Reading through an interesting piece of opinion on Heathen Scripture (thanks to Olly for the tip), I was absolutely gobsmacked by one of the most electrifying and poignant passages of prose I’ve read in a very long time. Poetic, moving, disarming and dangerous, this is why the written word is so damn exciting - and in the hands of people like Geoff Lemon, pervasive and passionate. The piece was written in response to the deaths three more Australian military servicemen.
And on it goes, no answer. Bad results and good intentions. Good results and repercussions. Little victories, grieving brothers. Breathing harder, bleeding hearts and beads of moisture. Beer and water. Scores of things don’t go to order. Out on orders, scouting, ration packs and stats and sleep disorders. Boys who fought in Afghan deserts, local peasants rise and fade, and join up with that number that nobody here could tell you, that no-one’s ever heard. And three more Australians die, and add them to the list: the other list whose paint is clear. And now we mark them off. I can’t recall the tally now, how many have we got? They had their tour: thirty nights of boredom for each hour of rising flame. By this point, even The Soldier would struggle to memorise their names.