Irony

nyc city hall circa fall 2005

Just a thought...

I live in a 1960's (probably, guessing by the decor) eight unit apartment building. Its construction does not lend itself to close quarters living, i.e. thin walls, poor layout leading to acoustic problems, little to no insulation, and leaky connections. This all contributes to poor acoustic separation. I live on the second floor (more like one and a half) and my neighbors below are with the Big Red One at Fort Riley (local Army base).

Typically, every Friday and Saturday and sometimes on Sunday, a hip-hop party with bass so loud my pictures shake. Its funny, the music is so loud in the living room, most of the party goers congregate in the kitchen to yell at each other. hmmm.

Speaking of yelling, the evening typically ends with a domestic dispute of some kind...yelling, car door slamming, some scuffling, and more yelling. If I was to pyscho-analyize, this is what they are supposed to do, as they are 'warriors' and battlers trained in confrontation and aggression.

As of late, the parties have been silent. My guess, they are either in tight training preparing for Iraq or they (their friends also) have already gone.

And it makes me think...these are the people we are sending over there. Sure, they aren't all, but stereotypes and assumptions grow from experience. My experience with military folk of this age are as follows above. Rowdy, partiers, confrontational, and not folk I would classify as upper middle class.

Makes sense too. People need money for college, training, easy escape from situation = military service. Whoops, we're in a war now and I have to be a soldier.

These people don't want to be a soldier any more than I do. They're not really the type of person I would consider to be a 'good' soldier. Maybe they have discipline when they are 'on duty,' but true discipline is a life style. Maybe they are rowdy and party obnoxiously because they go places like Iraq. Understandable.

I feel that if you're going to be in the military, be there. Don't let them into the general population until their service is up. Put them on base, keep them there, and make them live the live they have chosen: discipline, order....weekend passes not withstanding. maybe some of the results in Iraq might be different (performance, scandal, dissent...) The majority of the blame lies with leadership at all levels...but the leaders at the unit level are the same...

Maybe I'm just tired of living next to bad neighbors and broadly making assumptions about the military...maybe not.

military, yeah i support them, doesn't mean i can't criticize them.

architecture, my mistress

Long before our love making sweat has gone,
an early morning beckon arouses
smoldering desires of another.
Time knows of no hour I will not come
to my mistress bathed in inspiration.
To selfishly satisfy needs making
an hour into days, effortlessly.

The dancing phone, up to now obscure,
blending into the un-world beyond,
begs my attention and explanation
upon your discovery of the void
in our bed made of a different love.
The moment’s fever distorts our timeline,
holds it in a glance lasting just breath’s length.

its quarter of five.
tired.
another model production day/night/day.
more tommorrow.
more drawing tomorrow.
tired.

State of the Union

i
upon the sidewalk that children and mothers stroll
while shopping for glamorous trinkets
whose worth will evaporate into nothing
during the car ride home,
are the dark splattered stains of misjudgment.
lined in a row at the base of the wall,
cowering in the corner,
unapologetically in the center, mid-stumble,
their memory endures beyond the night’s.

ii

the hollow light box bleats
questions, amazement, concern, analysis, commentary.
about the untimely, tragic death
of a drug addicted, pillaging white trash whore
impregnated by a faceless seed.
when i asked the girl
exchanging my plastic card for beer
‘who really cares?’
her answer stammered out with flashing eyelids
honestly shocked at the notion:
‘i’m just worried about her baby.’

indeed.

iii
the yellow metal monster rips across the landscape
with the indifference of a hand to mosquito.
what took a lifetime to build is cleared in minutes.
the grave marker posted at the asphalt’s black edge reads
‘ivy woods coming soon.’
their majesty replaced with dried and hollow carcasses,
fallen friends clumsily piled high
in the dumb repetition of a skipping record.
the only means of survival
is sucking out the sweet marrow of life
as a parasitic cancer on the land.

iv

i want only
to want what i need.
i’m supposed to want;
want what I need and more
until want becomes need.
needing to want is what they want.
they want me to need them.
they need that, not me.
i need what I don’t want,
i’ll never need what i want.
Want is wont,
but wanton need is worse.
i don’t want to want.
i don’t want to need.
why can’t i just be?