Mounted patrol in Afghanistan.

  

   This has the makings for a long post so hold on. I volunteered to go on patrol downtown and to the bazaar. The bazaar is supposed to be a little marketplace where people come once a week to trade their wares and drive the economy. At least that is what it was when we were in Khandahar. Here the bazaar was just bizarre. But I am getting ahead of myself.

   I woke up and got all my gear in order to leave, not knowing where we were going or what we were up to. Which is par for this type of course. I climbed into the Humvee unsure of what my role would be, I was directed up and out the turret to the .50 cal. A 360 degree rotating instrument of death. Armed with this, an M4 and a camera I was ready for anything. I  would like to take this post more seriously then I will, but oh well. This is the first attempt at photojournalism. Let me know what you think of the pictures.

 

 

    This is what the .50 cal rounds look like compared my rounds.(look closely to see mine) Obviously the high-powered M4 carbine round would do a fine job when it hit someone. Which it should in my case as I am an excellent shot. However with the .50 cal round, you have the luxury of missing the person by a good foot and half, and still killing them due to the force it creates while wipping, or should I say roaring by. Needless to say that I felt like Zeus atop an armored chariot, which I might as well have been. I probably could take him if he were to come strait at me. I think I was secretly rooting for anything to do just that, and come try me.

 

  

After leaving the compound our first stop was by the main well downtown. Propaganda was booming in every direction and the entire crowd was milling about discussing opinions, or talking about us in some way. That event marked the first time that I wished I could speak Poshtune, (local language). We were apparently there on a information mission, handing out newspapers and broadcasting one of the local army guys booming what sounded like death threats, but was probably peace talks through a loudspeaker. We arrived to a crowd of about 4 or 5, and left ten minutes later parting a sea of onlookers. Everyone stared, as much at me as the 3 foot barrel of my weapon. All in all it was a very strange scene. So many layers of thought and action taking place that I am glad I was exempt from understanding what everyone was saying, as it was probably just political posturing and other forms of bullshit. Body language and action have always spoken much louder to me. It was such a strange saga that took place that I only have a few distinct memories from the event and they all involve what I perceived to be danger.

 

 

  The biggest of that list was this guy, with an automatic weapon and the high ground, he was enough of a threat to prevent me from looking around this strange world at the shoes on the kids’ feet, the nervous glances and obvious conversations about me, and all the things in the shops. All things that I would rather give my attention to. He noticed me for sure, the trick was to get him to notice that I noticed him. Eventually I resorted to acting like I got instruction on the radio, I nodded, and spun the turret around and pointed the .50 cal right at the tip of his nose. An altogether intimidating site for anyone. Now at this moment, I know that he knows….that I know he knows, at this range… if he started trouble his buddies would need a mop bucket rather then a body bag. After a short stare and impressive stare-down, his weapon was back inside the window and mine was lowered just enough so that it was pointing at the building rather then at him.

  The other thing I remember well was a boy that looked out of place the entire time we were at the well. He drove up late on a little motorcycle, he looked distinctly interested in what was being said, and he was dressed in pants and a vest-like plaid shirt, instead of the usual garments. None of this struck me as to out of place, but right before we roared of he hightailed it ahead of us and left the city area. Now my first thought was that he may have been going to tell someone that we were making our way through the town or up the street. I was in no mood for a close quarters ambush, even with my .50 on hand. I thought about mentioning this and then I realized that I was the person you tell when you see a threat developing being that I was operating the beast. So I kept my eyes peeled and my attention ahead. Needless to say I was weary when we turned onto this street a few blocks ahead.

 

 

This was the only street that wasn’t busy in the whole town. And it was a ghost land. It made me wonder if everyone except the kid on the right knew something that we didn’t. We stopped at the beginning of the road and dismounted for the sake of safety. Or at least, I should say, they dismounted. I remained atop the beast of a turret secretly hoping one of the doors would open and bad guys would file out to meet Allah, which they would have. But then an altogether stranger and more dramatic scene took place.

   While the guys and the interpreters were interviewing the few people we could find, I heard a motorcycle from behind. It was my job to keep the .50 pointed up the street so I turned around to half-expecting to see the kid that roared off earlier returning with an RPG or something. It was not him, this was about the time that the driver stalled his little ”14 donkey power” motorcycle and coasted up alongside the humvee flush. Obviously this is not a good situation for either of us and tension was paramount.

    About this time I notice that he has a 1 gallon tin jug of gas attached to the side of the motorcycle. I notice this, then he notices me noticing this. More tension. As I search around his bike and his person with my eyes looking for triggers or batteries or something to set the gas off, he watches me and tries feverishly to start his motorcycle. At this point I grab my M4 and start making gestures for him move, trying to communicate with him to push it away from me if necessary. The more nervous I became, the more nervous he became. He must of realized what sense I made of the gas can and the untimely stall, and I, deciding today was not a good day to die was in no mood for miscommunication. I realized also how unlikely it was that he posed any threat to me and how likely the gas can was for the motorcycle’s sake due to the small tank. But at the same time, I kept waiting as he stomped on the starter, for him, the starter, and me to go up in a ball of flames.

