LRP
LRP
A lot of burning. A lot. More than you expect, and more things burn than you thought could. Things burn differently; you learn to recognize what they once were. Then the trouble can go the other way. They start to look strange when they haven’t burned. Not to be completely believed, a trick of the mind. Some things look like they were caught in a weird winter storm, changed the way freezing or snow drifts changes things. Metals twist and become goblin shapes, or any tortured form you want to put on them. They look more alive than they did before; they look honestly dead as if they had once been alive. They were good soldiers and they suffered a lot when they lost and broke ranks. Fuck you, heroes. People burn into gingerbread men or pygmies. You lose, buckaroos, everything. Some called them crispy critters, whatever you called them it wasn’t family. They lost that. Sometimes the eyes have the pearly look of baked fish eyes, or they bubbled out, and the skin melted back around the black skull, like film caught in the projector. Then the eye sockets stare out, and if you want to-sometimes when you’re so tired you’re asleep on your feet-you could think, hope the poor bastard died before his eyelids burnt off and he had to see this. But, the sockets tell a different story, true whether or not: Death was no escape. They opened wide here, into the new world. He’s been nationalized. Ashes and soot, it’s another kingdom, and so what am I doing here, in the natural order of things on this side? If they can’t see us, maybe we’re ghosts.
We’ve got one hell of an air force. The Second Coming, no less. By the time we get here we’re just tourists in the Promised Land. They don’t always burn them. Sometimes the bodies bloat. They’ll look like a teddy bear. Or a creature made from twisted together balloons, or those air rafts for swimming polls, or a porno doll. You pays your money, and you makes your choice. We’re what?, quality inspectors for the same machine making the same old junk it made in the good ol’ USA. We inspect landfill.
I’m a sergeant, been humping for years. I figure I work for Vulcan. Making sure the nursery is set up for his children. The living are the fallen here.
Sarge, I ain’t had a shit in days, these things stuff me up—Just eat the fruit—I tossed everything. They stuff me up—How do you expect to dump if you don’t eat—Just drink the water—Jesus, I wish that was my problem. My ass is burning. Sarge, I got this powder, could you put it on my asshole. It’ll kill them when they wiggle out—You can’t find your own ass?—Powder’s got to stay there—Just kill him, just fucking kill him—Put it on some ass wipe and hold your hand there. You don’t need me to wipe your ass, too, right—Let Ritnick do it—I don’t want no misunderstandings—About what—About my ass—I’m a medic, not a fag, why don’t you just swallow the powder and die—Ritnick, I’m saying you are among us but not with us—That’s deep—You are a holy figure among us—That’s true, you are Ritnick, the best we got. I don’t want you looking up my asshole either—I’m lonely, sarge, I want somebody else to share my concern for my butt—I mean it, Ritnick is on a whole different plane—Holy shit, he’s crying—I’ll put the god damn powder up your ass—I just don’t know what they’re doing in there. I thought I’d starve them out, but maybe that’s a dead man talking—Ok, squad, dismount. I’m doing this right now. Let’s have the powder—You’re embarrassing me, sarge—No I’m changing the conversation—You’re good to us.
Sometimes there’s mail waiting at base. Mail is tough. Guys look forward to it, but it’s either confusing or bad. They want to believe it’s possible to survive and prosper, to be happy when happy means being dull, but it’s kiddie land back home and there’s nothing true anyone can say. Guys who had girls, get dumped. Guys tell them they’re their whole world, the sun and the moon, and they mean it, but it’s kiddie land back there, sweets and tickling, and death is leaking through their love letters. No way to connect these two worlds, the one where you showed each other your privates and used them and told each other you were better than ice cream, and this one, where it’s all or nothing, and that’s all you know, but not which.
