#military dog Tumblr posts

  • gymfritz
    17.01.2022 - 5 days ago

    Was watching a show about the best planes of WWII, and decided to try and show a dogfight from a cinematic perspective DazStudio - iray

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  • military1st
    15.01.2022 - 6 days ago

    Australian Defence Force dog handler during a combined urban clearance at Exercise Talisman Sabre 21 in Townsville Field Training Area, Queensland, Australia.

    The U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Michael Jefferson Estillomo (2021).

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  • sgtgrunt0331
    10.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    An American G.I. leans out his tent to shake hands with a dog in Luxembourg’s frozen landscape during the Battle of the Bulge, January 1945.

    #battle of the bulge #us army#usa#military#history#wwii #world war 2 #winter#snow#dog
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  • paprika-bubblegun
    04.01.2022 - 2 weeks ago

    military working doggo

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  • mist-the-wannabe-linguist
    04.01.2022 - 2 weeks ago
    #the most commonly seen dragons in the universe are used mostly for mail delivery; military; travel and farm work #there are breeds for specific purposes like hunting and fishing and recently they have started breeding dragons purely for racing #and just like with dogs and cats there is designer breeds purely for show #basically rich people playing an overly expensive real life version of Flight Rising
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  • fullmtal
    03.01.2022 - 2 weeks ago

    one day i’m going to just write a full analysis (note a lot i want to i have a full notebook of notes hoo hoo) and hate it on edward’s hubris vs shou tucker hitting him right where it shakes him to the core . you did it because you believed you could! look at your body! look at your brother! isn’t that ‘messing with people’s lives?! we’re the same.’ 

     how edward is fundamentally not the same but the outcome sure as hell is even if he’s nothing like that freak, his actions came from grief, desperation, and he was a child overwhelmed by grief. in the manga you seem him wailing at trisha’s funeral.  but they sure are foils in why they did what they did. that is undeniable., but ultimately to me, the ringleader for his little brother into a situation that i honestly think ed feels is no different than a living death because note how alphonse literally says and is wary and unsure from the start: isn’t human transmutation forbidden?

    but yeah a living death alphonse endures. without even BLAMING ed although he  does rightfully and realistically snap at him post labaratory five. he’s on borrowed time. especially when the blood rune is temporary. for him it’s like he  damned his mother, he damned his little brother. and he just shoulders that alone, and refuses to really let alphonse know the extent of his own trauma the entire series, part because he’s the big brother, part because he will always feel it is /his/ fault for strongarming the entire calamity that stole their bodies.

    also i want to write about edward’s transition via growth from icarus to the sun. i like how nina is a constant nightmare for edward and alphonse the entire series as well, she isn’t just an afterthought. she’s real, they loved her like a baby sister, and she died. also an analysis on the pocketwatch why edward literally just doesn’t tell alphonse initially about it at all, it’s a token of /shame and guilt/.

    arrogance vs self-loathing. i find it interesting people associate ed with sloth when it’s always, always been pride. arrogance that is both a veneer to hide his overwhelming guilt, burden and self-hatred and also just part of his personality. not as a genius, or an alchemist. but himself. 

    that’s why he’s constantly racing against the clock. that’s why even as a personality trait, its amplified to dangerous levels how willing he is to die and give up his life for his brother , and also in contrast be so stubborn to live. 

    i have a lot more but hoo. ed may act like a gremlin but i think this is both a front for the times when he shows how he really is...far older than anyone should be as a fifteen year old most of the series and --- how he really is, for his immense failure and sin against his brother, his broken promise to his teacher, a flawed, but incredible big brother who refuses to acknowledge the overwhelmingly good traits of selflessness and drive and kindness because that means he’s somehow ‘forgiving himself’. 

    he does so much behind al’s back and is it right? no. but is he trying to spare him , and while it is borderline coddling , he also is just fully aware every second he eats, drinks, sleeps, that alphonse can’t. isn’t he suffering enough? if he can spare him any burden or pain despite alphonse wisely calling ed out? edward will. he’s a big brother, even if his height says otherwise.