    All in all it was nothing, eventually the tension grew to the point that he pushed the bike ahead a few yards, calmed down and started his cycle with no problem and roared off into the city. Even still, one of the most tense 30 seconds of my life, made much worse by the nervousness of both parties involved. I wanted to take a picture of him, but I couldn’t handle the irony of the possibility that he was there attempting to blow up the evil, ignorant, pigheaded American infidel, at the cost of his own life. And there I sit so ignorant and pigheaded that am too busy taking a picture of him to even defend myself. Now though, I wish I had the picture to share with everyone, it would have told the whole story.

   We made the rounds through the rest of the city, hit most of the streets and passed on our propaganda. Which right now is the most important weapon in this war. The quote, “The pen is mightier then the sword”, was right. But right now in Afghanistan, the newspaper press is mightier even then the .50 cal. Americans take information for granted. The people here have none of it, amongst other poverties. As we drive around their towns and homes I find myself wondering how many of them even know we are there because of the attack on us? How many of them even care?

     All it takes is some Taliban telling everyone in town that “the Americans are here to ruin our government and country so we will move away, and they can use this land to make more western movies and further the image of the American cowboy.” And whaamo, it is fact to these people. There is noone here to tell them any different. For all they know we are every bit as bad a anyone else might say we are. How do they know? I doubt many of them even know where America is. We are just here, in their town and other then that there is nothing else to them that matters. This town for most of the people in it is the entire world. And in it, we are just arrogant bastards with big guns. And while they are hungry, I am sure they are non-to-fond of what I call our “powerbar diplomacy.” Passing out powerbars and water in some weird attempted exchange for loyalty.

    The problem isn’t whether or not they like us, but the source of that opinion. That is the war that needs to be fought, that and of course the other thing. Killing all the terrorists cowards that are oppressing the people and opposing the new regime. Really it doesn’t matter if they hate us or love us, as long as they trust the government we have put in place. But as long as we are the only ones singing our praises, we are just a few of our passed out powerbars away from being whatever the bad guys paint us as. That is where the newspaper comes in. Obviously I can’t read it, but I could guess at what it contains. The elections are less then a month off here, and that paper is the most important piece of warfare this country has seen since we arrived. No doubt edifying the new government and army, not America and America’s army but they are hopefully means to the same end.

 

 

   This was an interesting picture opportunity I found. It could have been a much better picture, but since I couldn’t leave the .50, I had someone else take it. I originally meant this for some type of metaphor about the scales of justice here in this country but it appears a touch corny at the time. Even still the photo is entertaining. Here are the things I find thought-worth about it.

1. Why is everyone crowding around to watch this guy weigh out peanuts? How important can this be to everyone to make sure that he is accurate?

2. How accurate can he even really be, holding that thing by hand with weights in one side and peanuts in the other? I thought scales had to be stable.

3. He basically just filled the other side with peanuts, held it up and then stuffed the peanuts in a bag. Which makes me wonder, does he bring the scales just for the illusion of fairness? Has he put that much thought into it? And why not, I am sure all he does in life is grow and sell peanuts, the economy could not support for him to have two professions.

4. See the guy reading the paper? I wonder if he was still reading it so intently after the .50 cal and I left? Or was he pissing on it and cursing us all in his native tongue. Their enthusiasm for us as we roll by reeks of deceit.

5. And lastly, doesn’t the guy smiling look like the guy from Mike Tyson’s Punchout?

 

  Another strange thing that I noticed was that the entire time we were out, after driving through this entire town. I saw only one female. (pictured below) I am assuming that there are more of her sex around because I would assume that there society depends on it and she doesn’t seem old enough to have breed all these merchants and motorcycle enthusiasts. I must have seen over 1000 people today and only one female. The strangeness of this could be another post all together so I will leave it at that…strange. Where are they? Despite that this is one of my favorite pictures I have taken in country. It reminds me of a TIME or NEWSWEEK photo.

  She has such pretty eyes, all the Arabic females do. It is easy to figure out why if you resort to a little Darwinism evolutionary theory. The selective breeding of the Afghans for the last 1000 years has been based souly on this trait. Pretty eyes, pretty girl.  Easy to justify in that light I suppose. I wonder at what age they have to cover their face?

Well that is it for today, thanks to those that read the post, those that commented last week, and especially to anyone that has subscribed. Leave enough comments for me to get featured again and I will buy you all something nice when I get home. You may notice some of the things edited from the site. (maybe not) That is thanks to Uncle Sam and D.O.D. They decided to limit what things can be made public by non-PR related people. Which is why my address is gone and replaced by a picture of my dog, amongst other things. If you want it, obviously I would be more then happy to give it to you via Email.

 

 

 

 

    I should give some account as to the progress of the aforementioned screenplay. None. Not that the fire or desire is at all deflated, but that the situation just does not permit it. I need to be somewhat marooned mentally for the concept to progress any further than it has. Imposible with the flies and hissing radios here. Now that the major elements of the story have been laid cautiously in place, i.e. beginning, middle, end, and two plot points, I find myself staring at the gaping possibilities of what I want to say with my 40 or so pages of message. It started as a drug movie, then counterculture, then sales, then personal and character driven. None of the themes above of course, will land it in a theatre near you unless it is a piece of absolute genius. Which hopefully is not entirely impossible. There are so many options as to how, where and what to put my content in the context of. - to borrow from Syd Field’s funicular.

