Before Dishonor

Not quite meme

2006-10-03T14:53:40Z

So, there're a bunch of those "Ask me three questions" dealies out there.

I almost want to do that. Except not really. So instead... just tell me something about me. What you think of me, whatever. Ask a question, if you so feel. I'll answer. Evasively, perhaps, but there will be a response.

Anonymous responses only. 'Cause I'm cool like that.

Writing!

2006-06-04T21:37:29Z

One foot in front of another. Push aside thorns, ignoring raw hands. Another step, another push. And repeat for the rest of the day. In that jungle is Charlie, watching for you, waiting for you to step into his traps and ambushes. So watch your back, don't let him sneak up on you.

Nominally, I'm safe. After all, I'm here in the center of a platoon, with at least three men in any direction to guard me. Then again, this is the triple-canopy jungle. Charlie could be hiding anywhere- and he is- and strike from anywhere- which he does. The men in front could have, by blind luck, have avoided traps that I find. Not saying that I'm not lucky, living nine months out here without any serious wounds takes a lot of luck.

And this isn't nominal by far. On paper, I should have forty-eight men, myself and my Platoon sergeant. I don't. I've got SFC Jack Trenner as “Plat Daddy”, and twenty-three men in four squads, and a single Corpsman attached. We had twenty-seven and two Corpsmen two days ago, but one private found a mine and went home in a sealed coffin. Three others are going home short some pieces, but at least they're going home.

Three days straight in the boonies can fuck with your mind. Three days that no one has had a full night's sleep, three days of hot and misty jungle. It doesn't even need to rain, it's so damn humid. We keep moving, alternately praying to a God we hardly believe in anymore that we'll never find Victor Charlie and never have to fight, and that we'll find the damn gooks and blow their fucking heads off.

This is our life, fighting in a war half of us don't believe in, wanting to kill half the time. A life of perfectly averaged extremes. We cling to our sanity like drowning men as it deteriorates in our hands.

The point man calls back to me, “Sir, we've found the village.” Finally. Jack calls the platoon to break the combat wedge, and I lead them into the clearing. A few huts are clustered together, and a handful of the villagers come out to meet us. Some kids run up babbling “GI numbah one, mistah, can I have a cigallete?” Some women smile and say “GI numbah one”, and the few men do the same. They all smile at us, but you can never tell with them.

We unsling our guns and drop our rucksacks. At least we can get rid of the shit that we had to carry out here. Some food, some books and pamphlets- three languages, English, Vietnamese and French- and some other little things for the villagers. Still, every pound counts, and we're sick of any useless weight. Their dirty grubby hands reach out and snatch everything that we have. I can see PFC Johnson, our M60 carrier, deliberately counting his fingers- asshole, but I know what he's saying. Steve, my RTO, is already calling battalion HQ to report in. I take the phone from him and listen to a load of doublespeak and respond, “So I should stay in the area?”. More bullshit, only phrase that matters is 'Viet Cong activity in the area'. “Yessir, I'll do that.”

“Gord, what's the story?”
“We gotta watch this area, Chuck's around.” He nods and gathers the squad leaders, passing on the news. “Relax for an hour, boys, we'll move out then.” They all slump the the ground where they are, and half of them fall asleep immediately, the rest take off soaked boots and try to dry their socks off. Their feet look like wet sheep- wrinkled and a dirty white color- and if they're anything like mine, the hurt like a bitch. I wrestle my boots off and peel my socks off my feet. Sure enough, they're the same picture of immersion foot as the rest of them. Damn.

Jack and I stay awake for the full hour, watching our gear and the forest. I talk the apparent village leader into letting us take two men away to use as guides. They come over and introduce themselves, and I introduce them as “John” and “Pierre”. They both speak a pidgin French, Vietnamese and English which I can make out well enough for what I need. I pull on my socks and boots over the protests of my feet, then Jack and I kick the men awake and into formation. The squad leaders give their instructions and we move out, with John in point, and Pierre close to me slightly behind.

