December 21, 2004 | Service Record Book

Didn’t occur to me until I wrote the date just now exactly how close we are to Christmas. Whoa.

Yesterday I received my November(!) issue of The Believer. When I finished the first article this morning, I liked it so much that I wanted very badly to read it aloud to someone, anyone. I looked around at these guys for a while and left to smoke a cigarette.

It occurred to me then (and probably not for the first time, but I forget things) how peculiarly visual and auditory reading is. I’m not sure if I read aloud in my head exactly or what’s going on, but there’s something for sure.

Occasionally I wonder (to myself) about why we are here, and also about Why We Are Here. While I was going pee-pee (which seems to be when I have some of my best thoughts), I came up with a few Vonnegutian (à la Sirens of Titans) reasons:

To turn food into shit.
To transport water from place to place (via bladder).
To keep our vehicles fueled.
To incrementally lessen the weight (mass) of the Earth.
To give the trees something to breathe.
Towels.
As a giant white-noise generator (radio, and possibly psychic).

Gravity’s Rainbow is totally fucking with my brain. I’m serious. I come out of some chapters not knowing where I am and wondering who the fuck these people are. And not in a way that I can begin to explain, but maybe in a way I can describe: nope, never mind. Can’t. Sorry.

Oh, man. What reading this book feels like is some dark, thunderous mass loomingly passing overhead, occasionally at its lowest points making contact with my feeble mind, giving me brief glimpses inside, still opaque and murky. Or maybe like an enormous jellyfish in deep, deep water, floating across, its longest tendrils brushing my head, sending, I dunno, electricity jolting down and up my spine.

I guess today’s the winter solstice. During our last night patrol the temperature dropped to ten degrees. Fahrenheit. And, naturally, our vehicle has the only worthless heater in the company. I mean seriously, some of the guys are complaining about how hot it gets in their vehicles.

And then dawn will break, and you’d think the infamous desert sun would help out some, but no, you’d be wrong. Instead, the traitorous orb convects(?) across us the coldest wind that ever blew. I swear it’s a fucking ghost-wind, an icy zephyr that cuts through all my layers (flak jacket (with ceramic ballistic impact plate insert), Gore-Tex jacket and pants, camoflauge uniform, fleece, sweats (shirt and pants), polypropylene thermal underwear, undershirt and boxers) better than an enemy 7.62 mm round ever will, that cuts to the bone and nigh incapacitates. Really, I’m inclined not to fuck with any insurgent operating out in this cold. I mean, that is one hardcore muj.