    The idea of creating characters is no different from deciding that you wish to become schizophrenic, and working towards that ambition. Also there is a sudden ambition to write it as a novel, rather then screenplay. Again. wrecked with possibilities about this thought. First factor, price. Countless writers have sold the soul of their screenplay for the price of it’s production. A novel costs the same whether it is a war between worlds on several planets, or a family story on a farm in Idaho. And when you are done typing you have a finished, salable product. Left open only to modest rework from editors. And second, a novel is about thoughts and desires, a movie is about actions and pictures. My story is about both, so choosing a medium is difficult. Of course anyone would be hard pressed to mention a movie that wasn’t better as a book. The research is about the same and the next steps for me are about the same with either medium so I guess the answer will find me along the way.

 

Until then: 

 

   My project now seems to just be pursing whatever will keep my wheels turning. I half wish I could come home tomorrow and return to the bar immediately. The other half wishes to stay marooned in this shithole forever with this intense, forced introspective nightmare surrounding me and emerge in 20 years with a few theories and maybe even an answer or two. Obviously I know which one a mind set on wisdom would choose. W.W.B.D (What would Buddah do) I am fighting the ambition to steal a moped and ride around around Afghanistan for a few years. Maybe spend a few years in Tibet. I hear it worked out well for Brad Pitt. I ordered even more books today. There are worse addictions I suppose, but there are cheaper one as well.

     I feel like I am working on something though, not exactly sure what. I feel the sudden urge to by a top of the line, old school typwriter and pound something out like Beethoven on the piano. I spent 3 years on mental hiatus during high school pondering questions that I never realized I had the answer to until I was thrust into the world and awoke mid sprint along the razor’s edge. Hopefully that is was it happening here. As I type, college is starting for the 06′ year. This marks the first few days of my old friends “real” life after college. I would have graduated last year, had my last ever “summer”, and then moved into phase 2 of adulthood as they did as of Monday. This revelation just hit me.  They did with phase 1 what they did, and I did what I did.  Personally I wouldn’t trade it for all the college degrees in the world. But as phase two descends on me I can only think about one my favorite quotes, “Luck, love, and success are all illusions…only the prepared ever fall in love, find success, or appear lucky.”-Myers. Right now while at a new phase, I am doing all I can. Which given my current situation is: search for and pursue  pine needles, gathering and drying them beneath the desert sun, and watching in all directions for the spark that will cause the blaze.

 

 

 

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 Strange times indeed. Things here are ever-progressing as usual. This damn book though… it has me caught in a fit of joyful, envious despair. I figured it best to open with a paradox to help compliment this post with the spice of my mood. For those that are unaware of the life of journalist/author/accidental philosopher Hunter S. Thompson I am sorry. His life and mental peril so closely mirrors or should I say sadly, mirrored mine. Interesting as it is that his took place in the late sixties and mine took place largely early into the new century. I would love to elaborate on the similarities of our outlook and opinions but I fear that they would be ill described, and largely misinterpreted. So I offer this picture of a mouse, that I feel mimics the concept. And is consequently my new idol.

 

   The book I am reading now is a collection of personal correspondences (letters) that he wrote throughout his life and compile one of the most effective biographies I have ever read. The point I am at now he is still yet to find success, only adventure and failure. Way more interesting in my opinion. He is the same age as I was, on my similar adventure. Heading to New York with no money and no plan, just following the action. Biographies always speak of what a person did, not what they were thinking during the process and how they justified it to themselves and others. This is almost addicting, like evesdropping on someone entire life.

    The point of the mentioning the man and then the book and the similarities, is that it has launched me into one of those uniquely internal searches for whatever a complicated person searches for. I am busy on all fronts. My thoughts however, are like a child’s vision through a kaleidoscope. Coming to many, and to much at a time to make any rational sense of any of it. It feels good however to have something to ponder. However indefinable the “something” is. Sad to be so bored with the people around me, that it would take essentially the workings of a dead man to rustle my mental feathers and provoke me towards new thoughts. There are several thoughts that been swirling around in my head for some time that I am sure I have vocalized at some point to an audience, but never actually coined the way I would have wanted to. There is something revitalizing about hearing the same thought put into description so well by someone you respected even before knowing that you shared the opinion.

 

“For a certain type of person, he was a superhero. Brave, dangerous, reckless with an unwavering belief in truth, justice and the American way. Hunter Thompson was probably the only person I ever saw look natural and deserving draped in the American flag and he seemed to know it. As an icon, he wore two hats: one being that of the staunch libertarian, screaming our civil rights like a war whoop, setting off sirens, blasting firearms and ingesting into his own private body anything he damn pleased. The other hat was of the astute, no-nonsense political insider and commentator. The kind of which may finally be outlawed from this country forever. These roles, together with his uncontestable ability to walk as tough as he talked made him a very important American and, yes, a deserving role model.”

