Three Things You Will Never Read In My Writings

1. Murderer(s)
I have ventured to the dark sides of life many of times, but this here is too dark for my inner self to handle.

2. Serial Rapist(s)
I could "handle" covering a rape. I believe in myself to be strong enough to to interview a rapist and get into that psyche, but a person who's only way to get their jolly's off is to rape many men and/or women, well, I don't think I am tough skin enough.

3. Myself and My Sins
This last part is a lie. If and when I do publish my novel you will know that everything I do write about is my sins. Things I have done, things I have witnessed. Responsibilities that I have assumed.

Off Topic:

I just thought this ( I am watching "Capote" right now. I sit here and believe that I could never use any one, but is that not what I am doing with the people that live in these barracks? Using them to justify why I write? Why I live? Why I do what I do?

Hypocrite comes to mind, and it is the right word. (Palahniuk reference)

In the Mirror

Any man that lives in the world he observes is bound to wake up one day and look in the mirror, only to have one thought in his mind. Fuck. It won’t make sense. He will go on throughout his day watching every one get themselves deeper and deeper in trouble, or worse, slowly kill themselves. Then, as he gets comfortable with the night and gets on his soap box, it will hit him. He can’t do this anymore.

He can’t keep working for something he doesn’t believe in. Turning a blind eye to every small injustice because he is to young to understand the way the game is played. To new to be accepted by grizzled vets, and abused for their wants.

He plays along after that realization because he is not sure if what he is feeling is true. He always believed that he never felt at all, because after all the shit he has done can he be redeemed and taken seriously as a man of what is right?

I guess if you have faith, he could be. But no one has faith anymore.

We are so caught up in the drama that is played out on our televisions that we believe that we are the stars of our very own dramas. Well we don’t have millions of viewers. Most of us don’t live interesting lives. But we can’t just do what we do and be happy, no, that is to easy. We have to find a way to show we are special. Unique. Important.

So we believe everyone has this hidden agenda, this deep dark secret that we must find out so we can be the heroes. So people will listen to us. So we are important. And for some reason, that makes us sleep better at night. Until we look in the mirror and say that four letter word.

That is where I am now, except I have prolonged this moment. It has been a little over a year since I looked in that mirror and ever since then I have been able to forget about it until recently. I woke up on a very long weekend and looked in the mirror. After staring at myself for a few minutes I forgot how badly I had to piss. I turned and looked around my room. Nothing was in order. Everything a mess. I realized that I did not care anymore.

I thought about the work I had been putting off and how it did not matter to me because I was not passionate about it. I felt nothing, even after being told that the paperwork was being submitted to get me on the track to the job I had been fighting to get for a year.

A couple of nights passed, then I as I came home from the bar, two soldiers started acting like drunken idiots that most young soldiers act like. After a few pushes and them telling me to leave and that I was a faggot (to which I sarcastically replied, “That’s right. I like cock,” because I am a dick like that), one tried to chase me down. I quickly countered this by running past the non commissioned officer on duty and up the stairs. In the process, hurting my foot, ankle and knee.

When I got back to my room and sat down, I realized that I was done. Done with the bullshit. Done with the amateurs. Done with the beaners (may I add that I am not a racist in any form, but I was so pissed off, and drunk, at these two Hispanic soldiers that I actually used the word beaner when talking to woman I most deeply care about).

Now I don’t have a plan. Sure I can go to college or get some other job, but I can’t wake up every day and try to act like I care. I can’t give everything they ask for and then some. It’s just not in me like it was a year ago, and that is the worst part because now I have to question everything about me.

Am I a pussy who can’t be a soldier? Am I a man? Am I better than these idiots? Lower? Am I looking for an excuse?

I don’t know and don’t demand an answer from me. All I know is that for once, I want to wake up and be happy about who I am. If that means that I am a nobody, wannabe writer with no income, well, I guess that is who I am.

If You Walk Across The Dark Side Of The Moon Long Enough, You Come Back To The Light

If you know anything about me, you know I think love is bullshit. Plain and simple. For the past three years I have been fucking my life away. Who needs all that relationship bullshit? Sure, going to bed at night with someone to hold that care about is great. Sure, going out to dinner just to have dinner and not just because you have to go through the whole thing to get your dick wet, is a nice change of pace. Really, who needs that shit?

Well, after three years of woman after woman, drink after drink [for when I had no woman around], I have gotten a taste of love, and God did I miss it.

I didn't just fall back in love with someone, or get a glimpse of the love I could have for someone, I started from the very beginning. That feeling you get like you were guided somewhere, meeting the person by happenstance. The realization that you have a great time with this person. Those developing feelings that we as men never talk about but know something is there. Then, when both people realize that some place, some moment ago, they fell in love with each other and tell each other how they feel. I feels as though someone has taken the deep, dark secret you were keeping from yourself, and replaced it with everything you ever hoped for.

