What's left after Afghanistan
I am what's left after
Three attempts on my life
Seeing my country's armed forces kill thousands wholesale
In an effort to kill thirty invisible insurgents
In a period of six months.
, second most powerful non-nuclear bomb
In our vast arsenal of random death.
Infighting in my own news crew.
No weapon save our wits and our worse-than-nothing PRESS velcros and documents.
We ripped them off the bulletproof vests
the first day there.
We kept the bulletproof vests. And the riot helmets
, it was not a good idea to whip out a gun on TV.
You put us all in even graver danger."
are where more of us than soldiers ended up
in those terrible first months.
I thought I'd seen it all, how naive.
Sieg Heil Bush
buddies, we all know you are too stupid
To give birth to this nightmare on your own.
They have murdered tens of thousands, some in body, some in mind.
But you did wink tacit approval, and that makes you guilty too.
I understand the baby boom now. I fulfilled the human response
So simple this concept.
I proposed to a girlfriend over s sattelite phone after rising crime made me a victim back home
My studio, the culmination of years plotting
Was raided and emptied.
I was broke, alone, and was surrounded by death
It was all over.
I married fifteen days after my homecoming
Three years later, I have two gorgeous daughters.
I am in love
, my wife in hate
She doesn't understand me, I'm not the man she married
I covered nicely for a while,
She says, she is correct
. I am so much older.
I can't tell her that this was no ordinary assignment
There have been ten yers of other scares.
FARC had me for three days once, until Freedom.
There was no outright butchery
A personal thing. Each had meaning, cause, twisted sense.
It was not the breathhold being held in a dogpen
Four feet in height was.
Nor the confiscating of our ID's in a country
In which was a felony to travel without.
It was the disillusionment
of seeing with my own eyes
My government slaughter thousands of innocents
Women and children.
Very young people
and their mommies
Months pass, the stench never abated.
To sign yet another extension.
To New York
Build a new life, a new family
Commemorate the families my countrymen slew.
They were innocents
, like your children
And my own.
Would someone come for them next?
And why won't the tape end up on the shelf
With the outtakes and used materials.
The story was told, as much as the White House would let us
Why is my brain replaying a DMC edit
that has no end?
And now my wife is leaving me, again.
I am losing my girls.
I will be alone, my daughters now reduced to a monthly payment
To the Florida Child Something Fund.
She wrote the name in the paperwork
But I have a knack for forgetting inconvenient things.
It's a shame I can't forget the haunting as easily.
One college degree, ten years in journalism,
One human spirit
Lost to a Daisy Cutter.
This time, my friends from
Other networks weren't making it to our
Customary reunions at such-and-such.
CNN is paying, no Fox today.
John was shot in the mountains three days ago.
How many does that make?
I'm not a soldier, I just take pictures.
I was a target, where before I was accepted.
I am an old man, with stories I can't tell
To confess for allowing the truth to be trampled
Just to weakly try to purify my soul.
Anyone want to buy a broadcast-quality
I am done taking pictures.
There is no more I want to record.
I think the King of Burgers is looking for fry guys.