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” –HST

 

I feel compelled to write a book report or something of the kind to describe my position but there is no need for that here. The moral is the effect it has had on me and the few welcomed revelations it has brought about. And the only way to make use of even that is to try and apply that to my situation/future. I have notice one peculiar thing however. I am envious of his financial perils as he traveled around seeking only adventure and fairness from life. Even morso then I figure I will be when I get to the part where his work sold, and the bandwagon grew. I am totally envious and desperate for the lifestyle of the wayward talent. Relying only on instinct and courage to survive the day. I intended to make this post speak of something in particular, but I see the thought is refusing to materialize even on paper.(or screen) So I will part with this thought and go back into reading and thinking, rather then rambling and writing. Hopefully to return with a produced thesis.

some pictures:

I was that man, one of the few that ran the edge so unervingly well for a few years, that there is never a day I don’t wonder how I managed to figure out where it is. Apparently the “egde” for me was car insurance. Now I sit at a terminal in the middle of nowhere willing to trade almost anything for something that noone else thinks I can do. The funny thing about the razor’s edge, is being that it is a razor. There can be no jumping up and pulling yourself up onto it after you fall. You have to wait for one of those unique times in life when a challenge causes you to sprint the gauntlet, with no alternative to success. Freedom and love at the other side, and nothing but failure and despair in between. And only when that situation finds you, and finds you prepared, will you find your razor. And be alive. And for those who will never face a situation with stakes like that…

  

Thanks to all who subscribed especially, and to all that commented. I was actually a Xanga featured site after that last post. A strange goal of mine. Thanks your for all the nice compliments, despite the fact that most of you never read the post.

                                                                                                                      -Myers

  Well the time has come again for a decent account of my strange and sometimes ironic union with this world that I find myself in. We have arrived here at our new location with all the fury and triumph of an entire Calvary division swooping down on the mongrels on the receiving end of the great crusades. The base that we now occupy has doubled in size since our arrival of 20 trained professionals bent on the destruction of evil, and the ceasing of the constant mortar attacks.

 

(our escort through the mountains)

 

  

(our ride through the moutains)

 

  Other then us artillery savages, the base is entirely occupied by the Special Forces. The world I find myself in now, is almost as different from the world back at FOB Ripley, as FOB Ripley was from home. Everything makes sense, the SF have no use for routines and standards and the other devices the military uses for the mass production of a fighting force. I would love to show pictures that would illustrate my point, but for right now we are on high security alert, and everything pertaining to this base and what is on it is classified. Let me offer this one example: stables. That’s right, stables, as in horse stables. Humvees might as well be jet skis on most of the terrain surrounding us, so the SF does there patrols on horses when it is tactically advantageous.

    These details and many more give me a sense of peace that even the impending rocket and mortar attacks cannot disrupt. This entire base is measured in square feet, not miles like FOB Ripley. Couple that with the fact that everyone has a specialty, and a sense of duty and you arrive at a continuity that you would never otherwise find in the military.

 

THE MAIL:

    After an entirely strange saga with the mail this morning, the best of sceneries prevailed. Not only preventing any further disdain for the Army, or for the day. But coupled with the surprising livability of this “mission”, makes me question my overall recent pessimism and return to though of the great balance of Karma.

     After waiting for 5 or 6 hours for the flight with the mail to arrive in the valley through the early morning haze of dust. It arrived safely on the flight line. As I watched them unload the mail on the J-Lens camera, I received the call that our mission was bumped yet again and would now be taking place in the next 30 minutes. Due to my previous state of pessimism, I immediately assumed that the mail would then stay at FOB Ripley, we would leave for here, and it would be at least a month before our paths should ever again cross. That is where the plot thickens, our flight got bumped an hour forward this time, and there was just enough time to shred the necessary packaging, retrieve the booty within, and fatten my 80lb rucksack with socks and cigarettes and scripts, and all of the other worldly joys that accompany mail-day.

     Special thanks from all of the guys in the 82nd for the box of tobaccos, it was shared and enjoyed by all in ways that civilians should never appreciate.

 

 Which leads me to my next attempt at sympathy and humor. Over the last few days I have compiled a list of a few simple joys that I will never again take for granted… such as:

 

-Flat ground, no rocks and being able to walk without watching the ground.

-Urinals/Flushing toilets.

-Folding your clean clothes and smelling clean clothes rather then dust.

-High speed Internet.

-Watching a movie or eating with battling squadrons of baby flies destined for only a few more minutes of life before meeting fates with a skillfully yielded swatter.

-Eating until you are to full .

-The little “whomp” sound beer makes in the bottle against your lips.

-The clean, and safe feeling of carpet at your feet.

-The reinstatement of the 5 sec rule concerning food.

-A wardrobe consisting of almost entirely of hoodies and dress clothes.

-Driving.

-Not carrying an M-4 around all day like some preteen with a fake baby from sex-ed class.

-Having a pillow to sleep with.

 

 

    Having settled into a new place of course means only one thing for sure. A new me. I was a person built for change, I crave the necessity for adaptation. I am a new man reborn from who I was last week. Opportunity for new routines is the only opportunity worth considering. I have no idea how I will ever settle into some conventional form of life without constantly being sucked into the wirlpool of comfort and security that eats so heavily at my character. I have spent the last month dwelling on the “old” days. The renegade version of myself, that didn’t just disobey the rules of common society, but rather changed the rules. Either that, or played a game that was so unique I was afforded the unique opportunity to design the rules as I played, to benefit the outcome. Anyone that has younger siblings should be familiar with this concept(j/k). For those are completely unaware of the history I am referencing, I am sorry, you are out of loop on this one. To begin to describe my adventures and the way they shaped me here would be to do them a great injustice. You might have to pay for the book when it comes out to get a semi-accurate representation of not only the time, but the feel, and the mood of the situation(s). For those that missed the entire last paragraph and only interpreted innuendo and metaphor, again I am sorry. The moral is: “Life goes on no matter what, and the only thing that a successful person keeps constant, is attention to one’s goals, and that central idea of who they know they are destined to become.” -Myers

There will be a special place in hell for anyone that doesn’t comment.

