Reality
War is sanity.
You’d try to relax. You’d uncurl your fists and let your thoughts go.
The whole world gets rearranged.
Everything talks. The trees talk politics, the monkeys talk religion.
And the mountains are absolutely dead silent.
The harmonies of sound and shape and proportion, the great sheets of metal-fire streaming down from a gunship, the illumination rounds, the white phosphorus, the purply orange glow of napalm, the rocket’s red glare.
It’s astonishing.
It fills the eye.
It commands you.
Your mind is sucked in and your thoughts are consumed until you are lost entirely.
A blockade from the aesthetic purity of absolute moral indifference.
War is hell, but that’s not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love.
Almost everything is true. Almost nothing is true.
Proximity to death brings with it a corresponding proximity to life
After a firefight, there is always the immense pleasure of aliveness.
The trees are alive.
The grass, the soil- everything.
All around you things are purely living, and you among them, and the aliveness makes you tremble.
You feel an intense, out-of-the-skin awareness of your living self- your truest self.
All of a sudden your preoccupations are no longer existent.
And even though you’re pinned down by a war you never felt more at peace.
Your mind tells the truth.
There are no morals.
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