But, if you know anything about me, you know this doesn't have a happy ending.

I am sitting here in El Paso. If I can return to Germany, it would never be long enough to build anything. Our work pulls us apart, and deep down inside, I believe in reality and know that the past few weeks is probably all we will ever have except for the random visits. For once I would like to know where things could go without having to try and plan everything around a timetable of career goals and Army moves. I want to really enjoy falling in love and not having this voice in the back of my head saying, "Don't get use to it." I want to be human, and I know that I can't blame that on my job, and I don't hate my job for those reasons, I just want carefree happiness. Maybe that is just to much to ask for though. Maybe, there is no such thing because, isn't love a lot of work? Maybe I am just lazy.

Whatever I may discover about myself and love in the future doesn't matter though, because right now, I know that every time I close my eyes, I see her, and I tell her, I love you.

The Past Few Weeks

Yes, I know. I have been gone for awhile now. Last you all heard, I was off to Paris for four days. Well, I did go to Paris and I had a great time there, but as soon as I got back, work consumed my life. It has been a rough two weeks. I have had to make a lot of decisions about my future career in the Army, which turned out to not really matter since I don't get to make decisions. The following narrative may become confusing. I will try to explain it as easily as possible, but it is very difficult making sense of the Army's crazy decisions.

First, the regular work bullshit. I am not certain, but I believe that my NCO is just giving up on the whole I am in charge of an office and have responsibilities concept. Ever since I returned from Paris, she has rarely been around, and when she has, she has been of little help [especially with my reenlistment, but more on that later]. So when it comes to supply stuff, there really is no work going on because she is not there and there is no work for me to do. There are times when she is around and I am doing work. The most recent thing I have done, was take over the Hand Receipt for all the property on our floor [giving me the responsibility of accounting for it]. This shows that she trusts me to be responsible for $500,000 dollars worth of equipment, yet the entire time I was having people sign for their equipment, she was breathing down my neck and holding my hand through the process. This not only pissed me off, but slow me down because she would just jump in the middle of a conversation with a random question or comment. I understand that this is not my MOS, but I have been doing it for two years and if you are going to trust me with the equipment, then you should also not have to worry about whether or not I can fill out a DA 2062 properly (paper you sign for your equipment). She talks so much about how I am now a Specialist, and I am supposed to take responsibility, yet she spoon feeds me. I am very capable of receiving a task and executing it with success. Let me do that.

Anyways, enough of the bitching and on with my reenlistment.

Well the short version, it ain't going to happen. Now for the long version.

I wanted to reenlist to reclass out of my MOS and into the MOS for Public Affairs Specialist. I have been doing this job for four months, had two articles published and a few photos as well. This, I felt, was what I was meant to do for the Army, but the Army felt like it wasn't for me. The problem was that there were no seats available for class. Now remember, I have had to do a lot of stuff to meet the requirements for this, so I am already a little spent.

I tried everything I could. My retention NCO sent a request for class seats up to the Army, which was denied. I went and talked to the Branch Manager for Public Affairs, who was great help, yet he was still unable to get approval for class dates. During this time, my retention NCO also had a family member in the hospital, which meant he was very difficult to get a hold of when I really needed him, and my NCO was always saying, "Just wait and see. Don't worry about it." So it was me against the Army.

Then back in mid February, the Army put out a message saying that everyone in my MOS had to request a volunteer to reclass [they really pushed the other signal MOS's, but you can reclass for anything that you qualify for]. I was given 90 days to volunteer and if the Army did not meet their quota for volunteers, then it would start directing MOS reclassifications based on needs of the Army. Well I wasn't having any of that. My last attempt, before I went to Plan B, came from one of the civilians who works in the Public Affairs Office. He put me in touch with a civilian with USAREUR Public Affairs, who worked with the Sergeant Major there and was going to see what they could do. That was when I made some waves in my unit.

Before I even got in touch with this civilian, I made sure I told my first line supervisor, who had me inform my First Sergeant, who was SUPPOSED to tell my Sergeant Major. Well, when I went to my First Sergeant he was telling me how he was ok with it. Asked for the email so he could take it to the Sergeant Major. A couple hours passed and I had my NCO look into the situation to see it was clear to email this civilian who wanted to know what was going on. Well, it turned out that they didn't want me contacting anybody because they didn't want it to look like they were unable to help their Soldier. Eventually, they agreed that they would contact this civilian. When they did, he gave them the Sergeant Major's phone number, and that is where they left it. They were too afraid that their image would be tarnished to help me out. It still really, really pisses me off. For NCOs to be in the Army sixteen plus years and still be afraid to seek help and advice is just plain-fucking-ridiculous. So I was left with Plan B.

