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Nov. 16th, 2020 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kradeelavthere's an entire book in me somewhere about how only war metaphors ever felt ... right as far as speaking the language of the very particular pink-red slash of of medical trauma, all the way back to the beginning. Before spoken language was even a thing, this one was stitched into this meatbag piece by piece.
muddy minefields to stumble and be flayed through until it becomes muscle memory, passages like this, the absolute sanctity of taking a long shuddering breath ontop of a long-rusted mutilated disused (discarded!) war-machine of a tank in the middle of a deadly sniper's den of a pasture, the dead-eyed Sight of who march in the dead of the night impossibly broken and racked by pain but with the iron-clad sense that they must go on - if for no other reason than that looping thought (like a broken siren that simply hasn't been shot yet). anything else has long since been burned out.
i don't begin to assume my experiences are the same as those who have been on the other end of a rifle -
but i am grateful that this odd language exists, among those who have faced death.
muddy minefields to stumble and be flayed through until it becomes muscle memory, passages like this, the absolute sanctity of taking a long shuddering breath ontop of a long-rusted mutilated disused (discarded!) war-machine of a tank in the middle of a deadly sniper's den of a pasture, the dead-eyed Sight of who march in the dead of the night impossibly broken and racked by pain but with the iron-clad sense that they must go on - if for no other reason than that looping thought (like a broken siren that simply hasn't been shot yet). anything else has long since been burned out.
i don't begin to assume my experiences are the same as those who have been on the other end of a rifle -
but i am grateful that this odd language exists, among those who have faced death.
