Shame, bitter, and painful
May. 4th, 2004 01:07 amI've been on vacation for about two months now, and I am glad my hair is long, and my face shaggy, because right now I am ashamed of my profession, and don't want the world to see me for what I am, unless I tell them.
It isn't that I'm a soldier, not exactly. It's that I'm an interrogator, and while only MPs and officers (who don't do interrogations) have been implicated, it was said to be in the interest of people in my line of work.
It's hard to write this... so much of my spleen has been vented other places. I feel dirty, unclean, with spotted hands. What has been alleged is indefensible, if it was done (and I am certain it was) they deserve public humiliation.
The Regiment in square: The NCOs and Officers called out; the NCO's stripes ripped from their sleeves, the epaulets from the Officers shoulders, the rattle of the drums, and the painfully brittle sound of swords being broken in the hard light of an afternoon sun.
The terrible roll of the drums as the offenders are read off the rolls and out of the Army, and away to the brig.
And the casing of the colors, no music to march away, just the funeral pace of the drums tattoo, dull and heavy at the slow march.
It isn't that I'm a soldier, not exactly. It's that I'm an interrogator, and while only MPs and officers (who don't do interrogations) have been implicated, it was said to be in the interest of people in my line of work.
It's hard to write this... so much of my spleen has been vented other places. I feel dirty, unclean, with spotted hands. What has been alleged is indefensible, if it was done (and I am certain it was) they deserve public humiliation.
The Regiment in square: The NCOs and Officers called out; the NCO's stripes ripped from their sleeves, the epaulets from the Officers shoulders, the rattle of the drums, and the painfully brittle sound of swords being broken in the hard light of an afternoon sun.
The terrible roll of the drums as the offenders are read off the rolls and out of the Army, and away to the brig.
And the casing of the colors, no music to march away, just the funeral pace of the drums tattoo, dull and heavy at the slow march.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 11:05 pm (UTC)