Jeff R., a man who has given very much to me, told me about an old blog post I made 5 years ago. I re-read it and thought that it was indeed fantastic so I think that you should take time to read my birthday post of 2005:
Now I am 21 so there will be a lot of Mokoli and party time.
Life feels good although right now I am in a class about satellites that I know nothing about, and everyone else is a signals guy and since I am MI I have no background knowledge. I am like an ignorant child just sort of observing everything, not knowing what is up.
Tongiht will be a good night overall, but you know how it is — we live and work for saturday.
On my birthday PM Koizumi is stirring up controversy: http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2005-10/17/content_3623847.htm
The Yasukuni war shrine is for all of the war dead, essentially, that the Japanese have — he is honring his countrymen, but due to a controversial history, this is a borderline criminal act, it seems. Now let me be blunt and speak from the heart:
The Japanese committed many war crimes, but if they are guilty of terrible crimes then so is the U. S. Army Air Corps and the entirety of all militaries that ever engaged in conflict. During these conflicts there are great atrocities committed — war, itself, is an atrocity; it is the act of killing another human being, destroying an entire family by killing their fathers, sons, brothers, cousins, daughters, mothers, sisters, babies…
When Prime Minister Koizumi is honoring the war dead, it is an abstract practice of honoring his family and his family’s friends who, in the war, died fighting gallantly. Their only crime was that they didn’t wear the right uniform, and so now instead of being heroes they are villains. I think that one cannot confuse the foot soldier for the dictator.
Furthermore, war is a sacred and religious act as much as it is a crime; it is the act of risking the entirety of yourself for something so large and grandiose it is hard to comprehend. The act of fighting war is such a beautifully somber yet hideously energetic action. There is nothing you can compare it to — it is the most grave circumstances that humanity ever encounters, and thus the most glorious and the most vain, the most completing and defining and the most shallow and destroying. War is the most amazing thing that we, as humans, collectively share amongst each other – it is what destroys and builds nations and empires.
I think that the war dead should be honored.
I would enjoy the moment of killing another human, or being killed by another human; it is a profound poem that few people ever have the opportunity to read or participate in. The act of taking another person’s life in such a huge picture, in such a huge course of events — the act of death, of living up to the sacrifices of previous men… It makes me think of the poet Yeats and the Samurai and the Mujahedin and the Waffen SS and the Spartans, the Trojans, the Wikinger, the Berserker, the infantrymen and the zulu warriors & blackfoot archers & maori clubmen…
If my name could be uttered in the same breath as any of theirs, or my life could have parallels with such elite forces and lifestyles, it would be honorable.
I believe in the sanctit of honorable death, and so I think that these men should rest in peace and be honored by people, as the war dead of all nations and the fighting men should all receive this treatment. To not do this is wrong.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
I cannot describe the feelings that I have in the act of death and killing, and in the profound beauty and warrior creed, the way of mankind, the act of spilling blood…
Jon Dunbar once told me that an Italian fascist once said that… “It is better to live one day as a lion than a thousand years as a lamb.” Amen.
When it is time to fight & to kill or to die, I will be a participant in this most holy and sacred action. It is why I have lotuses tattoo’d on my arms, it is why there is the words ‘Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori’ tattoo’d on me.
It is because when some people say they are crazy they are liars, but when I say i am crazy I am not a liar — I am the volunteer to death, the worshipper of destruction drinking the milk of chaos from the breasts of Shiva; I am the Lotus flower, I spring forth from both the filth of swamps and the serenity of water lilies — I am the honorable death, whose life is void of meaning but who, in moments of intense struggle, proves worth through sacrifice.
I am the volunteer to death who sees no point in living on knees, or even living while standing — I see only a point in running as fast as one can, living as hard as one can, and dying under the shadow of our ancestral banners amidst the beating of the drums of war and the howling and screaming made from tools of murder.
I am the volunteer to death who is so easily disillusioned and overly romantic, who is so pointless in his own life that he only looks to death for meaning, I am the idiot the fool the man who knows nothing and knows nothing so much that he would like to know only nothing, and become remnants of bone in the soil of an ancient battlefield.
And I turned this current event into something more than it should be — I guess in addition to being the big cunt as described above, I am an obsessive fool.
I think that he visits the shrine on my birthday is somethignI want to be fateful and defining of myself; though there would be nothing to indicate as much and it is probably just a random coincidence, I would like to think it more. Goodbye for now.