They’re dead. Everyone’s dead—Look how pretty she writes, god damn it, how’d she write this with her pretty little hands. She has hands like a doll—Had. Had—That would be so nice, can you even imagine it—Let it alone--A place where them little hands fit and everything fit them, like a socket wrench for a watch. And then she writes this, and what the fuck is she talking about? There’s no Jamey I ever knew, what’s she talking about? There’s no Jamey. There’s no goddamn Jamey, there was never any Jamey. I know that place, where the hell is she? Who wrote this fucking thing and how’d it get sent to me? This is for somebody else. Fuck the army, they pull this shit on me. Who’s dog tags are these. Somebody come here and tell me the name on these things. Let me up, sarge. Goddamn it. You part of the fucking army, too, you all part of the fucking army. All of you mother fuckers, you all part of the army—Why’d you keep this? I told you to throw this shit away. Why did you keep this? You got to listen to me, you want to be part of this squad, you got to listen to me or you’re alone. I’m going to let you up, and you throw this shit away. You burn it, you do what you got to do to know it’s gone—Hey, this with it-What’s that—Key to my place in the world—This too. My lucky button—Lucky button—Yeah, I was holding out on you—Library card—Sales slip for some flowers—Who for—Can’t remember
Holy shit, what are these flies smoking? I can grab them in the air—Carrion flies. They’re not used to nothing moving—Hot damn, fat city—You’re a frog now, planning to eat them-No, just look at all the fatties—I’m gonna puke. Sorry you fat fuckers—Aerial ignition. They suffocated—I don’t see a bomb—Some where off there. They must of wanted to get rid of it before heading back—Well, god bless them, they made my day. I want to get some pictures of this shit—This little piggy went to market, and this little piggy stayed home, and this fat shit went wee, wee, wee, all the way home—I don’t think so. Maybe she was on the way to get water, and he was smoking that pipe—Very erudite-Like Atlantis or Pompeii-You is one educated dumb grunt—Only this is a village of injuns-Sarge, I want to set these guys up, like a diorama. Real authentic. Put that pipe back in his mouth, prop him against something. Set them all up. A snap shot in the life of injuns, a real happy scene. We got time for that, we’re on carrion fly time—Who wants to see your snapshot—Why just us injuns in paradise.
What you doing with your mouth?—Watch your own mouth—No, I see you doing something with your mouth every time you click off some rounds—I don’t do a damn thing—You do. You go like this—I’m not paying attention. Maybe I’m concentrating—Just tell me what the fuck you’re doing—You promise not to tell?—Cross my heart, you crazy fucker—Go ahead, let’s see you do it. Cross it—Fuck you—Fuck you, you want to know, cross your heart—Ok, now tell me—You crossed your heart—You saw me—Now, you going to look awful strange you spread this shit around—Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna kill you?—I’m going to tell you. I’m going to tell you one way or the other, but you got any heart left to cross?—I crossed as close to where it ever was as I could. You got any fucking brains left, don’t you set me up- I didn’t, I just saved your life—Now, I’m really going to waste you—When was the very lastest time you crossed your heart?—Just answer the question. You’re boring me—Just the same, you ain’t touched your poor old heart for years until now. What I do, I make shooting noises like I used to. Always wanted to be in a war, and my prayers were answered and it’s what I wanted, but only so long as I make this sound, hear that, and here’s the bullets whizzing by. Pretty good, right? So what I do, every fucking time I get the chance, I pop off a round into one of these sarcastic, teasing sons-of bitches, too fucking gown up to play with me, and I bring them back to life, just so long as I make this little sound. Soon as we walk off, they play along with me. You want to play with me now you found your heart?
Sarge, I can’t walk no more. It hurts too much. Just leave me here with a full clip, and I’ll kill myself when the injuns come—No Indians, no way, talk to Ritkin—Sarge, it’s nothing to tell Ritkin. I can’t get this mother fucker to stand down. It’s been three days—Beat it off—I tried that, but it just rears up again—Think about your mother-My mother—Think about your mother or your sister or your grandma—Sarge—I’m not leaving you behind because you got a hard-on. What kind of report I’m gonna make? MIA by his own little dick—I don’t mean that. You know when I got this thing?—You’re kidding. You think I want to know?—There’s no private place to shit, you ever notice that? And I don’t mind. Was a time I’d go off some place, now it’s all for one and one for all, and I don’t mind. I’m peeing straight up now, I don’t mind who knows, you’ve seen my ass, you all might just see me dead or with my one arm looking for the other, so I don’t give squat I got this thing. But, when this fucker goes, I’m going to die from crying, I know what I’m talking about. The worm turned, my insides is set up different. I’m trying to count back to when. That school, sarge, that was all kinds of time ago. Three days back wasn’t squat, fact is when this thing came up I counted myself lucky, thought I’d have a daydream of my own. It was just there. A mud hole, I can’t think of anything different I’d seen. A mud hole. So, I figure to climb on board, maybe get off, little R and R on army time, but the daydreams don’t come the right way. Just all the dead things. It’s like my eyes are skinned but for real deep, and I can see every god blessed thing just as clear as I used to see my girlfriend’s eyes when I was inside her. My dick’s been hijacked by these dead fuckers; it lifts them up from where I thought I’d forgot them. I can see right through days, back to every one of them. I’m going to go blind, I swear it, I’m going to come tears and go blind.