   So I leave for a month long mission in less then 36 hours. A month long mission! That sucks! I am not sure if I will have any access to the Internet or phone for the next month, but I am assuming that I will at least a little bit. We are supposed to be getting mail today. And since I got nothing last time, and there is a ton of mail headed here. I am expecting a bunch. Also seeing how we are leaving for a month, I am looking to load up on socks and supplies. I have been waiting for the last 5 hours while they push the flight time back one hour at a time. Now it is supposed to be here in a few hours. I will try and post again when the mail gets here or before I leave. At times like this it is good to remember this:

 

    So I accidentally discovered a new hobby…sleeping. Ever since we redesigned the schedule here I have 8 hours on shift, and then 16 off. Before I never had more then 8 hours off at one time. For the last three days in a row, I have slept 12 hours or more everyday. 15 hours the other night! I get woke up all the time by things outside or even inside the tent and then just go back to sleep. Which leads me to my hobby. Not sleeping at all really, but dreaming. I was never the type of person to enjoy sleeping away my life. But in the last 3 days, I have killed, been killed, flown, fell in love, laughed, been provoked, and generally been on wild adventures of all sorts.

     There is a name for this hobby for those of you that are interested. “LUCID DREAMING”. And a Sundance awarded film based on it for the intellectual type called “Waking Life”. Everyone knows what it is like to dream, and most know the feeling that takes place when you realize that you are dreaming. For most it happens when you realize that something just happened that is impossible so you question the reality of the situation and realize that is a DREAM. For most people this is startling and causes them to awake. This is the point that is considered lucid. The point that you realize that you are in a dream. Lucid dreaming exists when you realize that you are dreaming, and then continue to dream with this knowledge. There is an entire science behind achieving and maintaining this state.

http://www.dreamviews.com

I will give brief overviews on both.

 

   The first part of lucid dreaming involves simply becoming efficient at becoming lucid, or realizing that you are dreaming. There are several ways to do this but they all involve the same thing…asking yourself, “is this a dream”? In order for this to work while you are sleeping, you must do it many times a day when you are awake. There are several rules to a dream that for the most part, are universal. First, information cannot be displayed properly. Clocks will not read, newspapers will be blank or nondescript, that sort of thing. Second lighting cannot change in dream, this is also true with setting for the most part. If you flick a switch in a dream, nothing will happen. If you get used to checking this during the day, you will do the same in your dream in time and discover the clock reads something that is not legible or the book on the shelf is blank and….WHAM…you are lucid. Aware that you are in a dream.

   The second part of lucid dreaming is the hardest by far and is a constant exercise in mastery. That is, staying asleep after becoming lucid, and then for how long. The advice for how to do this varies for each person. The better you are at accepting that you are living a dream,  the more you can do within that environment before you are jarred awake. Most people say that when they started lucid dreaming they would flip a switch, nothing would happen and they would become lucid just long enough to run across the room looking for someone to tell. And just that brief second of being in control of a dream was enough to hook them into pursuing more in depth lucid dreaming. Another good way to trigger and keep a dream lucid is by being awakened by something and then going back to sleep. Most people note how wild there dreams are after hitting the snooze button, and this is why. You take a piece of your waking consciousness back to sleep with you and into your dream.

   I have worked at the idea of lucid dreaming for almost three years now. Most of the time I am too tired to have decent dreams anyhow, or I am just preoccupied. But about once a year I will do nothing but dream for a month or so. Wake up and wait all day to go back to sleep. Have you ever had a dream and you wanted to punch someone but can’t. I used to have dreams like that all the time. I have punched people in dreams that were attacking me so hard now, that it hurt my hand(not literally, in the dream). Whenever I am threatened, I fly away. Either by just hovering in one directing away from whatever is bothering me, or by like “swimming” through the air extremely fast. I used to grab girls boobs to figure out if I was dreaming. I would just ask myself if it was appropriate, and during the day that was obviously a “no”. When I was dreaming it just didn’t seem to have any consequences and I would realize that I was dreaming.

    Just imagine being in a dream. Not dreaming, but being in a dream. Stop and think about it. Nothing has consequences, you can wake up anytime. With practice you can fly, punch, steal, anything you can imagine. The only thing that I could offer for you to relate to, is to tell you to picture the Matrix, without the agents. It is the most liberating thing you will ever do. Quite literally a dream come true. There are people that claim they can become lucid and then instantly be on a beach with their dream girl. I am not sure if I believe that much, But I am at a point where what my brain takes in from my dreams, is every bit as valid to me as what I see in my day.

    The point is, everyone’s adventures are different, but they are adventures, not just sleep. There are stories of people who have been haunted by reoccurring nightmares that became lucid, and killed the dinosaur chasing them, or pulled a parachute out while falling ect. I am amazed at some of the logic that my brain has in creating some of the scenarios in my dreams. I am a creative person, but I amaze myself sometimes. The other day I was being chased inside somewhere by some guy with a knife, he was stabbing through this thin piece of wood to get to me. I grabbed a piece of wood and slammed it against the point of the knife as it came through the thin piece. The knife lodged in my piece of wood and the assailant couldn’t pull it back through to swing it again. Some of the detail blows me away. I meet the most amazing people some nights, and have real, meaningful conversations with them. And almost the whole time I know I am dreaming. By them I mean “me” in a weird way. That is what is so awesome about it. All of the crazy things, and ideas, and accents…are all in my head. Some of the characters in my dreams are hilarious, This one black guy on a loudspeaker at a rally or something, had me laughing my ass off. Where my mind got this guy or his jokes from I will never know. Black guys, Mexicans, girls, kids,… my brain creates them all and we all live inside the theater of my dreams…literally.

happy dreaming I am off to bed

 

Tell me you crazy dream stories or anything that relates. And don’t forget to subscribe.

