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The Journal of Jon-Jacob F Deal

I've reached 69 poems posted.
01/25/2005 04:33 p.m.
And I know there must be a lewd joke in this somewhere, but I just can't get one going.

Anyhow, I'm glad that people have been reading the stuff I've been posting lately. There's probably going to be a nice dropoff in what's posted, though, because what I just added has been created over about six months. I've never been that prolific a writer, so unless something just hits me you guys are gonna have to wait.

Gotta go.

Out!

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The Realness and "Closer"
01/16/2005 07:18 p.m.
There is a certain something that sets in during extended relationships, something that my medic friend Dave and I refer to as, "The Realness." It's when all the let's-be-nice-let's-be-fake-I-don't-really-know-you-yet games stop and your true feelings start raging out at each other. If you want to see a movie with some serious Realness, I suggest "Closer."

It was daring. It was vulgar. It kicked me in the heart a couple of times and in the balls a couple more. Basically, I thought it was awesome. A really adult movie about real adults doing and talking about real adult things. Human fickleness, human desire, the needs we all have for safety, security, love, sex, and the truth.

Anyhow, I was very impressed. I'm sure everyone and their mother has already seen it, since we tend to be a little behind the power curve over here, but, wow... I love it when movies make me think and sit around all twisted up, wanting to tear out my caveman heart and boot it across the room.

Uh. Yeah.

Out.
I am currently Lovesick

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Gator 36R sends...
01/13/2005 06:37 p.m.
Guidons, guidons, this is Gator 36 Romeo. Message follows. Break.

Due to recent activity in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom III, posting of written works has temporarily come to a standstill. Break.

Expect sitrep NLT 01 0001 FEB 2005 via posted works from the front lines of the Sunni Triangle. Break.

Stand fast and await subsequent transmissions. More to follow...

Gator 36 Romeo, out!


I am currently Dorky
I am listening to Soldiers chattering in the 'net cafe.

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Maybe Tomorrow Will Be a Better Day
06/24/2004 01:56 p.m.
I was on the edge of screaming like a mental patient all day. Within the confines of the instability, I came to the placid conclusion that I don't particularly care whether or not I come back from Iraq. If I do, I suppose I'll go on kicking and trying to tear off this blindfold existence, the universe still holding my nose and forcing me to suck the exhaust pipe that is the bullshit of life. If not, all the problems I would have ever had (WHATwillIdoWITHmyselfAFTERtheARMYwhereWILLiGOtoCOLLEGEwhatWILLiBEwhenIgrowUPhowWILLiFEEDandCLOTHEmyselfANDwillIeverMAKEloveTOaWOMANwhoLOVESmeAGAIN?) will have been solved in one fell swoop. I'll never get old and soft and fat, I'll be a young dead soldier forever.

And I didn't even have to do the job myself.

Out.
I am currently Empty
I am listening to Talking heads on the idiot box

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You haven't lived until...
06/18/2004 03:29 p.m.
...you've been accosted drive-by fashion by fat Alaskan women driving pickup trucks through the never-dark summer of downtown Anchorage.

Or discovered two excellent poets in one fell swoop--Adrianne Knott and Madeline Pestolesi, one of whom has a name resembling something that might be a tasty Italian pasta dish. Read them, they're wonderful.

Or posted a poem about lesbians, which I also have done tonight. That's right.

Out.


I am currently Calm
I am listening to HIM - Poison Girl

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Yeah, so I made this haiku about a breakfast cereal today...
06/09/2004 09:42 a.m.
...and no, I don't know, so don't ask. Things just come to me, and I write them down. It's not always this big, contrived process. I'm just a conduit, I tell you. So, uh, yeah. That's all.

Out!
I am currently Clueless
I am listening to HIM - Your Sweet 666

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Does your mother know you're here, kid?
05/16/2004 01:21 p.m.
My mom reads all the poems and journal entries that I upload. I was just thinking... Is that odd? Would you feel comfortable with your mother reading yours? I mean, I have two poems that very specifically mention my testicles. I guess she made them, so reading about them shouldn't bother her. But I suppose it's an arrangement that a lot of people wouldn't prefer. Hm.

Hi, Mom!
I am currently Weird
I am listening to Story of the Year - And the Hero Will Drown

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Don't you hate it when...
04/30/2004 03:33 p.m.
You're deathly bored, with too much time and nothing to do with it, nobody to talk to, and the one person you really WANT to talk to is completely and utterly AWOL? It blows!

Out!
I am currently Tired
I am listening to The fan in my room.

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It's Not That Simple
04/29/2004 03:31 p.m.
Today I read a poem that someone had written about the war in Iraq. Although I empathize with the suffering that is going on there, I don't favor the interests of one side or the other. The ideal solution to end the suffering is not for the Americans to destroy all Iraqi resistance or the Iraqis to destroy all of the American soldiers there; you can't remedy that problem by having either side annihilated. The solution is to not have the problem in the first place, but now things can't be undone. Of course I value the lives of the servicemen and women there, and also those of the opposition, but I refuse to accept an outcome that brings victory to those being "murdered for blood money" standing over the graves of my brothers.

Do you think they wanted to be there in the first place?

Most of us aren't bad people, just sometimes badly led. The military is the machine, not the soldiers that comprise it. It's an organization and a force that is too large and has far too much momentum for any one cog to stop. What am I going to do about it? I am going to continue to serve my country the best that I can without compromising my ideals and my values, even though my efforts are often unappreciated by the very people that I am sworn to defend.

To quote Edwin Starr: "War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!" I couldn't agree more. But, unfortunately, it's the way the world works, at least, for now... And, as far as the American military goes--In good weather you don't notice the roof over your head, but I'll bet you'd miss it if it disappeared during a downpour.

Out.
I am currently Tired
I am listening to Memories

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I guess Rangers bleed just like the rest of us.
04/25/2004 03:00 p.m.
Either yesterday or Friday, I don't remember which, I saw on the news about an Army Ranger who was killed on Thursday in Afghanistan.

This, in itself, is not unique. If you shoot a Ranger enough times, he will die just as dead as I will. What's unique is that this Ranger in particular had been, in 2002, at least, a professional football player with a 3.6 million dollar contract with the Arizona Cardinals.

Now there's quite a hullaballoo about Patrick Tillman... What an outstanding patriot he was, what a great friend and family member, what a rare breed to walk away from such a lucrative career in order to suck dirt and get shot at in Afghanistan, what a special guy to give all that up.

But you know what I say? So fucking what. Everyone gives up something when they join the Army. Their freedom to say what they want, be who they want, look like they want, be intimate with who they want. Their familiar life, their familiar house, car, dog, wife, kids.

And, sometimes, their pulse.

Of course, the really special thing is, not everyone else has a multimillion-dollar football career to fall back on when they leave the service. Not everyone else has enough money from a previous job to go more than paycheck to paycheck each month. And, for damned sure, not everyone gets praised on CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS, Fox, and whatever other TV news network you can think of when they bite it.

I've got friends from Basic Training that are over in Iraq, and I don't know whether they still have all of their parts. Hell, I will be leaving Korea in 5 months, and might end up over there myself. But if my buddies and I were KIA, would it even be a blip on the radar? No. What about us guys who aren't anyone, who joined up just because it was the right thing to do? Patrick Tillman should not have been the exception, he should have been the rule.

And so, RIP to Pat Tillman. But remember, it's not the ones you hear about that are always the real heroes, but mostly the ones you don't. All give some, some gave all--

And most didn't get paid 3.6 mil to toss a ball around, but gave it anyhow.

Out.
I am currently Bothered
I am listening to Story of the Year - And the Hero Will Drown

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