Friday 19th April 2013 Art on the Urge of a Nervous Breakdown

I start at 3:30pm today, there are three more days to go (including today). If you haven't checked 13ROOMS out come on down and enjoy this truly rare experiment in performance art. Even if it's not your thing give yourself something to talk about at your next family or friends social occasion. It's a real conversation starter.

                                                                  ART HEADS

I have placed here a short story I wrote about a soldier friend of mine who was severely injured whilst serving in the Australian Army. His injuries left a permanent impact and I hoped to reconcile my feelings about the outcome of knowing someone well as a friend then they become a friend who isn't the man you once knew.

                                                                  A SIMPLE VISIT

                                               

I hadn’t seen RJ since the accident. Little resembled of the man I once knew. RJ’s mind was entombed in his emaciated body that was held inside a sack of drooping skin. The impact of his fall from the sky had crushed RJ’s skull turning his good looks into a poorly ploughed paddock.  At his bedside I didn’t move because I was afraid. I wasn’t sure RJ could still talk. He was unable to breath, eat, shit, piss, talk, smile or laugh. Life as he knew it ended the moment he left from the hercules. At ground zero his twisted body was meshed with and was tightly wrapped up in his silk shroud. Buried before his funeral. Bar talk indicated that RJ’s head was the size of a melon. Now it was a shrunken pea.

RJ may have smiled because a patch of muscle quivered above his lip. His mother, Nannette stood by a rocket waiting to blast off. Three facts reeked in the ward, colostomy bags, RJ’s acceptance and Nannette’s obnoxious positivity. I guessed that RJ didn’t want live as a mullet.

            Nannette’s double plus propaganda inspired newly graduated nurses and ward visitors to get RJ walking again. Though, I knew insensitively RJ was one ‘a fucked unit. Nevertheless, I wondered if he could still smoke because RJ like me smoked the light fantastic fanatic. But, from the tubes, wires and pumps regulating his body it didn’t seem likely. Nannette spent six months not only nursing RJ but also spamming his interests and sticking it to the man. She was resolutely, absolutely, fundamentally and doggedly driven to change RJ’s circumstances.

The doctors and specialists consistently reminded Nannette that RJ’s survival was miraculous in itself. Yet, Nannette felt hope would transcended their frail human endeavours. I sensed wretched desperation but my ignorance utterly failed to understand her torment and desolation. A slight sociopathic bent disengaged me from the swill of emotions that others found meaningful.

Nannette watched me closely. She read the signs a doubter and recognised the fear flashes in my eyes. On this point she was ice cold and all she wanted to do was rid the room of the ogre. To stir the mix I intermittently broke contact and peered out the window. It broke up the pattern recognition. She moved closer to claim RJ’s sovereignty. I was thinking about how could I suffocate him?

I pushed mum and leaped onto the bed and twisted RJ’s lifeline then smothered him with a pillow. I was oblivious to the bellowing chaos around us. Nurses, doctors and visitors clutched, scratched, kicked, groped and punched me with hysterical impunity. I collapsed fell from the bed bloodied and bruised but managing to smash the hissing ventilator.

My thoughts drifted down from the beautiful cloudless sky. In the near distance a row of Blue Gums seesawed soothingly in a guileless wind. The landscape tempered my outlook. I smiled and realised that RJ’s life was his own. That was it. I shared a joke and left never knowing what became of them.

                                                                      Lady Dangling

In the military there is a lot of standing. Standing around doing bugger-all, standing at attention, standing down (return to regular duties, going on leave), standing orders (follow the rules) and standing to (at dawn & dusk all soldiers stand weapons ready facing out into the bush, jungle, desert or landscape as a way of preparing the troops for attack. Apparently it’s the most opportune time to do so, however, wouldn’t the enemy be standing to also?).

In Iraq privates and corporals (senior NCOs and officers were excused due to rank) were tasked with providing security 24/7. This required each soldier t perform a two-hour shift of guard duty. We stood in a hole with ] a Mag 58 (heavy weapon), our personal weapon, communications as well as a heavy Vietnam era night vision scope.  The two-hour guard night shift consisted of a one-hour gun pit shift (on your own) followed by another lonely hour walking the perimeter fence. It was always reassuring to walk around our camp and come to the end of the wire! Our razor wire simply ran out and I always wondered why bother in the first place. Was it a ruse to fool the enemy, whoever they were because we didn’t have a clue.

 For me, it was a fearful two hours. When I asked some of the others how they felt about the lack of security they indifferently shrugged their shoulders. One, being alone in the gun pit (on a weapon requiring two operators) then walking the perimeter fence solo (a fence that drooped flaccidly exposing the entire camp) I suppose I am near enough to a coward because I was always hearing noises, seeing shapes, hyper-anxious and fearful about getting my throat slit. The antiquated night vision scope was as heavy as a sack of rice. It was difficult to manipulate and when used for too long resulted in truly painful skewed vision migraines. Blots of yellow and green circles popped like dandelions in front of you. It was like a Sgt. Pepper music video. The entire shift was a tough fretful stomach churning two hours. I once questioned my section sergeant about the gun pit shifts.

He said, ‘Fuck off Daly and just do the job.” (he never had to do them).

I was never comfortable or relaxed and couldn’t wait to get drunk out of my skull at the very next opportunity (unbeknownst to me this was endless weeks away in Cyprus).