    and it’s ed’s fault. no one can convince him otherwise. i really think and believe fully that ed finally after bottling his pain / grief / anger / guilt / burdens are something he starts to try ‘healing’ with his found family and friends post promised day. it’s not pretty. i think a lot of people think ed is an asshole and that’s valid but the series is constantly reinforcing edward’s kindness and benevolence.

    he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it because he ‘lost that right’. who should be able to think he’s a good person / heroic when he practically killed his little brother and slandered his mother’s remains? 

    not him. he’ll shoulder it alone. until alphonse gets sick of it. and he DOES.

    but yeah bastard tucker vs edward and their differing reasons...but end result was the same no matter how borderline innocent / desperate edward’s intentions were. 

     this is a big brother. this is a big brother refusing alphonse without his permission to say without saying it you have suffered enough because of me. and how you don’t hate me i’ll never understand. so let me be the big brother and shoulder the majority. despite being a team. 

    i could go into if that’s just his way of trying to atone in futility or just -- again, edward tries so hard to spare alphonse. he tries so hard and continues to sacrifice for him. it’s why when alphonse does reverse uno on the promised day that edward literally is almost in shock that it’s the other way around. edward and alphonse are equally not okay that’s blatant and it’s disturbing because they’re physically so young but mentally....it’s a split imho.

     but as the protagonist, we see it primarily through edward’s eyes. a genius / person with insane effort to prevail both hate and have confidence in himself and his talent. 

    and if push comes to shove alphonse’s restoration comes first / if it boiled down to only one choice. after all what’s so bad about an arm and a leg compared to him. it’s notable edward rarely mentions his own restoration in most media, it’s alphonse who reminds him ‘and we have to restore you too brother’. and how edward rarely replies.

    #basically ed has both arrogance and an evolving note: it changes icarus complex combiend with unbearable self loathing and guilt #no surprise there #while his selflessness is entirely of good will and his /nature/ there's just so much to unpack. #im manga journeying / brotherhood watching but #god #the pic says it all. #even alphonse offering to join him in military dog hell -- ed shoots him down with an easy going smile. #that is not happy. #but as reassuring as possible. #of course every character in the series has selfish ambition. #but ed's recurring trait is oddly enough compassion and a love (eventually as rush valley REALLY hammers) for humanity #that overpowers his compulsive belief alchemy can and /cannot/ solve everything. #learning that it can't his /crucial/ to his character. #it's almost like a damn crutch. #𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 *  ── the anatomy of a heart of steel. #from icarus to the sun #is a meta i really want to write. #he is both. #if ed acknowledges he's unhealthily selfless and /good/ it's like for him somehow admitting what he did was okay. #that it's okay to forgive himself. #that it's okay to /heal/. #that it's okay to not punish himself. #and he can't. #not anytime soon.
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  • hyatt-death
    31.12.2021 - 3 weeks ago

    i gave mindy a softer rawhide that had like a soft middle and she destroyed it and now has decided that she has not chewed enough and has grabbed a different full rawhide to chew on

    #she is having a great time #dogs #this dog is 13 and she has all her teeth and still to this very moment chews agressivly on rawhides #she has thrown up like twice in her life #both after eating sanitary products #this dog has eaten a paper and part of a plastic container over eating the chocolote minty andies inside said box and plastic #she is a goat #shes never had messed up poop either and i see every poop cuz i walk her #she eats mice whole after killing them #she is 20lbs #this dog legit ate my homework in college i legit had to take my half but clearly eaten homework into class and explain to my teacher #she also chewed up my best pair of high heels ive ever owned #she ate part of a military grade combat boot #she is a fuckin goat
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  • ashtaarot
    27.12.2021 - 3 weeks ago
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  • black--dogg
    27.12.2021 - 3 weeks ago
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  • animalsetcetera
    22.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    Army Dogs

    #animals#military dogs #us armed forces #us army #dogs with people #dog
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  • tentacion1999
    21.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    Beryl Sheehan, Rhodesian Women's Service Corps

    She became a dog handler, paired with a golden Labrador called Bracken. Beryl and Bracken were trained to detect explosives and land mines with the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers.