    Well the time has come again for an update. Latest news…no mail. I am not that disappointed though. I am pretty well supplied with books and food for now. And the only reason I was only half expecting anything, was because of how fast the mail came last week. Sgt Mac came back to Afghanistan(from leave). Which means no more 12 hour shifts, and some more decent Halo competition. He was the “battalion champion” back at Fort Bragg. But even he just fell beneath my dual SMGs. (Halo reference) Things are good here, starting to cool down a little bit also. I have been busy, but I am starting to get homesick. I am saving about $2000 a month, that is always a good thing.

    The script….ahh the script. It is still consuming 95% of my waking life. And I wouldn’t change that if I could. It feels good to have something to be fired up about again. I am on my 7th screenplay book. It is getting to point where one or two new ideas per chapter is hard to hope for. I am almost done with the books though. I wrote my first ten pages for practice and they are really good so that is encouraging. My next step is to start all the behind the scenes work on the characters. Filling out surveys as them, writing essays about them, doing pretend interviews on paper and responding as them, and a host of other strange exercises to get to know you characters. Then similar processes with the story and each act. I have all the tools I need though to start knocking the thing out step by step. Then hopefully next week I will get all the storyboard stuff in the mail, and I can start doing the scenes one by one, then start writing. How exciting right? haha. Well it is for me so screw you! (sorry that was meant for someone else)

    So I was wondering around Xanga today a little bit and I discovered a new pet pieve. Here it is: When people will be talking like a normal human, and the they put things like…

-(Loud sigh)-

or

“hi how are you…”(as I reach out and shake your hand)

or

“I really like her”(roll my eyes)

    This is Xanga, a blogring yes, an online journal yes, but not a play requiring stage directions commenting to the reader on your actions. If you are one of the people who do this then I am terribly sorry I promise I didn’t mean it…(as I reach behind my back and cross my fingers.)

Well I am going to try and write more often on here even if it isn’t much that I write about. Sorry to those who check the site all the time for the so-so posts lately. No movie questions today, I will have some more soon and plenty when I start writing in about a month or less. Well I am outta here. Stay up world.

 

P.S. My baby is having surgery to get fixed right now…

wish her luck, and if praying is your thing, then do that.

I know she looks like a big girl but she is just a puppy.

 

 

     Well… I guess that it is time to update again. I am trying to update at least once every two or three days. I have been so busy with this script thing lately. I haven’t even had time to check all my comments. Thanks to everyone who did leave answers to the questions. I have spent every waking hour since the last post either reading a screenplay book, staring into space thinking about my screenplay, writing it, or watching the screenwriters commentary on DVDs. I have always said that anything worth doing is worth doing right. I have this thing, most people would call it an extreme work ethic or ambition when I get an idea about something. (The truth is) I am just so vain, that I am terrified of failure like a kid scared of the dark. If I am going to do something like this, I have to do it to meet my expectations. Like I said, anything worth doing is worth doing right.

      So far all the major problems that were plaguing my story have been figured out. Note that I said the major problems, this does nothing for the hundreds of minor problems with the story and structure, and the thousands still to come. But still it feels good to have gotten past the issues that were holding on to the ankles of my concept and preventing it from happening in my head. I have started writing a few pages already but I am trying to hold off on the writing until I lay out all the scenes on index cards. So that is that… I am 4 books into 9 I have to read about screenwriting. It is getting to the point where they are pretty much just repeating the same thing, but there is still new thoughts in each book. Reading the actual screenplays are way more helpful. I ordered 12 of them, we get mail in 5 days…cross your fingers.

      For some reason we decided to move tents this week. Which was fine with me, I have always been a person that enjoys change. Don’t exactly like moving all my stuff in the heat, but I did welcome change. I was the first one to head over to the new tent to see what we were working with. It was bare, no homemade furniture, no shelves, nothing but a dirty floor and all this trash.

 

 

    Being that I was the first one on the scene, I had a chance to do all the work, and in doing so…earn that right to pick the layout of the tent. I drove around and found a bunch of wood. Empty space, freedom of design, bunch of wood…smells like a project. The first thing first was the issue of the couch. I learned so much on building the last couch, that instead of carrying it 200 yards to the new tent, I sold it. And built a new one. May I present the new, and improved couch. Complete with Haji pillows as arm rests…

 

  

    As long as I had my couch and TV center I built both in place, I really didn’t care what the rest of the tent looked like, that is the rest of the tent other then MY room. All the writing books stress having a place to write. A place that is for writing, a quiet place with no distractions. So my decision was clear, I had to build an office before anyone could object, and while I had the wood.

 

 

    I decided on the “wall with blanket doorway” look. Not only because it was stylish, but because it was the only material I had. Now I had the privacy, I just needed to construct a workspace.

