In the Marines I learned about Weapons safety and the 4 distinct rules go as follows…

1st safety rule… Treat every weapon as if it were loaded
2nd safety rule… keep your finger straight and off the trigger until you intend to fire.
3rd safety rule… Never point your weapon at anything you do not intend to shoot
4th safety rule… keep your weapon on safe until you intend to fire
5th safety rule… know your target and what lyes beyond

Ill chalk that 5th one up to the Marines inability to count but ask any Marine how many rules there are and they will say 4 but will always add that little extra credit.

Those rules where devised to ensure that when using your weapon. You do so in a deliberate manner with the intention to kill your enemy and preserve life. I guess they figured the highest we could count to was 4. I’d like to add that In all my years of service “and beyond”-Buzz Lightyear. I never once broke those rules due to my respect/awareness of the full capabilities of a weapon system and neither did any of my Recon Brothers.

While I was in the Marines I also learned how to use a rope as well…
(1)Square Knot – 30 seconds GO!!!
(2) Water/Tape Knot – 30 seconds GO!!!
(3) Double Fisherman – 30 seconds GO!!!
(4) Double Sheet Bend – 30 seconds GO!!!

b. Class II – Anchor Knots
(1) Round Turn With 2 Half Hitches – 45 seconds GO!!!
(2) Bowline – 45 seconds GO!!!
(3) Clove Hitch – 30 seconds GO!!!
(4) Around the Object Bowline – 30 seconds GO!!!

c. Class III – Middle of the Rope Knots
(1) Figure of Eight Loop – 45 seconds GO!!!

d. Class IV – Special Knots
(1) Directional Figure 8 – 30 seconds GO!!!
(2) End of the Line Prusik Secured With a Bowline – 90
seconds GO!!!
(3) Round-the-Chest Bowline With a Figure Eight Loop –
60 seconds GO!!!
(4) Military Rappel Seat – 2 minutes GO!!!

Are you still with me?

Did you notice there was one missing?
READY… NOOSE – infinity GO!!!

When I look back at my time in the Marines the one knot I omitted is the one that a few of my friends found to be the most useful and was in fact the last knot they ever tied. I find that puzzling because they were all masters in the craft that allowed them to close with and destroy the enemy. Where did they learn that skill? Which in hindsight was ultimately more valuable to our enemies. Ill tell you where I learned it… In Private, where I was never given a proper period of instruction. I would just get my work checked then quickly destroy the evidence. Why would I ever want to know how to make this knot… In my mind it was never for me but to administer justice but regardless of the intent one cant deny that in the end that knot was designed for murder….

As a Marine Murder is my profession so how could that be that I would be denied a tool to do my job. I suppose because the tool I was working with in every other facet was actually a lifeline. Reflecting now on my life I see that the most vile things Ive ever done have been in private and it wasn’t until my knowledge of the sin did I realize the full magnitude of the crime.

At this moment may I be clear that I am not saying to train people so that they can make Mississippi wind chimes… What I am saying is People or Tools no matter what you know their purpose or intention to be have a darkness underneath that you need to be aware of. Guns and Rope are only tools… Knowing their capabilities is empowering ignoring them is fatal.

This is an attempt to get something out, word vomit, dump the refuse from between my ears. All while trying to be creative and give life to a story. I can think of my audience of whom really don’t exist unless I let them peer over my shoulder to gaze their eyes upon the work of “a madman” sounds so befitting if I was trying to take this story into a place of intrigue but the reality of it is. This story is more a stream of consciousness with no particular direction….

I see myself walking down the halls of a checkered floor with the methodic foot falls one equates to ominous news about to be brought in by some doctor or lawyer but upon realization that I control the beat of doom moving in metronomic precision I decide to skip. My shoes have now transformed to sneakers and the serious face is slowly uplifted to a smile. With my smile increasing with every stride I eventually have a shit eating grin smeared across my face and launch myself into the highest bound of all but as I descend a change occurs and I land with a parachute  break fall in full World War 2 Gi regalia. Hearing explosions and German gun fear wiz across my head as I look up at the deadly light show as my body mechanically detaches itself from my harness. I appreciate the beauty with a cold indifference knowing that I am about to commit acts of evil on my fellow man. I roll over to my stomach and asses wear the staccato of hate is singing in search of a lover to rape. I slowly inch myself to a slight depression buttressed by a tree freshly felled. I claw out a belly scratch and I give myself a window to take up aim. I don’t see a man but the lighting of the singer firing at the cyclic rate so I take aim right at its heart and fire. The monster stumbles holds its breath and resumes its barrage of lighting but now wounded and unsure of where the sting came from she fires erratically across the landscape because my muzzle flash was suppressed by my little hidey hole. My entire life has lead up to these moments for survival but now as I lye here sighting in once again I question. Why? Why have I let all my love, creation, sadness and pain be weaponized and exploited by others. Like a woman raised to be a whore who gives pleasure I was raised like a savage to end it. Not just pleasure but all things to include myself when I no longer feel purpose. I retake aim and begin to fire at the monster until my weapon runs dry and the monster stammers once again. I raise myself up and sprint across the wasteland maneuvering the terrain with the grace of a predator zeroing in on my prey. I fall short of the monsters lair, pull the pins my grenades and cast them right down her throat. Upon hearing and feeling the blast I draw my bayonet like a sword and go forth to cut the maiden free from inside the belly of the beast. As I charge forward I feel bullets rip through my back fired by the men who sent me forth to slay the monster. When the valkyries descend to pull me up to Valhalla I see the beast has recovered and whenever a warrior fly’s to close to the fire it isn’t the heat of the enemy that melts his wax but the owners trimmers that prune his wings to keep the battle going on eternally.