Sarge, I’m gonna keep him. He’s our mascot-That little puppy’s too young to keep. He’s not rightly weaned yet—You’re a blood so you know about animals, you ghetto rat—I like the way he says “puppy”, I figure he knows more than you—Well, he doesn’t know a goddamn thing about this puppy because this one is our own particular mascot—What are you going to call him—His names “Mascot”—That’s not a name—Call him puppy—He lives, he’s a dog—Then “Dog”—No, you give him a name or you kill him right now—Let’s see first if he lasts, sarge—He’s our mascot, he better last. Give him a name and feed him. You picked him up, now you’re stuck—“Candide”, sarge, because he doesn’t know any other but this best of all possible worlds—OK, Ritkin, “Candide”. Now, feed him—What you do, you take some of your ration and you chew it up until just before you’d swallow and you spit it into your hand, and if he can’t lick that up, then Ritkin will empty a hypo and we’ll shoot that goop down his throat.
Hey, you’re going to overfeed him—Pleasure having little old Candide around, he’s the only one likes this shit. Give him over to me. Look at that tight little belly. Jesus your teeth is sharp. Good thing we’re all daddies here, mamma would of kicked you off the tit for this.
She’s not a mascot. She’s kind of a pet, but a little different because it cuts both ways. She found me—How’s she going to keep up—She’s ridding in my pack—She’s going to shit in your pack, cat’s do that—Maybe not.
A duck, you taking a duck—Nothing else to take care of him, don’t even have wings yet. Look at Selena there, just ridding Two-bits shoulder. I’d love to have a parrot, teach him to translate bird to me, but I’m going to take Donald along with me, and comes the time and place, nice pond everything hasn’t been burned to shit, I’ll set him down, and I’ll watch this peaceful fucker don’t even have an edge to his beak, I’m going to watch him set off on that pond and just watch his ripples ruffling the clouds.
Spoon and a bowl—Oh yeah, tired of eating off this tin. I like this. Look how thin the wood is on this side, believe that’s where it was held, and here we got where they drank when the bowl was almost empty. See those are from the bottom teeth.
I’m going to keep this shawl and ribbons. And would you look at this photo? Old time people did this, a professional takes you once in your life getting married. They don’t look happy, don’t trust the camera, but they sure don’t look hollow either.
We were moving faster than ever. I had the men fall out. Candide and Selena played together, Donald stretched his wings. Dawson set his sapling down where he sat. Anything that moved, gleamed, looked intact or engraved by experience, every hemorrhage of color in the dust, my troops carried along, and our tramping sped up and we were reluctant to stop for the night. We were looking to rescue every thing we could from the rubble. A goat and a pig. My men weren’t much in uniform anymore. They wore what they’d found. Dawson sang out. The butterflies were hatching from the several cocoons on the little tree. The crumbled-winged tenants crawled out on the husks to dry their wings. Cobalt blue. It was obvious we had gone AWOL, but I was their sergeant and I wanted to put it in front of them. Maybe, we were already ten feet past the line into desertion, but they had a right to protest and vote. Those who wanted to would be allowed to return to base. This is where we met, this bare, skeletal tree, and it’s here I’m leaving this log to speak for the men.
I told them anyone could go back, but they would have to leave what they had saved with anyone who decided to continue. As long as we held what we had recovered, we would not find our way back, but drop them and the way back to base would open in front of you. Parks, who wore an impossible garland of flowers around his head and a red sari, emptied a tiger cub out of his pack, and let it nurse on his fingers. We were all lost to the army and its work of conveying death into the hearts of boys.
I whistled and a string of naked children joined us. No more swearing I told the men, what language these children learn will be without curses.
We discarded the rest of our uniforms and wore what we had found. We disassembled our rifles and broke them on the stones.
I took the baby from the little girl, held her in the cradle of my arm, and the defrocked platoon moved onto the road to Lhasa, directly ahead, the mountains gold at sunrise.
