Friday 12th April 2013 - The loneliness of the Long Distance StandEr [sic]

I was called in early today as Mike our other Iraq veteran called in sick. Doug (Vietnam) completed a whopping 1-hour shift and I took over and stood for forty minutes. We have decided amongst ourselves to stand for 15-minute shifts as the wear and tear on the mind and body and feet is tempered somewhat by earlier relief. Though, our breaks are also only 15 minutes the payoff is sitting down drinking a soda and watching the dancers prance around in tights and undies.

Experiences heard today:

Coughing

Sniggers

Extremely subdued serious art talk 

'He's naughty that's why he's in the corner.'

Apologies (to who?)

Dog barking 

whispers 

School kids not answering their art teacher's questions

'What's this about?'

'Here's a dime call me when you get off.' (that did not happen)

Almost ready for next shift. My meditative efforts are paying dividends. 

Spreading the information

More spread

Imagine this with lots of people

Yesterday a couple of punters asked as I left the room if by performing Santiago Sierra’s piece it was churning up memories of my experiences of Iraq. My knee jerk reaction was to say no. Yet I realized I have been thinking of Iraq during my corner time. Again my thoughts are not consciously constructed or do they appear in a linear form. But neither are they as mashed as in the first days of this extravaganza. The data collated, odours, faces, sounds and thoughts and feelings are plucked individually from wherever they are. Once the memory is revitalised I can move onto the next one. What is significant about these dredged memories? They are accessible. 

Cool Dude 1991

When we deployed into Iraq some of us were flown by chopper from the Turkish border town of Salopi. The chopper rose quickly and directly over the mountains and then dropped like a bucket of shit into the Giri-Pit-Valley. Now, we were supposed to stay in Salopi overnight, as we had missed the last chopper run. However, when the bus pulled into an American base we were ordered to grab out weapons, packs and webbing and load the chopper. There was to be no delay because the chopper was roaring to go. Heat, dust and sewerage whipped up around us. The chopper stood about twenty steps in front of the bus. 

13 ROOMS LEARNING

Unfortunately I was holding onto a 1.5 litre bottle filled to the brim with my piss (and that’s another story) without a lid. I had intended to simply get of the bus and tip the toss the bottle of piss away. Now, I was last to get off the bus and because of my gear and rifle I could not take the piss with me. Our OC for the journey through Turkey, a Major screamed, ‘Get the fuck off the bus and get the fuck on the chopper!’ He used those words. I put the bottle of piss down and scurried down the aisle. When I looked back the bottle of piss toppled over and my piss fanned out flooding the bus. I sheepishly looked at our driver. He smiled and I ran up the ramp into the chopper. 

MOSHING ART FANS GO BALLISTIC

Moments ago standing lost in whiteness a person from behind walked towards me. A confident high-heeled klomp, klomp, klomp reverberated in my skull. I half expected to be thrust through the wall. Once stopped a stream of quality perfume wrapped itself around my head followed by a whispered, ‘Thank You.’ That was unexpected, pleasant, strange and it kind of better to hear than the adult laughter and sniggers. It’s been a busy day in the corner and it looks like one more veteran has dropped out so we are going to have to tighten our shifts so that the show can go on.

Doors of Perspective

I had intended to write about my feelings in response to some of my memories bobbing up. And like memories writing one idea leads to another and the original idea (memory) is gone. However, I am back on track because I did feel I needed to express how I felt on the very day, the exact moment we deployed into Iraq. When boots touched the ground, and my boots were fucking spotless.

Hang in There Dude

From my seat in the chopper I watched the ground speed away as the ramp slowly shut as we lifted higher and higher. All I could hear was the sound of clashing machinery. The pilot was flying in psychotic variations in altitude and position. This was due to ‘people’ taking pot shots and ‘people’ meant anyone with a weapon. In Iraq everyone including goats had weapons. 

Mr. President what are in these 13 ROOMS?

I was still enjoying my life as a soldier on the verge of deploying overseas in a war zone in that romantic great unknown. I still felt I knew who I was. As the ramp lowered I watched the ground rush and shit myself. We landed hard and ran down and away from the chopper. I can still feel the blazing hot turbines and whipping double blades above me. I was submerged in intoxicating layers of gasoline. We fell down in an arc away from the chopper. I looked down and saw my rifle barrel pointing at my chest and at the same time watched as the chopper lifted off with a horrendous roar and quickly become a black spot in the sky. Right then and there I decided it was best to isolate myself from myself.

Art is Fun When You Can Get It