Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: [My references to deceased Marines and other "concrete" instances are related to you in a manner that directly reflects my personal experiences in Iraq. "Hammurabi" is of course ficticious, and any reference to the actual historical man is limited by my lack of factual knowledge about his life and exploits. My emails, while written in prosaic style, are not imbelished in regard to the facts of my experience but are presented in such a manner as to preserve and emphasize the irony, boredom, and insanity inherent in this place. Sometimes the voices of characters such as "Neverspeaks" and (the 'critically acclaimed' Hammurabi himself) are *your* words. Enjoy.] ... (directly continued from last conversation) ... The "coffee" is cold already. "I know what you're thinking," the figmental Babylonian says with a derisive smile. I look him straight in the eye. Pray tell. "If the first casualty of war is the Truth, your words mean nothing more than mine, or anyone else's, and nothing you write home to your adoring audience is ever going to change anything; ever, or at all." I drink from my cup; hiding, I hope, the disgusting taste of the cold, bitter, reconstituted freeze-dried coffee from Hammurabi. I listen with a face I hope looks impassive. Obviously I have nothing to say, or nothing I *dare* say. Yet. "Remember who you're talking to, American," he starts anew. "I'm a king. I ruled this place thousands of years before your kind even thought of choking this planet with your fossile fuels and crappy movies. Kings, countless kings, ruled before *me*, and none of them had the power I had. Everyone in my court, myself included, thought that the glory of Babylon would never fade away. We enslaved God's very own people, and nothing, no calamity, no vengeance, no enemy could overtake us. But let me tell you, it all ended. Yeah, you Americans have lasted longer than we Babylonians did, but there's variability in all things. Sooner or later, the 'world community' you disregard so intensely is going to produce the 'next big thing,' and you Americans will be stuck here like me, scratching your heads, wondering what on earth happened. But it will be too late." I chuckle. I spit a mouthful of coffee on the dirt. "Hammurabi," i say not phrasing it like a question, but pausing nevertheless. "Yes?" "Your presence in my dialogue as a voice of irony and historical perspective should implicitly satisfy the accusation that I'm not aware of the ephemeral nature of power-- particularly American power, such as it is. For crying out loud, man, I could talk to Puff the Magic Dragon for all intents and purposes and still get my point accross. Hell. He'd at least have interesting games to play. At any rate, my friends would still listen whether they agreed or not. Now wipe that sarcastic grin off your face, or perish in the withering gaze of my solipsism." I say this last sentence with a smile on my face. He hasn't touched his "coffee" since the first abominable sip, and I don't blame him. "Pharoah had better," he mutters within his wild beard. "Cyrus of Persia. What a prick." ... [tune in next time for Hammurabi v. Damon on "Purple Lace." ... no, this has absolutely nothing to do with "The artist formerly known as prince" 's album (how in God's name do you punctuate a possessive on a referent like that anyway...?) ] ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 3:34 PM 