Shit, I've forgotten how much point can snap your mind. Watching John pick his careful way along a path that's not really there. He examines every bit of ground before he steps. Jesus, he's as scared as we are. “GI! GI! Rlook hiiyah! Thah es mine hiiyah!” A private jogs up and examines what John's pointing at. I run up with him, stupid idea as I think about it, but Pierre holds back. It's a Bouncing Betty, nasty little son of a bitch. I call to tighten the formation and keep on watch. The private fishes out a knife and begins to dig the mine up, careful not to trip it.

After a few excruciating minutes, he pulls it out of the ground and removes the fuse, tosses it in the brush and we move out again.

I guess John got a little less careful, because he misses the next mine. It's just a grenade in a tin can, triggered by tripwire, but it still fucked him up just fine. I try to think that he never felt it, that the scream was when he tripped and realized that would happen. I can't forget that.

We covered him with a poncho, and that with some dirt.

Now Pierre takes the lead. You'd think that he'd be scared because of what just happened, but no, the gook's got some balls. He takes the point and keeps walking, with his eyes to the ground, searching for anything unusual.

He leads us through the tangle almost relentlessly, only pausing to let us catch up with him. I swear that he's up to something. He hesitates, and takes a longer step than usual. My pistol is at his temple before I realize it. “Don't move a fucking muscle, Pierre.”

He's straddling a mine. I push Pierre onwards with my pistol at the base of his skull, and the platoon follows, avoiding the mine. He keeps walking, pausing once to whisper that there's a trip wire in front of him. A private cuts it, and a grenade falls from a tree rattling out of a can. I push Pierre on, and he moves with a new purpose.

The jungle's getting to me. Something's always moving out there, eyes are always watching. Eighty-seven days left before I can get out of this green hell. Pierre breaks for freedom, screaming something in Vietnamese. I tackle him to the ground, pull him to his knees and pistol-whip him across the side of the head. I drag him to his feet against me, my arm under his and across his chest. I take another step, keeping the gook tight against me- damn, he smells like a rotting animal and tobacco.

Suddenly the air is alive with gunfire. Chuck's all around us, spraying with AK's. Pierre takes a burst to the chest, making the Charlie sympathizer worth something. My platoon rushes to the gunfire as I empty my Colt into the jungle. Reloading's a hassle around Pierre, but I don't want to drop my shield. I hear Trenner ordering the men to open fire, somewhat redundantly, since half the men are already spraying their M16's where ever they though they saw Charlie. The chattering of our rifles mixes with the coughing AK's, broken only by the occasional 'bloop' of a grenade launcher and the explosion. Some of our guys are screaming from wounds, but I can barely hear it. I keep loading and firing, as useless as it actually is, I can feel that I'm doing my part. I'm scared, God, I haven't been scared like this my entire time here. I'm cut off from my platoon, surrounded by Charlies, and I only have a dead body to protect me.

Is it really that strange that I find the barking roar of PFC Johnson's M60 comforting? The splintering wood, the screams of the gooks, the falling branches all sing of heaven and comfort to me.

I let Pierre drop to the ground as I stand in the center of a hail of bullets. They stop shooting, but my angels still fly around me. Johnson must have pulled up on the trigger, for the jungle falls silent. Then the wounded begin to scream for help, and the Corpsman gets to work. My RTO calls for a dust-off, and Jack gathers the platoon together.

I order them to search the surrounding area as the Corpsman reports to me. One of ours dead, and three seriously wounded. Victor Charlie lost eight guerrillas, and left three AK's and an SKS. We've done well in the meatgrinder today.

We begin to slog back towards the village as soon as the helo's take off. We're relaxed now, for we have met the enemy and he is gone. That'll get us killed one day- Charlie's never our's. He's waiting, always waiting. Damn him and damn the gooks that we're fighting “for”. They're all the fucking same when you get down to it.

As darkness falls, we stumble into the clearing and are challenged by a Vietnamese voice- “GI, we're back!” we respond. And they open fire on us. Sporadic, but we don't want to deal with this shit. VeeCee's probably recruiting. I raise the captured SKS I'm carrying and unload the clip into the darkness. “Johnson, clear this place out.”

The barking roar shatters the night, the muzzle flash burns into my retina. The bullets tear through their hooches like a chainsaw through butter. I see the dead man from the ambush, and from two days ago, and I remember that these are the people who killed them. There is no justice here, only revenge.