Plan B involved me reenlisting for the MOS 25B. This was only a stall tactic though, as I would not have to reenlist for thirty days, buying me time to see if seats for Public Affairs would open up. If not, I would reenlist for 25B. Then something mysterious happened. When the retention NCO [by this time, I had three retention NCOs working me, to get me what I wanted] went to plug me in to reenlist, the system wouldn't allow him. Why? Well it turns out, my branch manager put me on orders for Fort Bliss, Texas.

Really?!?! [I actually have a print out of my Assignment Instructions posted on the wall in my office with "Really?!?!" written on it. I wasn't allowed to put, "Well fuck me, right?"]

So, I went and got a hold of my branch manager to have him cancel the orders. My old branch manager did this for me back in November so I was able to take my testing for the Public Affairs MOS. This new guy is a dick though and fed me some bullshit about Priority Assignment [although he couldn't tell me what unit I was pinpointed to]. FNG.

So my crack team of retention NCOs from around Germany assembled at a conference call with my branch manager yesterday. After about a half hour conversation, my NCO gave me the news. I had three choices; A) Go to Ft. Bliss and try to reenlist there, B) Pick an MOS from a list of 6 MOS, the Army's most critical including Infantry, Truck Driver, and Glorified Secretary [25B was not an option], or C) Have my team of retention NCOs continue to fight the good fight for me, but if they were still unable to get results, I would be off to Ft. Bliss.

Now I had been trying to reenlist for Public Affairs since November 2007 and trying to reenlist since September 2007. This whole reenlistment issue, along with work, added with trying to learn everything I could about Public Affairs and Journalism, on top of that, closing down a military community. I was just tired of fighting, I couldn't do it anymore. So I waved my white flag and let the Army have its way. So I looked at my Sergeant and replied, "Tell all the retention NCOs I really appreciate everything they have done for me. I will go to Fort Bliss."

So now I have a report date of 10 May 2007 to Fort Bliss, but I have to be out of Germany by 4 April 2007. So now I start the process of clearing and heading off to Mexico [Fort Bliss is seven miles for the US - Mexican Boarder]. I will be coming home though. I will fly on the fourth to El Paso where I will stay the night then fly in the morning to Pittsburgh and stay until about the 21st of April.

As for what will happen to me once I report to my unit. Who knows. I am done trying to take control of my career. Right now I know I will not be seeing a promotion to Sergeant since the points are almost maxed out. Most likely I will be stuck sitting around, trying to tell myself that I am in the Army and that I am doing something that I not only enjoy, but helps make the world a better place. Oh, and I will be all up on that Rainbow Six Vegas 2.

Numero Uno: The Passion

A quick note about this blog. I wrote this a few weeks ago, while my internet was still out of commission. I am actually headed off to Paris tomorrow. I wanted to release this on Monday but my internet was still out, so now my blogs will come out every Friday, with this being an early release due to my absence. I have a lot of things I want to see and do while in Paris this weekend, as far as writing goes, I have a dream inspired short story I hope to finish while away. Anyways, I hope everyone has a great weekend and is enjoying the new scene for my blogs.

-Joe

After spending an hour and a half trying to find the terminal for my connecting flight, I finally got a chance to sit down. I spent the first few minutes cursing Philadelphia and everything associated with it. Realizing that I was going to become quickly bored, I decided that I should do a little light reading. Hell, I had about six hours until my flight was to board, and it's not like there is anything to do at the airport anyways.

I pulled out a copy of Hemingway's “A Moveable Feast.” I had read the first chapter before I left Pittsburgh and decided from that chapter that this book was going to be a great influence. Whether it be in my life, or my writing, or any thing else that can be influenced, it was going to change me.

The next thing I realized, I was on a plane heading for Germany and all I could think about was the most remarkable novel that I had just read. All the different views that Hemingway and I shared. Events that had taken place in my life that paralleled his. I was able to see where my style of writing had been hugely derived from, which came as sort of a surprise to me since I had more aligned myself with F. Scott then Hemingway.

After reading “A Moveable Feast,” I realized what that feeling was after the first chapter. At first I thought of it as a muse, but quickly came to realize that it wasn't inspiration, it was a kick in the ass. I had been talking about writing and publishing a novel for over a year now and only became semi-serious over the past four months [only to decide to change direction a few chapters in, forcing myself to start all over]. I wanted to read more. Over the past two years, I had only read two books, one being a very short novella by Ayn Rand. I wanted to do so much, and Hemingway got me out of my procrastination and helped me become a man of substance. His kick in the ass, released my passion for writing and even got me to rewrite the first chapter of my novel into something much deeper than what was originally written.