 

 

      I wish that I could show more detail on the desk and shelves that I built. Really a fine piece of craftsmanship. Especially with no tape measure, or pencil. Also notice the size of the teeth on the saw in the picture. They were HUGE…this thing was either designed for balsa wood, or the world’s strongest man competition. I found a table and then fixed up this little stand thing, and before I knew it, I had the beginnings of a nice three part desktop.

 

 

     I have a space set aside to put my storyboard when it all comes for the movie, plenty of shelve space, a book rack, a leather chair I found and fixed. Everything I need for quality screenwriting. Since these pictures, I have fixed up a lot of other stuff. Most importantly a bunch of mirrors to put around the workspace. Some writers need a window, I need mirrors. For two reasons…1: I am just that vain maybe, that a bunch of crazy views of myself is idea-inspiring. 2: The view of dust and rocks from the window wouldn’t be that inspiring anyway. Well here is the semi-finished product.

 

     You may recognize the metal “shelf” as what used to be part of the outside perimeter wall. It is a metal cage that you put dirt and canvas inside to make the wall. Cut it in half and add some parachute string…”Whaala”…equipment shelf

   I love this little shelf, I got more important stuff on it now and it was way more complicated to build it then it looks like…(long story).

    Not a bad workspace for Afghanistan. The M4 on the wall isn’t real, it is my airsoft one that I use to fuck with people. Sometimes I take it to chow because it is light. It is an exact replica with laser and all. I will post more pictures of the “office” when the storyboarding takes place, it will be a hub for creativity, with 3×5 cards everywhere and post-its stuck on places they should never be. I love it.

 

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    Thanks to everyone that either subscribed or answered the questions on the last post. I have a few more questions for everyone. And for those of you that asked me what my favorite movies are:

   No way that could even list favorite movies, I love movies so much it is hard to decide. Some are well acted, some well written, I like them all for different reasons and don’t like certain aspects also. I love movies like Dazed and Confused, Vanilla Sky, Supertroopers, Blow, Boiler room, Braveheart, American Beauty….I could go on forever

   I like movie intros that start with voice-overs, or foreshadowing, or anything other then a camera that pans down into a street and then stuff starts happening. I like openings that take advantage of the unique chance to introduce a character to the audience. I really like, and am writing a movie where it starts with a block of action from the end or middle, and then works towards it for the payoff…love that.

     I like endings that incorporate parts of the story you may have noticed, but forgotten about, or endings that totally change what you thought was going on in the movie, then you watch it twice and it is a different movie. I hate great stories that get to act three and it looks like the script said…”Insert happy ending here—->.” I like when a character earns his happy ending and it is a payoff, I just hate it when the story unfolds and the everything just happens for free and everybody wins or gets what they want.

 

NEW QUESTIONS FOR MY “RESEARCH”:

1: What do you think of voice overs in a movie? Do they bother you or help the story?

2: What is more interesting, a great dramatic relationship, or great dramatic event?

3: What do you think of movies that show you the last scene in the movie first, and then
    work towards it?

4: What draws you to a character more, his strengths…or his weaknesses?

 

 

  So in the last few days I picked the guitar back up and started learning the song that plays in my background. I figured it was going to be stuck in my head either way, so I might as well know how to play it. Surprisingly, after not playing for over a month, everything I learned the first time… was still there, and more. I could play the Green Day song better then I could when I put it down to go on leave…go figure? The new song is coming along pretty good, once again, the biggest problem is getting accurate guitar tabs from online, I hate it…they all say something different.

 

     So mail came today, I wasn’t expecting anything so I wasn’t too excited. The only thing even close to being delivered, was stuff from Barnes and Noble that I ordered only like 8 days ago. (the last mail took almost a month) I went to pick up the mail anyway, and sure enough… 4 packages. Imagine my excitement…you can’t haahaa.

 

(Sorry for the bad pics, I just woke up, the word beauty sleep doesn’t apply to me)

 

 

   Mostly all books which is awesome…most importantly, the script to Good Will Hunting! Also there was a few entrepreneur books, and a how to start and E-business with minimal startup cash, a book on the importance of the questions in sales (for research), and of course…even MORE screenwriting books. One focused on the first 10 mintues of your script…(the most important), another one focused completely on character devolepment, one about writing your own story, and one focused on the story and how to create drama.

 

 

 

 One of the most important books is the Blue Book of Grammer. For those who don’t know I didn’t do much in English class. I have a decent concept of writing, but I desperately need some kind of guide for structure so that my work doesn’t scream amateur, at whatever editor or agent I send it to.

 

(It just looks official doesn’t it?)

 

 

  Two other important things came with the books. The first, a shirt that is a quote from a deceased author that inspired me to want to write. Hunter S Thompson. Writer of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, “Hell’s Angels”, “Songs of the Doomed”, and many other.  He was the author of all the books in the shipment I got last week. I like the quote but it also applies to the movie I am writing in a round-about kind of way.

 

 

 

 

     The second thing to come was the most important. All of the books I have read about writing stress the same thing, routine. Something you do to tell your brain that it is time to write. A room you go to, song you play, something along those lines. When I am thinking, I tend to fidget, so what is more perfect then…a hat. I bought a simple black hat…with “writer” printed on the front. I realize that it doesn’t sound like much. But whenever I sit down to do creative writing I will wear the hat. I can trick myself into believing in, or needing anything. Remember in “A Few Good Men”, the bat that Tom Cruise’s character needed when he needed to think. Then he would hold on the bat and swing it around and bam!, he would get his idea. Well I can make this hat do the same thing for me. For anyone that knows me, you know I can’t wear a hat without constantly fucking with it anyway. So now when I am stuck on something, instead of staring at the wall, I will fidget with the hat…and hopefully…bam!