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  • highvaluedmen
    18.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    Man knowledge you should know #4 #masculineman #men #mansbestfriend #masculinity #mensrights #workout #military #hardwork #protection #pro-life #security #dog #gun #saveallchildren #grandparents #investment #police #honor #freedom #patriotism #maturity #motivation #inspire #goal #math #science #fashion https://www.instagram.com/p/CXo8zqzu30R/?utm_medium=tumblr

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  • laniidae-passerine
    13.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    oh this is gonna kill Tom this is so funny he thinks he’s Emperor with his dead wife and his new consort but the stupid little thing isn’t even close to aware of how his pretty boy is a wild animal. Greg would kill him for an empire, perhaps even for half, and Tom is in love. Tom is in love, so he doesn’t see it, he believes that Logan and Greg are cut from different cloth and that be might true - because Greg may just be worse.

    #he’s going to look Tom in the eyes and hold him and perhaps kiss him and then hang that man like a criminal from his mouth #Judas hung himself after the realisation of what he’d done. no betrayal is any different Tom #Tom’s happiness is dependant on Greg being by his side. who the hell said anything about Greg’s happiness needing the same thing #you’re going to become his dog and not his wife and that is your best case scenario Tom #that animal only eats power not the love you feed it #GREG IS FUCKIN INSANE LOOK AT HIM RECOGNISE IT YOU ARE FALLING INTO THE JAWS OF A WOLF WILLINGLY HES AN ANIMAL AN FUCKING UNTAMED CREATURE #AM I THE ONLY ONE WORRIED. Greg has fucked EVERYONE. he’ll take a military grade chainsaw and fuck everyone up the ass #tomgreg is a power play and for all Greg’s simpering and wide eyes and stuttering he’s the one in control because the future king wants him #IM LOSINT IT #succession#tom wambsgans#cousin greg#greg hirsch#gregory hirsch#tomgreg
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  • tuamour
    12.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    nothing better than a well conformed functional gsd with hips that don't slope to the ground. love that

    #makes me wonder tho if only the military or police have gsds with normal back? #or can you find a breeder who breeds dogs like that to be pets #or something #idk how they operate #i just assume mil/pol dogs have separate breeding bc they need a certain temperament and physique #please correct me if im wrong #dying to know so another thing i need to research #mine
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  • staymadkeephating
    11.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    this means war!!!/src

    #military industrial complex #capitalism #the right can’t meme #we don’t care #less death pls #acc i want dem drugs #i want a pet dog
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  • n-1l
    08.12.2021 - 1 mont ago
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  • awehbra
    02.12.2021 - 1 mont ago
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  • notmuchtoconceal
    01.12.2021 - 1 mont ago

    larvaehood of a gruntboy [excerpt]

    there is always some risk to be had when one makes the bold -- though some may say careless -- attempt to observe a single strand of e. coli through a jeweler’s lens.

    stand up straight. eyes forward.

    she kept your picture on the shelf. you looked brave in your uniform.

    a varsity corpsman at your age. you could still see the lens when you saw your eyes. the flash through the veins of your eyes.

    it made you hazy to see yourself. the darkness of your grainy jaw. the jut of your cheekbones through the cream.

    it was you. it could be nobody but you.

    it told people she had a strong boy. it told people she had a tough boy. there were always men running in and out of the house. she expected you to keep them company some nights. while she was in the shower. you were still a kid. you towered over them. not many managed to figure out you were still a kid.

    you stared them down.

    you could hear her singing through the heat.

    your dick would chub up knowing she was proud of you. you started to leak, thinking about how those those men would look at you. you weren’t there, in front of them, being the boy you were. you’d become something else. something which made the things they hated not only acceptable, but necessary.

