LesbianMonk was Alex's screen name. It still makes me laugh. Alex was an internet friend I never got to meet in real life but always wished I did. He lived in Canada when I knew him but his place of origin was Iran. He told me when the shah fell his family exited the country "flying first class". Canada, I have learned, is a destination country for those seeking a western lifestyle that is NOT America.
We shared a passion for gaming (at which I was awful but Alex would suffer me as a partner) but more importantly we shared the same sense of humor. He too had been cursed by God with a streak of creativity and was still finding himself when he decided to go to Japan to teach English for a year, keeping an online journal of it. I, naturally, read every word of it and loved it.
For some reason he crossed my mind lately and Anthony Bourdain did a show in the fun-filled divided Middle East and I re-watched Argo so maybe that all fused together into this dream. And these dreams are so fucking real...
It was set in a time of war - which could be now or further down our current path. I was a White Western Caucasian fighting for my freedom to be a greedy backstabbing corporation. I had known nothing else, after all. But Muslim extremists had come and taken a part of our territory. Like it or not there was nothing we could do. They had us by the balls.
The separation line was marked by a chain link fence. Get caught on the other side and it was certain death. We'd descended into a mentality of permanent conflict. Some were more gung ho than others but the idea of death and fighting had been mainstreamed as the "new abnormal". But for me, a funny thing happened on the way to the battlefield. I had lost all my weapons (and no one even thought of sharing). I was exposed, naked to the world war.
This put me on the run but I felt unsafe wherever I went. Unable to commit murder and mayhem I was forced to seek survival through different avenues than I was used to. Not a good feeling. I felt a part of me was missing. My only choice at that point was to learn how to get along with whomever I met. Not exactly my strong suit. I'd much rather greet them with a bullet than a handshake!
As a non-warrior I was relegated to the fringes of society. Feeling vulnerable and stupid I was willing to say yes to anybody to get acceptance and a renewed sense of the security I had lost. I got mixed up with these crazy artistic types driving around in a car with no sense of direction. Sheer fucking agony. They gave me no points of reference back to mainstream society. My mind was on its own - and not a happy camper!
These fuckers didn't seem to understand you can't just go around doing what you want. I felt like I was being roasted alive in that car but I couldn't get out. No one else would have weaponless me. Sure enough, the worst possible thing happened of these unpossessed minds: we had wandered into the Muslim territory as they veered off the road and drove through nighttime woods. Panicking, I got out and ran fast as I could - to nowhere.
Next morning I found myself alone and on the open face of a hill cut off from safety by that damn fence. I knew sooner or later I'd be found and I had zero delusions as to the amount of mercy I'd receive from the extremists. I was aging by the minute, trembling by the horrible death to come. I'm just an idiot, I remember thinking. My instincts for freedom were always getting me into trouble. Freedom is only for people who can make love work, not me.
They kept asking me where my art was.
I heard voices coming and if I'd had a poison capsule I'd have swallowed it. Instead, I was discovered my moderate Muslims who agreed to hide me. They took me into their home and fed me. We laughed and played games and they became as much a family to me as anyone ever had. I didn't want to leave but obviously couldn't stay forever. It never crossed their mind to keep me there or turn me over. Logically, as someone bent on fighting them it would have made sense to have disposed of me in a sense of self-preservation.
When I finally got back across I was able to fully re-arm myself and I couldn't wait for that feeling of security to return! I packed on everything I had ruefully missed: rail gun, razor discs and a Gatling gun. I was ready for action - and back to what I comfortably knew. What a relief. But then I thought: who is it I'm ready to kill? No way I could raise a weapon against my Muslim family. That'd be the same as turning around and shooting everyone I know on here.
Reluctantly, I dropped my weapons forever, still clinging to my hope for freedom. And that's when everyone turned on me, yelling at me, blaming me for their problems. "Freedom isn't free!" At that point I suddenly realized what I always knew - and feared. Yes, there were two sides to this fight but not the sides I had brainwashed myself to believe. There was no "us and them", just those for war and those for peace, the blind extremists against the thinkers, the liars against the truth-tellers.
Sorry guys, I can't fight. I don't have the love to waste.
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