 

 

(That’s me practicing my “stressed out writer” look with the hat on…looks natural)

 

 

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    Well I had the hat on for a few minutes before I was due to come on shift so I decided I should start a good routine and write something…anything. So I looked through some of my notes I had made before about potential poems to write. I am not ready to put pen-to-page on my script so I decided to write a little poem for all the kiddies… let me know what you think.

 

 

 

Have you ever tried to watch a moment?

 

Life has moments,

they float like still frames in your mind.

But as life flows past you,

 these moments are hard to find.

You wait  for a moment to come,

it’s just a few feet away.

Before it’s upon you,

 it’s already floating away.

To concerned with keeping it,

to let it be what it should.

You short yourself a moment,

that will never be as good.

You hope you saw enough,

and try to remember it…

for what it was…

whatever a moment is.

You realize whatever happened,

whatever you just saw.

If you really don’t remember it,

 was never a moment at all.

- Andrew Myers -

 

 

   Not to bad, definitely not the same caliber as the Acrade poems from a few weeks ago, but I like the thought it creates. Well thanks to everyone for the 50+ comments, I deleted a bunch and still have 50, that is awesome. So while I have the attention I might as well do some research. That is of course if everyone would be willing to help me out and answer some quick movie questions. WARNING: This might require comments that are a few lines long. hah.

 

 

What is your favorite movie……WHY?

What is your favorite opening to a movie….WHY?

What is your favorite ending to a movie….WHY?

Who is your favorite character in a movie….WHY?

 

 

 

(thanks for your help/comments and don’t forget to subscribe)

 

 

Afghanistan

 

   The process of writing a script is well underway…I am becoming well used to the thought of becoming a “writer”. I like the feel of the new image. Writing a script for screenplay is a much more detailed and complicated process then I ever imagined. But it is not all left up to creative genius, which I lack. There is a certain element of it that can be broken down, made into more of a formula. Forced to make sense and explain itself to you as you wonder around the concept of your story. I am almost done with the first screenplay book that I bought, the one considered the “bible” of screenplay writers by the industry. And I am halfway done with “Screenplay for Dummies”. The books help with describing what IS needed to compose the function of a screenplay. I have spent a lot of time thinking about the story I am writing and how to tell it in a way that will satisfy those requirements. I have it pretty well figured out as far as requirement but have a long way to go as far as story.

      My next project after I finish reading the “how to” books on screenplays, is to start reading actual scripts of other movies. Then to lay the movie out scene by scene on 3 x 5 index cards and adjust them and move them around until I get a feel for the “flow” or “move” of the story and then, read the screenwriter’s problem solver to correct any pieces that don’t work. Then to sit down and start writing for each scene. So there it is, that is the process, I want to be done with the first draft in 3 to 4 months. Then done revising a month later, and then done altogether in 8 months when I come home.

     Yesterday I bought everything I need for proper story boarding, and 12 scripts to read, Cast Away, Pulp Fiction, Good Will Hunting, Shaw shank Redemption, and so on. It should all be here in about 3 weeks which in when I plan to start laying everything out. Tonight’s project…

The beautiful thing about reading screenplays is that it is an entire story that you can read in about 3 hours or less. This is the only script that I have already, and I already own the movie. A little research project.

 

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     So here is my day…I work from 9:00 at night, to 1:00 in the morning. Then sleep 8 hours until about 9:00 in the morning, and then work until 1:00 in the afternoon. That is when I work on the site and do some reading. Then my “day” is from 1:00 in the afternoon, until my shift again at 9:00 at night. The point: Here is what I do with my 8 hours a day to to whatever I want. The first four hours are for the script, reading, researching, thinking, writing, watching movies. The last for have one purpose only. The total destruction and death of my friends:

     I would like to think that is not related to the fact that we are military. That is, the instinct for death and firefights for 4 hours a night. And I don’t think it is. For most of the day I am simple man that does his job and writes a lowly script, but for four hours a night, am a god amongst men, dealing intimidation and death to all that find themselves in front of my wrath. I might lose one game out of 8, or one per night, and by lose I mean come in 2nd place…not 1st. But for most of the night I am the virtual grim reaper. There is so much more to the game then just shooting. That is what I like about it and that maybe is why I fare so well, maybe others don’t consider all of the elements. Listening to other TVs for clues, considering what range the weapon is designed for and controlling distance, how to use grenades to trap people in a certain spot, how to travel around the board in your hunt for enemy. There are so many elements, it is what you get when you combine chess and a fist fight.

(Note the biting of the bottom lip, that is the look of total focus)

I should have taken the picture above with everyone in the room. Normally every TV including the big screen in the background would be packed with people and then there would be a few waiting to take the losers place after the next game. What a great game, helps pass the time at least. Here are some of the scores from last night. There wasn’t as many people here last night.

    Most people try to pick a color for their character so that they will blend into the level. I picked white, that way whenever someone sees me run by, they KNOW that it is me. And they will think twice before trying to run any kind of ambush tactic on me. Or maybe I am just so vain I want to rub it in everyone face that even if they do sneak up behind me…even this is a view that will lead to your death.

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