    they looked at you. they saw you.

    they thought you were good.

    you saw it happen. saw it happen to boys like you.

    your cock throbbed when you stood in line, waiting to be issued your uniform. your first uniform. all the other boys -- their frames, their cuts, the grid of scarification which would bridge the stitching of their shoulder-pads -- it made you dizzy to think that each of you were individual lumps of clay being molded by the same hands. that the pressure of your interchangeable programming would press the pliable matter of your young and self-renewing bodies into yet another set of the finest killers this world had ever seen. a heritage going back seven (+2 +./.= 1 1 <-) centuries -- pre-dating the colonial states which fell to the old empire.

    -- \\\./--

    (dear oh dear, oh were they really sad for me?)

    it was disrespectful. you knew.

    you did it anyway.

    (dear oh dear, oh will they really laugh at me?)

    through the corn-diesel wrap, kissing the buttons of your dress blues, the gold-plate wherethe bull’s head bent back. the shade of the leather, that inimitable shade between turquoise and spruce, the lustrous blue-green of the mossy-eyed warriors, those boys no older than you, who sat in the falls, the rocks, when forest still littered this land not three centuries prior -- to defend our settlement from those powers which were and may have been again.

    (would you like to see?

    us rule again?

    my friend?)

    you’d never stain your uniform. never stain your blues. your blues were the point where your body intersected the corps. it was the material external upon which the material internal relied. you would sweat, you would drip, you would bleed -- hell, you would even drool in service to this brotherhood with bonds across time -- but you son, you would not discharge a jet of high velocity horse spunk across those pores where your valor was to be pinned in bakelite and bone : -- the salt and tender of the countless men who’d come before you. the smell of the last six generations who fought and died for these banners you had committed to memory -- those of the game makers who in their faults held remnants of the memory of the world.

    (this wreath of stars beneath our bootheels --

    a diadem for all brittania.)

    you went without breath, thumbing at the weight of your blues. it almost wasn’t real. in your hands. more real than real. you’d wear it the next four years. you needed to breathe. drowning in the weight of the smell. fragrant blacktail. oil of fox. staining stitches where the seams had mended. whorls bled through beneath your fingertips. ceilings rebounded in the convulsions of your eyes.

    (molten gold --)

    it would cover your skin. the skin scrubbed clean. cut in the same grid-lines as your brothers. you could already see how the sleeves would cling to the heft of your forearms. the seat hug the heft of your quads.

    (this tan which stands in for the english reign)

    you’d sprouted another half an inch since you’d been measured. tardigrade -- tardigrade -- you glared ahead as the scanner whirred through your eyes. the heat of the light. the way it stung your eyes. the inkstick stiff against the slick. his eyes bland beneath his glasses :-- quarter inch under the max.

    (the secret in your eyes -- )

    the reality was too much. you were helpless before the inevitable.

    (tomorrow never lies.)

    you wanted to press your cock-head through the button-flaps. you wanted to let your dick skin feel the tug of the fragrant leather.

    the more your dick drooled a silvery river of pre into the marble column of your briefs, the more you started to feel you owed a load to your country. the more you thought about giving a load to your country, the more you thought about owing your every load to your country. that every time you fucked another boy, or could feign interest in a girl long enough to fuck another boy, you would pledge this load to the all-father -- to the spirit of he who bore obelisks across four continents -- you wanted to give him your every load -- from today until the day you died -- every load to the health and well-being of your country.

    (the sun never sets -- )

    wealth to the commonwealth. health to the commonhealth. strength, beauty and pride to the people and the symbols of this land for which you had been pledged to die. may the well live well, and the all be well.

