Friday, December 23, 2011
I have chosen to use the strategy of pastiche in my version of Reed’s Poem. I have done this to honor both the poem itself, but also its subject matter. My way of going about this has been to retain much of the structure and “feel” of the original poem, while at the same time updating parts of its contents. I have, however, also made changes to the poem’s orthography, as well as changed words and sentence structures, in order to gain coherency.
Today we have EOD awareness. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We will have counter-intelligence. But today,
Today we have EOD awareness. Snow is falling on spruce trees,
Covering the landscape in winter-wonder,
And today we have EOD awareness.
This is a picture of an uncovered device – you will note its size. And this
Is a picture of the kind of damage a device like this can cause,
So when you are out there, be aware. And this is the A54 metal detector,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Are covered in virginal snow, evoking the promise of innocence,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is how you use the A54,
With an easy flick of the thumb you turn it on. And please do not let me
See anyone using their finger. You can do it quite easily
If you have any strength in your thumb. The snow-covered brushes
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this is The International MaxxPro MRAP with V-Hull. We use this vehicle for
Rapid deployment through known EOD territory. The purpose of this vehicle
Is to protect you if you are hit by an EOD.
We call being mounted inside this beast: to be tugged in.
The snow is falling light and pure outside the window, as the Father puts his children to bed:
They call it to be tugged in.
They call it EOD awareness: it is perfectly easy,
It is unlikely that you will ever be caught off-guard and become a casualty of war,
If you focus and show some initiative and use the tools at your disposal,
Which in our case we have not got; and snow is still falling,
Silent in the night, as the Mother kisses the foreheads of her children,
For today we have EOD awareness.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
I absolutely despise writing. Yet there is nothing I like more. It is the weirdest thing. I am usually very uncreative but I am also oftentimes very creative. I also draw. I draw a lot. So let us hit two birds with one stone and say that this is my confession concerning both of these creative outlets. The reason why I seem so torn as to what I really think my level of creative skill is because it is both horribly bad and incredibly good. The problem or solution being music. Without music I cannot function creatively. Some artists would shrug at this telling me that it is because I do not have any original ideas myself and must draw inspiration from the tones coming from my speakers. That is not the case. I become happy or sad when I hear music. And I cannot write or draw without feeling something.
I absolutely despise writing ink. Yet there is nothing I like more. It is the weirdest thingamajig to have a beef with. However, I am usually very uncreative when it comes to hating something, but I am also oftentimes very creative at this when I set my mind to it. I also draw. I draw a lot. So let us watch this from a birds's-eye view with the mind of a stone bramble, so that everybody can understand. This is my confession about my hatred for writing ink, and I hope that this will outlive me since I think this is quite an interesting confession. The reason why I seem so torn is that I really think my level-headiness is being affected by all of the skillet-cake I eat. The problem or solution to this state of mind being musical chairs. Without a good game of musical chairs I cannot function creatively. Some artless people would shrug at this telling me that it is because I do not have any original identical twin myself, yet all my friends do. A true inspirer I know is from the tongan people. I talk to him from my speaking tube. Obviously I have to look at my problems together with my friend on a case-by-case basis. I become happy or sad when I play musical chairs, though mostly happy. And I cannot help feeling like a million when I’m with my tongan friend.
- By Tobias N. Rasmussen
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
To-day we have naming of wheelchair-parts. Yesterday
We had daily cleaning of crutches. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have how to mount a staircase. But to-day
We have naming of wheelchair-parts. Disabilities
Are everywhere these days, real or imagined are no longer distinguished
And to-day we have naming of wheelchair-parts
This is the rusty left brake. And this
Is the rusty right brake, that you must use
When you want to avoid serious head injury. And this is the crutch-holder,
Which in your case you have not got. The legs
Running around freely in the tall, green grass
Which in our case we have not got
This is the rims, which are not confined
To gangstas and their pimpy rides. Please let them
See how I polish them every day. It is quite easy
To keep one’s ride nice and breezy
These are the handles. They call it the handle
Because they allow you to handle the person
In the chair. And the cushion, the wheels and the armrests
All of them made so we don’t fall on our asses
For to-day we have naming of wheelchair-parts
Monday, December 12, 2011
One morning in the middle of the jungle, I opened my eyes and looked towards the treetops. As I got up, a high pitched scream reached my ears and I ran towards it. A young girl had apparently fallen into the river, and she was fighting to get up. I ran towards the slope above her and saw her using a screwdriver in the attempt to climb the slope. I rapidly grabbed my ‘rambo’ knife and cut down a liana which I tossed down to her in order to help her up. As she tumbled on shore, I said ‘smile, smile it makes you look more pretty’ to lighten the mood. She looked at me and said ‘GIVE WAY, no trespassing here mate!’ Confused, I started cutting my shirt into pieces with my scissors in order to make some bandages for her leg, as she had cut herself badly on a rock in the fall.
I wanted to break the bad mood by asking her where she was from and what her name was, while I handed her a Pepsi from my bag. She said her name was Lucidia Anseris and that she lived in the jungle not far from here. Though she wanted to go home, I requested that she would come to my hotel, the Quaker, in order to get some medical attention. As Lucidia started to get up I said ‘wait, I have to keep left to support you’. After walking for a while she got impatient, and kept asking me ‘are we there yet?’ and I started ignoring her and thinking of the good book, the lovely Bones, which was lying in my backpack in the hotel room waiting to be read.
Suddenly, a huge albatross came charging at us and she told me not to be scared, which was near impossible as I had a phobia for birds. In order to calm my mind, Lucidia started speaking about her parrot Puppy Love, which loved eating red onions and fingerlings. Weird parrot I thought to myself, but maybe it just reflected her personality, like dogs and their masters. Taking a closer look, she was dressed in a t-shirt which read ‘no smoking’ on the front and ‘dead end’ on the back, in her hair she had attached eagle feathers, and around her neck, she had a necklace made of garlic, which by the way smelled very bad.
Finally, The Quaker appeared in front of us, and I brought Lucidia to the manager - the local medicine man. With no anesthesia, I bought her two 10% beers in order to dull the pain while he stitched her up. As the evening came, she was getting sober and reassured me that she was doing fine and walked home. The next morning I was going home to New York, and as I arrived at JFK airport, I spotted the familiar guards with GLOCKS in their belt and at home my parents were playing checkers.