I'll have to report this as “elimination of suspected Viet Cong sympathizers”.

The answer is yes, with this letter attached:

Ms. O'Brien,

After reading Dear America, and especially after the classroom discussion on it, I could not write just another response log where I “found it interesting that they killed people... and their thoughts about killing people changed... and their thoughts about the war”. That's almost disrespectful to the book and the men that wrote it.

Honestly, I think that this book deserves so much more than any one of us could give it. In all honesty, what I'm giving you now is probably the most “disrespectful” thing that's going to be handed in today, but at least it's got some feeling behind it. It's the tribute that I can offer to their memories and thoughts.

I wrote a story about a single day in “the boonies”, as told from the perspective of a First Lieutenant platoon leader, who has been in country for nine months- about, as I could tell, the most interesting time- after he's lost his “cherry”, but before the skittishness of the last month comes in.

I could say that it's a deep introspection on the nature of violence and warfare. It's not. I could say that I sanitized it a bit (I did. The original was a bit more profane, but I decided that's just my adolescent mind at work. Perhaps not.), but the events are a culling of the more interesting events described in the book, and a few creative liberties taken from sideways comments in various letters.

One last thing before you get to what could be the biggest disaster of an assignment that I've ever turned in. Why did you have to tell us that you didn't think we could get through the book? To me, that's a personal challenge along the lines of “I bet you can't finish this”.

Thank you for reading this, and I'll stop wasting your time now,

Judas the Zealot

There ARE somethings that money can't buy

2006-02-24T03:44:49Z

judasofkariot @ 2005-09-20T21:54:00

2005-09-21T01:55:02Z

because no one needs to listen to my delirious rantings.

Who is?

2005-08-31T00:55:40Z

I'm beginning to doubt my own hold on reality. Sometimes, I have trouble distinguishing dreams from reality, and they blend into each other so well, it makes distinctions ever harder. Or maybe I can't tell the difference between me and my characters. I don't know.

So, I've changed my charries around a bit, they're a bit darker, quirkier and rougher. And they scare the shit out of me.

Matthew is now just plain psychotic, hallucinating, violent and deadly. Judas is even more ambigiously good and evil.

(21:14:28) Me: seriously
(21:14:42) Me: Matthew is now a very twisted character
(21:14:53) Shannon: fun? :D
(21:15:15) Me: He's a sort of combination of my personal sadistic fantasies, and Peter Wiggins of Ender's Game
(21:15:28) Me: As well as psychotic
(21:15:40) Me: Hallucinations, of his "Daemons"
(21:15:51) Me: not Demons
(21:16:04) Me: They're his personal hauntings
(21:16:32) Me: When he was Sixteen, they told him to attack a bully who was attacking him
(21:16:56) Me: He beat the shit out of the older boy, then bit through his neck
(21:17:17) Shannon: ....ooh.
(21:17:27) Me: severing the Jugular, opening his trachea and Carteroid
(21:17:45) Me: he was diagnosed with severe Psychosis, no particular disorder
(21:17:59) Me: just "seriously fucked up"
(21:18:22) Me: When he turned 21, he escaped the mental institute
(21:18:34) Me: and started his own battle with the Daemons
(21:18:49) Me: as a soldier, SWAT
(21:18:57) Me: always brutally effective
(21:19:10) Me: until a fight started, and someone was in the hospital
(21:19:13) Me: it was never him
(21:19:23) Me: Finally, he resorted to Hunting
(21:19:49) Me: the dead Demons a sort of sacrifice to his own
(21:19:57) Shannon: Fun :D
(21:19:59) Me: it kept him sane, just barely
(21:20:16) Me: which raises the question of the reality of the Daemons
(21:20:50) Me: Judas knows of them, but doesn't make any overt comments

Oh there's nothing quite as wonderful as money

2005-08-30T19:10:24Z

I've now got $719.02. I need another thousand. I wanted it before school started, but I don't think that's going to happen for some reason.