    (with lazer zeppelins on the horizon.)

    before the academy. when you lived with the dregs of civilians. one had been more sickly than most. one had been more vicious, more empty and obscure than most -- his body hunched forward, a late bloom with no support, left to wither in the sun. he covered his hand when he spoke. some part of him wanted silence. some part of him wanted what he knew he already had.

    the power to curse.

    he looked beyond you when he spoke.

    you could see it in his eyes. a carousel whirling behind his eyes. metal girders writhing in stampede -- all discord and hooves of dust.

    he was snippets of other men. his focus would shift. he would look off somewhere else. see somewhere else. his every passion burst forth fragmentary and without center -- gifts of kingly offense with no knights to enact his decree, save his troupe of emaciated grotesques and their strange songs.

    fear stood behind his eyes. a certain hideous knowing crept forth behind his eyes. a trembling would seem to rack him. he would sit among himself, staring nowhere -- and without cause he would look to you, hold you, grasp you.

    he looked to you. he saw you. he knew you.

    then he didn’t look.

    you had been solved.

    then one day he looked again. there was a whistle.

    your ears perked up, and you went to him.

    you didn’t know why you went to him.

    there were things he knew. things he couldn’t say. he didn’t know how to lead. didn’t know he already lead. sometimes, by the rapidity with which he would speak, you could see he had an inkling of the admiration the others held aloft upon the platters of their bodies, though he found them unsuitable offerings. he knew his own kin beneath him, and could not hide the fact -- yet, even in lethargy, he maintained this command which held no earthly authority.

    dog, he called you, and you let him.

    we have questions, another said.

    so many questions, another friend.

    why do you strangle yourself so, he said. is it to show off the scars on your neck? is it a test of strength -- to see if you can make yours the thickest?

    why you always quiet, friend?

    don’t you want to be our friend?

    why do you run in place on master’s leash, hunting widdle wabbits -- when with those teeth so snarling bright, you could bite the hand that doesn’t feed you?

    they were laughing. you were excused.

    [orchestra tune-up]

    the way they spoke. it made things small.

    they knew not what they lacked. knew not the support of strong roots in their loose and loamy soil. they could not accept the burden of identity, though they longed for it with every ache of their wounded hearts. they could not believe in service as surrender to a transcendent ideal -- that labor as distinct from toil, which was labor without the profit of satisfaction -- was the gift of a moment for all moments. that satisfaction could come only when labor was love, and love in turn nourished labor. to expend begets satisfaction, and to be begotten in satisfaction begets expenditure. they tasted and they tasted -- they tasted until they stood naked and withered in the chill, barren and desecrated of their bark. they painted kudzu on their arms, for they knew their limbs would bare no fruit or flowers. they studded the crescents of their downy flesh, to substantiate the wounds they would not carve for themselves by bullet or bayonet.

    you knew. knew with every look you shared. that to be sustained by another body required receptivity to a fundamental passion. when two or more people open themselves to one another, a conduit is established. to abruptly withdraw from a conduit damages the aligning mechanism along the axes of the intersection point. their stressed and over-heated bodies -- their voices like chugging fans -- needed to shut themselves down. the encyclopedic processes they became were a type of expenditure reduction measure. to distill things down to their most fundamental principles ironed reality to a flat plane which could be examined -- inch by inch -- through the pinprick of lazer light which was the collected beam of their sparse and gloomy lumination.

    when you gave, it eliminated any barrier to giving more. you had no need to hoard. you were limitless. by your roots, you were anchored to the earth and your arms spread aloft to grasp the sun. the soil grew blacker for you nourished your roots, and the laurels around your branches grew lush in gilded mornings, fanning you with victory.

    you became ripe. the cantaloupe of your shoulders, the twiggy nest beneath your navel and those raptor eggs which swung between the trunks that were their battlements. you became pungent with growth -- divergent in symmetry of form. the land grew luminous beneath the rays of the sun, and you could see with eyes unaided the vital force which endowed all matter -- see that which the natural sciences could only faintly and briefly illumine to men with more reason than sense.