I quickly lost that passion though, due to the many variables I face in life.

Work became very busy when I got back to Germany. I had a few upcoming assignments for the Herald Post coming up, which didn't seem to matter to anyone in my NCO support channel. Add that to the many bullshit tasks given to me everyday and the fact that I am still trying to learn how to write like a journalist, it was very hard to motivate myself to write, or read, or care. And when I did get motivated to sit down at the computer and write, I found myself lost in the internet.

Then, one weekend, while surfing around on the web, I discovered that my W-2 was up and I could do my taxes. After that tedious task, I realized that I had just come into $1,500 dollars, so naturally, my mind begun thinking of how it could be spent. That was when Hemingway gave me another kick in the ass. While looking around at different televisions and other gizmo's, I happened to glance at my coffee table and saw “A Moveable Feast” sitting there along with George Orwell's “Down and Out In Paris and London,” and that is when it hit me.

I am only a four hour train ride from Paris. Not only would it would be great to just go there and say that I have been to Paris but this is the city that so many writers from the Lost Generation and other time periods escaped to. I needed to escape. Sure the thirty day vacation I had just come back from should be enough for any man to come back to work relaxed, but when you are as low as I am on the totem pole and have as many if not more responsibilities as the Chief, you become so stressed that it feels like you are pushing two days into one. And anyways, for the amount of work I do, I deserve another break from it all.

So first it was train tickets. That is easy. All I have to do is go on the web and enter my destination and dates of travel and I can print them off in no time, but when should I go? Payday is on the first and I have a three day pass I still have to use. Three days though? That isn't long enough. I really can't take any leave days since I need to save those in case my family decides to fly out in March. Ah Ha! The fifteenth. Not only is it a payday, but it is also a four day weekend. I could live with only going to Paris for four days, besides I can always go back later on in the year.

Now that I knew when I was going, I had to figure out where I was staying. At first, I seriously contemplated just taking a back pack of essentials and staying out on the streets for three nights, but I quickly came back to reality and started looking at hotels. I didn't need anything fancy, just a bed would do, but I wanted to be close by to the sites, you know, the Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, all those spots. I had also decided to check out a few areas like Shakespeare and Company [both the original store and the new one], the apartments that Hemingway lived at and worked, and a few other “sites.” After a quick search, I found I nice little hotel, about six kilometers away from most of the sights that I wanted to see, not to mention it was close to the train station as well.

That night, I had the most trouble sleeping. All I could think about was being in Paris. Thinking about all the magic and inspiration it would bring me. How, when I got back from my getaway, my writing and I would be completely different. Better, more profound, deeper in meaning. I would begin my transformation into a great writer, like Hemingway, and F. Scott, and like all the other great American writers from that time period.

While collecting addresses to all the places I wanted to visit in Paris, I also wrote more, almost completing the first four chapters of my novel. Even before I had gotten on a train, the power of Paris was affecting me in great ways. Then, after I had turned in my papers to my unit, asking for permission to leave the country, Paris was put in the back of my mind and not worried with, everything had been set and there was no more I could do. I decided to pick up on my Campus Legend that I had started on awhile back on my Xbox.

But only for a day.

Quickly more and more writing started pouring out of me [and not just for work]. Characters and short story ideas where flying all around in my head, and it was in preparation of writing my first blog on this blogspot page that I realized something.

I was walking home from the base library, mentally going over some of the notes I had written down and thinking about what my first blog should be. I was thinking along the lines of a “Why I Write This Blog” sort of thing, and in that process I remembered the feeling I had after reading “A Moveable Feast,” and how I got the kick in the ass that I needed. I then began to think though that maybe his kick in the ass did nothing in reality. For after that flight, I didn't write and only begun to write when Paris, inspired by Hemingway's book, popped back into my life. Maybe I had the desire and not the passion.

For the past two years, I had pretty much been talking about writing. The only real thing I produced where my blogs on MySpace, which most of the time were written under the influence of alcohol, anger, depressing music, and/or women. Some were just terrible and meaningless, and some were so thought provoking, I would read them later on and have to double check that I was the author of them, but that wasn't passionate writing, that was just me showing off my desire to be a writer.

Now, with Paris hardly on my mind, I am pumping out so much writing, that I don't even recognize it from my earlier works. Most of my earlier writing was shorter and could of said more, but I didn't have the passion to write more, I merely gave you all the gist of what I was trying to say. Before I wanted to write, now I need to write. Now I have the passion.

So that there is why I write, because I have a passion for it. A need. I realize that I have something so worthy to say, that I should be put in to print for thousands, millions to read and discuss, and share with their friends and family. The passion.

The great thing about having the passion; you don't need some great journey or runaway from your home to pull it out of you. If you have the passion, in anything, you just need a swift kick in the ass.