Saturday.10.09.04
[] - quoc viet - -@_.com @ 3:59am
a long time ago i was on a train bound cross-country, from New York to Cali, three straight days of mountains and perpetual motion and waves of odd people coming on who were Americans and i guess i was american too. it’s funny how we think back to the things that mean something to us, but we can’t always understand why those things meant something to us in the first place. i am in Vietnam, and i wasn’t meant to see some of the things i saw, because i didn’t live their lives, the vietnamese. these people, faceless and without identity, they all talk about finding your roots, about learning the language your parents bore on you and blah blah blah well they don’t know shit. i’m so far from American and never was i close to Vietnamese so i’m where i was when i left, just floating dead on in the middle. i chose this path for a reason, because i knew i couldn’t leave even if i wanted to, not until i found everything, until the truth came out painful, from wounds that have to be disturbed over and over again.
human beings, eyes like glass, gone, and skin scabbed from needle marks, acting like animals because they’ve lost the will to be human anymore.
some of them are children, younger than you can ever imagine.
i’ve lost my innocence and sense of justice in this place, and i’m still alive, barely. you don’t know the danger of seeking truth, and if i am still alive i will tell it to you, entry by entry.
fists clenched, that’s how you go into fights. when it’s over you wipe your brow, sit and breath, bask in the act, and then get up again, fists clenched. i chose to fight alone, and alone i’ll fight. i am not a good person, and i am not fighting for the world. i am just fighting for myself. i miss you all, but you all were merely actors in a play. i wish i could come to grips with that, the fact that i too am just another actor, in a just another fucking play.
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