    [the inquisitor continues to address crowd,


    as orchestra fails to play]

    they saw you marching. they waved to you from the window.

    from the distance of the street, their hands looked like barnacles clinging to the wall. you could feel their hands. how your leathery palm would grip the wad of their milky fists. it hit you behind the eyes. your eyes grew teary and your dick grew stiff. a light welled up within you. it obliterated you. by their eyes, they emptied you, and they hollowed you, gutting you of anything but your vow.

    they looked at you. they saw you

    it was as though a rope were coiling around you. drawing your ankles together. binding your wrists together. slithering up your flank and around your neck, gritting you between the teeth and over the eyes. in that crepuscular haze you could relish nothing but the absolute glory of submission. together.

    (- i only turn on subtitles to learn the character’s names.)

    boys admired your frame.

    girls beheld you with ecstatic bewilderment.

    they liked how clean you looked. how polished your buttons and how glossy your leather. the way your skin was scrubbed. your hair cropped and faded. as they would talk, they would watch your lips. their eyes would go wide. sometimes they would draw breath when they’d see your teeth. some of them drew closer when they’d see your teeth.

    you liked how girls would look at you in your uniform. sometimes they would ask to touch you or your uniform. sometimes you would let them. it made other boys less afraid to see you with girls. it paid to be permissive with an audience, especially if that audience was other boys. sometimes other boys would only want to talk to you about other girls, so you learned fast the best way to handle a change of subject was to lead by example.

    [fanfare: reunion on paulina/abducted by king asp]

    -- <3: <3: <3: < / 3 < / 3 < / 3 --

    - sol polaris stick it up my piss slit, how these people managed to shit out 1.75 viable offspring a quotient baffles me even more now that i’ve beheld their attempts to migrate to the polls.

    it made you smile. they thought you looked clean.

    you and the other boys. tied to the stakes that night. that night you were tied together. goose flesh to peel by the yard. your gargantuan proportions made the tiny size L briefs they gave you out of (the body of) a boy of nineteen. your tight cotton-clad ass--

    ( -- bro it says they made him look like a boy of nineteen -- shut up if the undies are alive, we can make them suffer -- huff huff nooooo. dank heavy... marine cadet frat boy balls. unnfff. used to be alive... used to be... his bunkmate... if only hadn’t taken bit part... wouldn’t be... his tighties... just a dumb pair... smelly tighties. unnnf. clinging to his cock. soaking up his musk. musky leaky... murder cock. can’t turn back. brain fibers... being stained... pungent spicy. nutty musk. gotta support this rad af hero butcher’s big fat swollen murder balls.)

    shucks brother, you’re the nicest pair of tighties a boy could ask for.

    this is such a lovely gulag for such a gruesome square dance.

    they hit you harder the other cadets. you weren’t as scary. not tied up in undies that small. not blindfolded and struggling not to drool on yourself. you could hear the force they exerted against their flanks -- how the impact would collide against their flanks. your guts flexed with every pound. you could hear the lancet through the air as the knuckle shot and braced for collision.

    you wouldn’t drop the cigar.

    never drop the cigar.

    you knew the stone.

    you were one with the stone that bore you.

    the hand fell away. a leaf clinging to a twig.

    you didn’t grunt. didn’t even flinch.

    you couldn’t feel pain.

    that made you scary again.

    [two dozen plastic champagne flutes shatter at once]

    ( - someone should cut the feed soon?)

    it happened on loop. maybe this was the first time.

    that was why you kept going.

    rifle in hand, every snap of bone and every tear of muscle became reducible to a process. to march was to issue a set of commands to your muscle. to be your muscle was to receive command from your commanding self.

    you were there. in the trenches of your cum-gutters. occupying every filament and fiber which sparked and twitched -- furious in the vicegrip of every welt of your yoking frame.


    you wondered about what they might have been like, your brothers from the distant past -- those broad, dour-eyed brutes who knew they’d been made targets once their thyroid became too ambitious for its production needs.

    maybe they were nothing like you. maybe they’d find you strange.

    you all had things in common, you and your fellow cadets. you shared values and ambitions, but in your shades, your cravings, those mad longings which spiraled forth from the heat of your violent intimacy, you could never cleanly or evenly align.

    no man was ever truly of a kind with another man. perhaps all men could be gradations of a type, but of his kind, no man could ever find another with whom he was total duplicate -- even if their bodies were indistinguishable at a glance, even if their genetics were identical down to individual nucleotides, in the crucible where they burned bright, no light could ever cast the same jerking shadows.

    men banded together and remade themselves as one another for they all knew at the bottom of their hearts that they were all terribly, irreconcilably unique.

    that nobody could ever truly know. it was better if they didn’t know.

    the trash was warm. the trash was smelly.

    you belonged in the trash because you were part of the trash.

