This week I've been reading poetry known as "Trench poetry" millions of soldiers durring the first world war wrote poetry and sent it home recounting the brutal and patriotic scenes that they witnessed. The poetry is vivid with imagry and in it's own way beautiful with rythmic voice and classic form. The Germans used mostly modern forms but still as amazing. This is where my head has been as I work day in and day out in this toxic environment. it's been said that those who wander are not always lost yet I feel lost. My mind is a voice louder than the last, saying nothing, and searching over for meaning. I am sifting through mental garbage just looking for the one pice of gold not knowing if it's even in there. I had a dream last night that I cut part of my toe off and all that was inside was fleshy sand like mush. I thought about it this morning searching for meaning in that too. My mind is telling me to move on or face the fact that I will become empty inside, bitter, numb and passionless. So then I went to the movies, my only way to escape my beating mind. I saw the hurt locker. For those who don't know, it's a film about 3 bomb experts in Iraq counting down the days. I have to say it was very hard to sit through. Not quite an action film, only a little blood, but pure emotion and I have to say it seemed accurate. It covered topics like PTSD and survivers guilt. I sit here having this week and think of what a world we live in, and who am I anyway. Having spent time in the Army I feel close to those who fight, sad for the lives lost those of my friends, as well as ALL others who have died, for what? For oil or sacred sand. Is it worth more covered in blood? Is it worth the economic crisis that we live in today where people are reduced to mear pawns, zombies even working for nothing watching the rich get fatter. While I am here, once full of passion for life, with skill and the desire to learn. Now only a shell of what once was.

This week I've been reading poetry known as "Trench poetry" millions of soldiers durring the first world war wrote poetry and sent it home recounting the brutal and patriotic scenes that they witnessed. The poetry is vivid with imagry and in it's own way beautiful with rythmic voice and classic form. The Germans used mostly modern forms but still as amazing. This is where my head has been as I work day in and day out in this toxic environment. it's been said that those who wander are not always lost yet I feel lost. My mind is a voice louder than the last, saying nothing, and searching over for meaning. I am sifting through mental garbage just looking for the one pice of gold not knowing if it's even in there. I had a dream last night that I cut part of my toe off and all that was inside was fleshy sand like mush. I thought about it this morning searching for meaning in that too. My mind is telling me to move on or face the fact that I will become empty inside, bitter, numb and passionless. So then I went to the movies, my only way to escape my beating mind. I saw the hurt locker. For those who don't know, it's a film about 3 bomb experts in Iraq counting down the days. I have to say it was very hard to sit through. Not quite an action film, only a little blood, but pure emotion and I have to say it seemed accurate. It covered topics like PTSD and survivers guilt. I sit here having this week and think of what a world we live in, and who am I anyway. Having spent time in the Army I feel close to those who fight, sad for the lives lost those of my friends, as well as ALL others who have died, for what? For oil or sacred sand. Is it worth more covered in blood? Is it worth the economic crisis that we live in today where people are reduced to mear pawns, zombies even working for nothing watching the rich get fatter. While I am here, once full of passion for life, with skill and the desire to learn. Now only a shell of what once was. I walked through the fires of my life beating myself up for not being stronger dealing with situations that NO one should ever have to. And I am here still with burning feet tired of the fight to survive because where does it lead. I am not free, I am a slave to the whip of modern life. I am broken spirit, alone in a fairweather friendship with everyone. Searching for an end to my suffering and nothing more. I can not change the world, nor the lives of those I love and care about. I can not make people see the light in me, so it dulls slowly becoming less important, till my voice is only a whisper, then it is gone. the death of the life within me, just an empty shell with nothing left to take.