::EDIT::
I just finished Ender's Game. It's a lot better than I thought all around. Since the main character was a child, I thought that it would be a very simple book, for kids to read about the glory of another one of them. Their personal Gary Stu, in a way.
I was right about one thing- it's a realitively simple book. But that's all I got right. It's possibly one of the more disturbing reads I've had. That the main character was a child only emphasized that aspect. A child's mind is so... malleable, so fragile, so reich and creative. Ender's dreams disturbed me.
So, just because I want to save them outside of the highlighted bits of my copy, here are my favorite quotes:
"But later she thought about it and realized that perhaps, for Peter, it was a kind of magic, like her little fires; a sacrifice that somehow stilled the dark gods that hunted for his soul."

"'I also remembered that you were beautiful.'
'Memory does play tricks on us.'
'No. Your face is the same, but I don't remember what beautiful means anymore. Come on. Let's go out into the lake.'"

"SPEAKER FOR THE DEAD"

Judas.

And stuff

2005-08-29T19:17:21Z

Blue shift is cool. As soon as VALVe loads the damn hi-poly pack, I'll be a bit happier. I'll be even happier when they make a hi-poly MP5 instead of switching over to the 9mm Colt M4.

I want this gun. 'Cause it rocks, that's why.

While you're at it, toss in this uber-sexy knife. It's the CS:CZ and beyond knife, if you care.

::EDIT::
I just discovered that the VALVe/Steam version of Half-Life has the full song of "The Monster Mash" hidden in the misc sound folder. Strange, and awesome.

Found this

2005-08-28T18:05:25Z

Half-Life: Blue Shift Released on Steam 56 Comments
8/24/2005 21:27 PST | Steam | by Pratt
Half-Life: Blue Shift is now playable for anyone that owns the Half-Life Premier Pack, the Half-Life 2 Silver package, or the Half-Life 2 Gold package!

Thank you God. I know what I'm going to be doing tonight after work.

Haiku of Judas.

2005-08-26T20:44:38Z

So, let's modify it, and format it...

He had that air of
an Angel in the Blood of
his own voice. Do you?

And one more, edited and formatted:

He took his chosen
to heaven- that left the rest
of you- just Judas.

Not bad, actually.

Dammit.

2005-08-26T03:41:32Z

I must be a-knowing the right thing to do, since the buddy I've been helping with a girl has just gotten himself a date to homecomeing.

Suprisingly enough, my stories' have been moving along. Slowly, but I'm not forcing inspiration.

I played the Halo:PC demo. Enjoyed it, but had hell learning the controls. And the cutscenes keep screwing me up. Still don't like it, but I like it a bit more on the PC.

Wait, wait

2005-08-25T21:02:55Z

Actually, I'm not going to. I'm going to rewrite the whole damn thing anyway, so it's really just notes now. SWEET!!

OVER ONE YEAR WITHOUT USEING SPLELCHECK!!

A turning point.

2005-08-25T21:00:30Z

I'm about to run Spellcheck.

This shouldn't be a big deal, but it's the first time I've done it to a "fun", voluntary, non-assigned piece of writing in over a year.

Words, Phrases, I'm sorry.

Judas.

In other news, I'm looking for a Nightwish song, called Carpenter. Can anybody help me there?

And life goes on. I swear

2005-08-24T17:03:13Z

You what was the coolest thing at Philmont? The Protestant chapel. Not only did it have the most spectacular view, but it had an INDUSTRIAL cross. Not one of those small gold-and-sliver one, but a huge, twenty-foot one. Made of steel. Painted Golden Gate Bridge Orange. With a lightning rod. Yes, a lightning rod. That made me happy. As well as the Bibles they gave out. Small and compact, with the Philmont logo gilted into the leatherette cover. I have two, one fresh and crisp, and the other a little battered.

yes, this FREAK enjoys the sound of his own voice.

2005-08-24T04:11:04Z

Do you believe in the nobility of suicide?

Dammit. Every now and then depression hits me for some reason or other. Right now, I've been helping a friend from scouts with a girl. Why the FUCKING HELL do people ask me for help in these things? If it's because I know them, why the hell don't I get ANYTHING. AT ALL. I'm not talking anything major, just anything, a quick dinner, a movie. ANY FUCKING THING AT FUCKING ALL.