    ( -sexy elfboy gams. that’s what i wanna see. that is why the lot of you are in skirts. that is why you will run this gauntlet without the support of any of your cute lil man panties, helpless to the whims of a tempestuous and surly updraft -- private bunyan. your fat mushroom of a cockhead is sticking out past the hemline of your kilt -- again. my god all your fellow privates are cutjobs and faggots -- are you conspiring to cause a pile-up? you may return to the armory to fetch a pair of shorts, though the other gay boys may laugh and throw rocks at you for choosing to be different. next time son, you had best reconsider the combat applications of such a flagrant -- to say nothing of fragrant whew -- horsecock.)

    sometimes it’s hard for you to be around other people. they make you feel like you’re not yourself. when you’re not in uniform, they see you. you see them back. they either recognize you, or they don’t. either way, it hurts.

    recognition must recognize recognition. if you are recognized, you must recognize back, for to do otherwise would be impolite. contrariwise, if you are not recognized, to insist on doing so too abruptly would also be impolite. one is the basis of friendship, and the other of etiquette.

    other people hovered around you like calculus equations waiting to be solved. as time moved faster, the signals behind their eyes became more errant and dysfunctional, and cause and reason seemed surrendered to fantasia.

    you knew the strict channels you moved through made it easier to make sense of things.

    that the logic of the system was a kind of tutor -- the official story. the history of the ludonarrative is the history of ideology incorporated -- as invisibly as possible -- into design.

    the handbook for the game functions as a secondary regulatory mechanism -- a game within the game for the particularly unskilled.

    high level play invariably results in breaking the logic of the game.

    at the highest level of play, the game of talking, colloquially referred to as conversation, degenerates into oratory, which at its highest level degenerates into shouting, singing or rapturous soliloquy.

    talking was a game that people played.

    you were an avid spectator. every back room had table pong.

    everyone begged for a peanut gallery.

    [scene missing]

    - gosh i need a smoke. i need a smoke so fuckin bad i’ll kill a guy. i’ll kill women. i’ll kill children. i’ll send a whole goddamn squadroon a devil dawgs off a goddamn motherfuckin cliff, just gimme a goddamn smoke.

    - well, while that’s getting settled, i spose i ought go tart myself up -- bout time i got to be lovely contestant #2 for our most eligible bachelor.

    [fanfare: gigantism of the toadstool]

    . ( . ) . < = > . ( o ) .

    one day you knew that you’d need to man up and play.

    that to transcend the boundaries of an individual’s body -- past whatever they are which merely takes up space -- into the schisms of that which lies within -- those things like the things within yourself that you can keep within -- there’s no way to learn but by doing.

    if you can figure out the rules, you can play the game -- all you gotta do is keep watching until you learn the rules.

    learn the rules, brother.

    it’s seldom fun to play a game if you don’t know all the rules. though it’s often fun to make a game of withholding the rules from the other players, if you can manage.

    to talk was to command. to be able to talk was to issue command.

    improvisation is a game of making it all up as you go along.

    you made requests. you asked permission. you were waiting for them to give you something. you didn’t know what or why it was you wanted it.

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    #V#--II#[excerpt]#uniform #military industrial complex #noble automata #beast of the land #treeboy shelter#transmogrification angst #bull and pony show #good briefsboy #good strong stallion #so humiliating #bet he smells good #princely and aristocratic mind #dog brain#woof woof
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