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Shadowblood
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Name: Jeff
Birthday: 5/22/1986
Gender: Male
Interests: Eating, sleeping...oh do i love sleeping..., Driving cars, looking at the stars, keeping away from SARS, snuggling and cuddling with my hunny
Expertise: killing babies
Occupation: Military
Industry: Government
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  bloodsuckling
Member Since:
7/30/2003
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| Well, the majority of you all should know by now that I'm going to be deploying to Afghanistan sometime at the end of this year and beginning full time training on August 1st. People have asked me on several occasions whether or not I'm scared or nervous and to much surprise, as much to myself as to the inquirers, I'm actually not. No, i'm not some sort of war junkie that's not afraid of death or serious bodily harm, I just see it as a golden opportunity in several aspects. First, its a great financial opportunity. I'm in a good amount of debt, what with car payments and credit card balances. This deployment would allow me to go into USC (which accepted my deferment to fall of 2010 :D) without that burden looming over me and also give me some extra funds for school and other misc. expenses.
Second, I never felt like I've served my duty as a Marine since all I've done is go to ass crack Africa for 6 months and roast in the sun staring at dirt and water for no significant purpose. Going to Afghanistan will give me a sense of satisfaction, i believe. Satisfy my subconscious craving for adventure in a sense. But more importantly, I want to go in hopes that my presence may save the lives of those that stand around me. Some say there's no romance in war...and i totally agree. There's nothing glorifying with destroying lives and watching others lose lives around you. Or even watching men lose their souls in war from the trajedies they are forced to participate in and witness. I see it in some, where the humanity is lost in their eyes...they look at you as though through you. Their eyes seem deep, dilated, and hollow as if they are only a physical shell operating on the memory of a being who's spirit is no longer present. No, there is no romance in war. But I feel that only in participating in its efforts directly that I may understand that, to move away from being jaded and become aware. And perhaps with my direct participation, I may prevent the lost of souls in the men I lead, to shield them from being broken. I can only hope that I may save even one.
I also want that respect, the respect that is reserved for those who have fought and sacrificed part of themselves for a larger cause than themselves. Unlike Iraq (which I believe is a pointless battle), our mission in Afghanistan is to stop the cash flow of Al Queda, which is a major source of terror across the globe. I believe this is a cause worth fighting and bleeding for.
Am I afraid of death? Honestly no. We all die at some time, so why not die for a cause? So many die for rediculous reasons (ie car accidents, alcohol poisoning, disease, etc.) why not go with meaning? Dont get me wrong, I'd prefer to live for a cause, but I believe more strongly that it is better die selflessly than to live selfishly.
God speed to you all. I'll see you later in this life or the next. | | |
| One thing i can say for certain about getting out of the Marine Corps is the confidence to speak in front of an audience. I just finished my first speech on Thursday and I must say, compared to the nervous wrecks that preceded and followed me, I would be the most comfortable speaking at the front of the class.
Anyhoo, that was just a random thought that popped into my head. Just thought I'd blog something out there no matter how trivial. I truly admire those who can write on and on about what goes on in their life. Its always so interesting listening/reading about them. A good lot of them are such great orators that it seems that they can take a normal day and make it sound like something that you'd wish to experience on a vacation, no matter what they did be it fun or work or otherwise.
I guess, in a sense, they're like talk show hosts: always able to draw ideas out of their everyday lives to talk about for hours on end. Its really amazing. In contrast, I look at my life and it looks so boring that its like rubbing sandpaper to bare ass when i try to talk about it. Usually, i just end up with "oh, you know, same ol same ol."
But, really, no two days really are the same, are they? There's always something different happening that most of us may just pass over and discard as insignificant. What about that great idea for a story you had walking to your next class or that funny conversation you struck up with the classmate whom you don't even know the name of?
I guess my point is, for all of you who are like me and find their life repetative and boring, to look deeper into the black and whites of our lives and find the color that is hidden within the spectrum of our day.
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| you know when you do something to a person you don't necessarily like? The action is not a big in itself and could carry very little meaning. In fact, if it were the case that you didn't not like the person, the action may not carry a bad conotation at all. Do you follow? Well, what if you've done this to so many ppl and so many ppl have done it back that when it happens you don't really give it second thought? But then one person does it to you and it unearths all sorts of emotions and binds you to an inescapable state of puzzlement? Bewilderment? Perplexed? Makes you go back and recall your actions and conversations with the person searching for something that you've done wrong in which it may of called for such action to be taken against you? You know? In the end, here I am, sitting in front of the computer, staring at the screen wondering, "was it something I said?" | | |
| There was a fatality motorcycle accident on the 10 fwy 5 miles west of my house. This turned a 10 minute trip through traffic into a 50 minute trip. Fortunately, 90% of the usual morning traffic was clogged up behind the singular they issued which meant after you clear the accident the freeway was practically empty for the next 15 miles. In the end, I was only 4 minutes late to work. 120 mph in the Fit feels rediculously fast. | | |
| at 6:30 am today, Sunday Sept 14, 2008, I picked up Tri from his house
to take him to LAX where he will catch a flight back to Indianapolis
and promptly be sent to join the other 100,000 brothers in arms over in
the Middle East. But before that, we picked up Sallie on the way and
they both embraced affectionately and settled into the back of my car.
During the drive to the airport, the scene in the rear seats was
reminiscent of times long past: a couple trying desperately to soak in
each other's company and wash the other with their own love. Few words
were spoken but none needed to be to communicate the current of
thoughts and emotion that raged through their minds and hearts.
Anything spoken may accidentally rupture the fragile dam of
tranquility that is tissue thin and holding back an ocean of tears and
pleas. Today I was the observer of a scene in which i had been a
participate a life time ago; the feeling still a glowing ember of the
events on that day long past.
Our destination arrived too soon
and after Tri checks in and gets his seat, we traverse over to the
Bradley International Airport section and grab some McDonald's
breakfast. During the meal, we shared stories of the past golden days
which knew only happiness, sparking smiles and laughs that were so rich
that no amount of precious metal would have been a fair exchange. For
a brief moment, the icy overlay cast over the day thawed to reveal blue
skies. Then the moment was over as the time which the flight began to
board neared into the minutes. For the last time, I drove us to
Northwest Airlines loading area. Each of us step out of the car and I
say my farewells first. We embrace as brothers and I wish him well and
a safe trip, nothing more. As Sallie began to say hers, I return to
the car to give them a final moment together, hearing her plea "Don't
go..." as I entered the car. As we stood soaking in the moment, the
minutes felt like seconds as if Father Time was impatiently rushing the
present into the past, shortening the already ephemeral good bye. The
door opens and Sallie lands softly like a feather behind me. They
share a final kiss and Tri whispers, "I'll see you later, sweety." The
door closes and I feel her claw at the window with invisible hands we
slowly pull away as Tri ascended the stairs. With his absence, the
dam burst and the tears ran with soft sobs. I remember what I once said
in my past life but this time I only think it: You cry for the both of
us.
And so I sent a brother off to war. | | |
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