outfield alone,and hell is not filled with raging fire and little demons with pointy horns and pitchforks,poking at your rear and screaming with devilish laughter.Hell,in fact,is quite dark.Very,dark.
It started at 7pm,the moment we leaped off that tonner.Two guys from our section made themselves absent from the outfield,and thus the rest of us had to carry their load.QinYou ended up carrying the manpack set(Something like a giant telephone),and i had to carry five hundred MG rounds for Henry-fucking-pointy-tits-Hoe.The usual load,by the way,is a little more than 250 rounds,by the way.Not to mention the bloody rations i stuffed inside and the MG barrel,which is about the weight of a M16,perhaps lighter by a tad bit.
It was dreadfully heavy,and i was swearing to Nicholas that by the end of this outfield i am bound to be 5cm shorter.And of course,besides swearing to my mother about that,i plainly swore.You know,vulgarities.I couldnt help it,as the sky grew darker and the number of people in the platoon growing smaller.Weaklings,you might call them.But the way Mr. KTM decided to fall out ten fucking minutes into the outfield was just plain ridiculous.Have some balls,your moon-surFACED man.You are 23 years old,and you cannot even spell words like "Expensive".Get a grip on yourself,and if you can with your free hand,grab on to your balls.Because i am about to rip those eyeballs out and stuff them down your pants,so you can see me pluck your balls out and bury them ten feet under and feed the hole with cement.Yeah,steal my iPod and handphone to get some quick cash mofo?Witless worm.
QinYou fell out,leaving Shi Wei to handle his manpack set.Then See Hwee fell out,followed by Ah Chang,complaining about sharp pain and the likes.And those,not even halfway through the nine hour dismounted mission into the deep of the night.
By midnight,i was still carrying MY load and by myself.Terence helped along the way,but that lasted for about twenty minutes and i was given back the bloody load.At least i carried everything by myself all the way till the end,and thanks to Jonathan at least HE bothered to help me out with the clearing of the rounds by spraying the enemy with those blanks like they were flies or roaches.
In the dark,everything merges somehow.I think i have a new phobia: Darkness.I think people are afraid of the dark because of what they think might lurk inside them.But not for me.That night,while i was out in the dark,amongst trees that joined at the top to form some kind of natural ceiling,even the moonlight was blocked out.It got darker and darker,and the shadows before my eyes swirled into a dance of death.I was hallucinating,literally as i looked into the dark,imagining invisible branches and leaves,or sometimes soldiers squatting on the floor just waiting for things to happen.I admit,i was groaning with both pain and fear then,not because of the possibility of spirits and ghosts,but rather the feeling of being out of control.I hated that feeling,how i couldnt find the proper footing,and getting my way through those God damned roots.I collapsed at the end,with the skin on my left shoulder torn off by the strap of the bag,and bruises on my thighs i found out about soon after.
Wheels up
I got to leave this evening
Can't seem to shake these vultures
Off of my trail
Power is made, by power being taken
So I keep on running
To protect my situation
It was a terrifying experience for me,in the dark and out of control.The exhaustion that found its way up my spine was unbearable.The mission ended at 3am,and we didnt catch any sleep all the way till 7am.Sure,no swamp or snakes were involved this time,but i think if i was given a vote on things to go through,swamps or hell in the dark,i wouldve voted for swamps.Period.
So,the relation to Mr. DHC is this.I felt that he was playing us like chess pieces.We just had our ATEC Stage 1,and we obtained a REDCON 1 for that motherfucker,and the best Armour Unit EVER,the highest scoring one that is.For the ill-informed,ATEC is like the A levels for the Armour Regiments.And Redcon 1 really is the best result you can get.We got that result for him,and all we got was a pathetic half day off.To top that off,we went through hell on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning,out in the field and in the dark cursing our heads off with the most brilliant display of vulgarities i have ever heard."This is too much..." people mumbled.Too much,indeed.
But i am not going to be disheartened by the existence of that asshole.Not just because i will be out of that accused camp in a little more than a hundred days,but because of the plain fact that i am not going to lower my head to this bloody psycho,this chess player,this vulture,who probably sat in the comfort of a tentage,watching the monitor as little white dots moved through our training area.I hope you enjoyed that experience,you dirty twat.And at the end of this i am going to be the one with the sniper rifle,sniping you off the skies and making sure that i will be the one feasting upon your flesh.
Down to the wire
I wanted water but
I'll walk through the fire
If this is what it takes
To take me even higher
Then I'll come through
Like I do
When the world keeps
Testing me, testing me
Because i am in so many ways,better than you.So what are you going to do about that,dear CO?What you going to do?I am the man,and you are vulture.And at the end of the day men prevails,and you are no more than a feather duster.I know it sucks to be you but,C'est La Vie.Boo-Fucking-Hoo.
This entry was posted
on Friday, August 18, 2006 at 9:46 PM.
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