Phil, why the hell do you always move a bit faster than me? Maybe it's I'm slow. Maybe it's I'm not trying. MAYBE I DON'T FUCKING CARE AT ALL.

I continue to lose myself in the non-reality I weave with writing. With UT04, CS1.5, System Shock2. What the fuck does reality have for me anymore? Why do I continue to try to live in it? It's not working for me.

Good Fucking Morning to the rest of you.
Judas.

Just one more time
For the sake of sanity
Tell me why
Explain the gravity
That drove you to this
That brought you to this place
That pushed you down
Into the soil's embrace

Give me the chance
I was denied
To sit and talk with you
For one last time

Did I disappoint you?
Did I let you down?
Did I stand on the shore
And watch you as you drowned?
Can you forgive me?
I never knew
The pain you carried
Deep inside of you.

I can't forget
Having to see
The words that knocked the wind
Right out of me
It's not enough
I've come undone
Trying to find sense
Where there is none

Just give me peace
You owe me that
To help ward off the fears
I must combat

Did I disappoint you?
Did I let you down?
Did I stand on the shore
And watch you as you drowned?
Can you forgive me?
I never knew
The pain you carried
Deep inside of you.

And so I ask
For one more chance
To understand
This senseless circumstance
Help me to see
This through your eyes
The reasons I've been trying
To surmise

Though you are gone
I am still your son
And while your pain is over
Mine has just begun

Did I disappoint you?
Did I let you down?
Did I stand on the shore
And watch you as you drowned?
Can you forgive me?
I never knew
The pain you carried
Deep inside of you.

NO.

Keeping me alive

2005-08-23T20:28:55Z

This:

Part of this:

Is keeping me alive on Gaia. Now, whenever some angsty goth crap gets posted, this is replied. They started to bitch about trolling/flaming, then when other people came to my side, it's going well.

...

2005-08-23T01:50:09Z

I hate people today. I'm feeling remarkably violent.

Help me.

2005-08-21T15:54:19Z

Okay, this is a bit of a long story, but stick with me here.

So, since the day that we had to pick up the TJ packets was the same day that my mom was in for surgery, Mrs. Stoltz took me and my brother in. At TJ, I met Nessa and Kim, and hugged them both, nothing unusual for the Aud Lob, right? Mrs. Stoltz saw this, and told my mom. Nothing bad there, right?

Wrong. Now they're both on me to get a date. Nothing bad there at all, I've been avoiding it for two years now. Not though lack of trying, but that's another story. Unfortunately for me, they threw in a termination clause. If I don't have a date for my Senior Prom, I'm going with my mom.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

So, to get a jump on things, any junior girls want to go to our senior prom with me?

GODLIKE!

2005-08-20T03:57:02Z

I've recently rediscovered UT2K4. I love it all over again. I've also discovered sniping. Mainly, I learned how to zoom with the sniper rifle. The last game I played, against bots two levels higer than my normal, I got 137 kills, about a quarter of the headshots, in 15 minutes- no deaths. Averages out to one kill every six seconds. I also got several Double and Multi kills, which if you know the time limit on those, basically means that I need to string together two or more headshots.

However, I'm not just a camping bitch. In another game, while dying, I did manage about fifty kills in about seven minutes, mostly with the minigun and shock rifle, one with the sniper.

Good times.

My mom is out of the hospital, she's feeling fine.

Celebrate!

2005-08-18T21:58:00Z

Just got the news from my dad at the hospital. All three Operations on my mom's cancer went off without a hitch! Good shit! They caught the tumor early, so it did not spread at all. No lymph node removal necessary, rad-therapy will probably not be necessary, chemo will be abbreviated.

Otherwise, good shit as well. I got my schedule, it's on JGrafton's scheduler now, and here:

Period Teacher Class Room
1 Rochkind Japa3 203
2 O'Brian Eng11 219
3 Kobrin APUSH 218
4 Walker Phys1 102
5.1 Anderson Nature of materials 117
5.2 Anderson Prototype devel 117
6 Donohue Precalc 233
7.1 Zack Street Law 213
7.2 Domina Arch Drawing 116

Judas.

