War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


“don’t judge me, and everything will be alright” recce wrote from somewhere over there. maybe to the monotonous hum of CPUs in KAF’s stuffy welfare booths. maybe a slow digital drip at some HQ he dropped into. on a big stroll in country.

maybe he forked out stupid amounts of US dollars to get connection in the shacks. looking for connection back from his particular Hades. who knows. but truth is. here, let me repeat that, truth is. he wrote these words, “don’t judge me.”

and I’m thinking judgment is the scorpion sting of war. the lash of adder. the asp. we hold to their faces, maybe an inch from their eyes. see if they’ll blink when we ask asshole questions. “did you. did you. did you?”

then we site their words, actions. and we’re ready to pull the fucking find-him-guilty trigger. call in the fast air. on him/them we’ve asked to do the unthinkable. behave according to two laws.

and we’re all goddamn forensic specialists now we’ve watched all that t.v. expert at pouring over 3rd hand evidence.

listen. there is another world that sets in. a parallel universe. when one goes to war. right, wrong, black, white, on, off. meaningless. instead, a spectrum of grey, grey, grey. I know this for sure. I experienced this. (and have been jury, judged, condemned by some for this).

I received a letter from one of the boys. on a roadtrip. he’s driving home. he’s a bit jumpy. but pretty good to go. but he’s trying to understand the disconnect. he smiles. he knows, because he can feel the muscles in his face pull up and he knows he’s a gentle, smiling guy. but inside, he feels nothing. just dead. dead. dead.

don’t judge him. don’t judge any of them. don’t judge me. not their actions. my words.

unless you’ve been there. exactly there. far from your comfy. pew. then get ready to be stung.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled judgement. It was posted here on May 30, 2010.


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