-^-for posterity-^-

the family goes to a war museum. we’ve known our own sort of war, but nothing like this. this was the real thing with bodies and consequences that hang in the air long after the war has ended. consequences that never really go away, people just stop noticing them.

i realized something today. i realized that war was really sexy.

the tanks that stood in the middle of the yard were beautiful. their skin glistened ebony power. their bodies were chiseled and handsome. their muscles were easy to see under the thin shirt of paint. their phallic guns pointed upwards and out. they were power. they were gods resting.

the long artillery was intimidating. it stood silently with it’s long barrels pointed ambiguously at the sky. they could lob destruction for miles. they could shout and scream if angered. i would love to stand behind one of them and push a button or pull a chord or say the right words to make it fire. i would love that power. the power to take away life. the power to hurl matter through the air. the power to destroy.

there was a large machine gun that was set on a pivot. it had two barrels that were covered in sleek holes. it had large sheets of metal in the front to protect from incoming fire. i stood behind it and felt majestic. i felt like i belonged there. the gun swirled and irked up and down at my will. it became a part of me. i was no longer hampered by my weakness and insecurity, i became that piece of metal and i could destroy. i was a superhuman. i was a hybrid. i was metal and flesh. i was a machine with a conscience (however, the machine had an alarming ability to sap and reduce my conscience considerably).

there were bombs littering the ground. one bomb was attached to a huge parachute. the bomb itself was as large as a small car sitting on its end. i imagined it drifting peacefully down to the earth and then releasing it’s frustration. the sides of this metal monster would expand for a moment, as if they were rubber. the metal would give way to the angst that lie beneath. the metal would splinter. it would dart and zip at will. it would become lethal and everything in its path would be no more. that was power.

there were rows and rows of guns and grenades and rockets on the wall. in my mind, i could hold them. they shook and screamed as i threw small pieces of metal at whatever i judged unfit. i would be the executioner. i would be st. peter (or is it james? or john?) sitting in front of the pearly gates. i would look briefly in their eyes and decide who was good enough to stay on this earth. i would do god’s work and i would do it well. i would toss grenades and wait momentarily. it would pop and smoke and debris would rain down. i would hear moans but they would be meaningless. my mission was heaven-sent.

my fantasies all evaporated. i created them to see what it would feel like. i’m sure it would feel like god to drive a tank. i’m sure it would feel divine to hold a machine that took life. i’m sure you would have to sacrifice a small part of your humanity to do it. the pictures of mothers and children running from villages burning only have an effect on someone who is able to see them clearly. if your conscience is clouded with your own narcissism and fear, you see nothing.

we walked through, me for a second time, and were humbled. we were humbled by the awesome power of war. we walked past the agent orange exhibit and listened to the effects of chemical weapons in use. we saw the two jars with baby fetus in them. one jar held two babies joined somewhere in the middle. they sat and looked at each other. they looked pensive. they wanted out and didn’t know anything about what monster destroyed them. they didn’t know about governments or nationality.

some people were crying by the end of the tour. i couldn’t cry, i had cried earlier. they shed tears for me. something welled up inside of them and it had to escape. they saw the contradictions. they remembered what they were told and what had happened. they saw lies and dead bodies. dead brown bodies that kept talking, kept telling stories. if they buried it, it would kill them later.

i left and thought about the streets of baghdad. the solders there look sexier than the solders here did. they wear thick flack jackets that make them look massive. their helmets make them invincible. their guns have more attachments and are much shinier. they could never be defeated. they are the ultimate humans: those that have given up a part of themselves, a piece of their conscience, to be as powerful as god.