Cash and Culture.

2005-08-17T03:04:35Z

Got me first paycheck today, not as much as I hoped, but that's because it was from an earlier pay period. I'll get more next time...
Anyway, I'm about $325 closer to a computer than broke.

I've discovered a liking for French pop, this should tell you why. VNV Nation and Assemblage 23 still have a special place in my ear, along with ELO and a couple other bands.

Life, is good.

Judas.

Monentary

2005-08-16T02:55:09Z

I'm feeling good today. I counted my tips/savings, and it came to $164. And I get my paycheck tomorrow. Happiness.

Good shit must have happened today, or something like that.

Nostalgia

2005-08-15T03:15:58Z

Had a good day at work, got one of my first glowing reviews from a customer. And a palmed $5 tip. One that I don't have to share.

I was wathcing Resident Evil, and the sequel last night. I noticed, while watching Jill Valentine, that I was thinking, "what a pair". No, not those. Her Berettas. I do the same with Lara Croft and her dual USP MATCH's. Something may be wrong here...

My dad just dug out my first toy. It's this pastel blue-green bear-like animal. It hangs from something, with a ring. You pull the ring, and it plays music.
"Close your eyes,
and Good Night,
Little Eli sleep tight."
Or at least the lyrics that my dad always sang to me then. I've had it since I was born- they bought it for me as I came out of the hospital, and it always hung over my crib. Then they gave it to my brother, then it disappeared. And now they found it.

It's dying. The music is weaker, slower. The arms, legs and ears that used to move with the music are still now. Yet still, the colors are bright. The word "love" is still clear on it's bib. It's smiling.

These are the best days of our lives. We'll look back one day, and think, "those were the days."

"When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,
For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today"

John Maxwell Edmonds (1875 -1958)

'Splosives

2005-08-14T03:34:11Z

My mom just got back from half of a course of IED's. Have I mentioned how much my family's business trips rock? My dad does CT work, my mom translates for Asians. Hot stuff.

From Wikipedia:
Mercury fulminate (Hg(ONC)2) is a primary explosive. It is highly sensitive to friction and shock. It is mainly used in blasting caps. Mercury fulminate forms gray crystals of density 4.43g/cm3.

It can be prepared by mixing alcohol (18 parts) with a solution prepared by action of concentrated nitric acid (60 parts) on mercury (1 part). The solution is slightly heated and maintained below 60°C. After a couple of minutes a reaction happens that heats the solution.

The fumes should not be breathed since they are toxic. Soon, mercury fulminate precipitates. The product has to be washed with water until no trace of acid remains. The manipulation of mercury fulminate is safest when it's humid.

Silver fulminate can be prepared in a similar way, but this salt is even more violent than mercury fulminate. It can even explode under water.

So, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't this sound awesome? Especially in super-natural hunting units (Vampires, Werewolves, etc.), if you had the mercury or silver blessed before the making of the stuff. Replace your gunpowder with that and the holy-ness of your weapons just increased a bit.

So, anyone want to help me make this?

Judas.

Ah, good times.

2005-08-13T02:39:13Z

To night I saw a red moon. Quarter moon, if that means anything. Reminded me of Nathan's poem, which you should read.

I've recently been swapping weapon models in CS for some new, cooler looking ones. It's fun, and I'm playing a lot of CS v. bots. Fun.

I haven't worked on the story a lot, but I've got some ideas. It would rock if someone could give me a good name for a CLS-manufacturing company. I'm going to use Legion Armaments for the kenetic/slug-throwing weapons. Judas uses a Mark 9 Hawk pistol, and I need a name for a shotgun.

Judas.

At the sign of the Goode Eats

2005-08-11T02:32:06Z

I'm a little worried. My diet, which was never the healthiest, as we all know by my appearance, has gotten a lot worse. I now essentially eat Pop-Tarts with milk in the morning. On days that I work lunch, I eat a burrito, bean, beef or chicken. On other days, I have a hot pocket. On days that I work dinner, I eat a burrito, a bit bigger one, but the same ingredients. otherwise, I usually have fast food. Hopefully when my mom returns from her training, I will be eating a bit better, but no guarantees there.

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