I like to read these daylogs because they inspire me. When I have run out of inspiration, I like to read these daylogs because they inspire me. Mostly they make me angry, and that inspires me. I have written a poem, my latest stab at immortality. As you will see from reading it, my use of the word 'stab' is a pun.
throughout my life I've always tried
to suppress the surge of the killing urge
to switch my brain to a lower gain
nonetheless I would like
to drive a knife into your neck
and that's all I have to say
although I acknowledge that
the reality would probably
fall short of the ecstasy
at least I tried
to fight back
That is a fair summary of my state of mind as I read through these daylogs. I have modelled the poem on Siegfried Sassoon's "The Kiss". Sassoon's poem describes a soldier's faith in his bullets and his bayonet, his desire that they destroy his enemies so that he might live. The poem speaks in lustful, erotic terms of splitting skulls and driving stabs.
You will notice that I have used a technique whereby the writer includes little miniature rhymes in the middle of each sentence, specifically 'surge' and 'urge' in the second line, 'brain' and 'gain' in the third. I wanted to include the words 'striate' and 'lacerate' at some point, but I felt that the former was too esoteric and the latter would be too obvious. You will notice that, in the final verse, the middle three lines are bracketed by the first and last lines, which rhyme 'that' with 'back'.
In the real world I would much rather attack someone with an axe, because I do not have the physical grace or power to effectively use a knife. An axe harnesses the force of gravity - the force of the earth - for its effect. Although there is a certain knack to splitting wood, there is no special skill required to club a man's head with an axe. I am surprised that Sassoon's generation were not armed with axes. There was an article in the newspaper, the other day, about how the fields of France and Belgium are still filled with unexploded ammunition, grenades, gas shells and so forth; so many bullets which soldiers did not have a chance to fire. Apparently the Belgian bomb disposal squad is called DEVO.
No, on further investigation it seems that they are called DOVO. More properly, SEDEE-DOVO, which stands for "Section Enlèvement Destruction d'Engins Explosifs - Dienst voor Opruiming en Vernietining van Ontploffingstuigen". Unlike the Daily Telegraph, I bothered to look that up. It's a mixture of French and Belgian. If you want to know what SEDEE-DOVO means, ask a bloody Belgy.
Another advantage an axe has, over a knife, is that it is more likely to produce a concussive effect; the killer blow can be dealt whilst the other party is unconscious or unable to react. I believe, from watching "Braveheart" and reading the instruction manual for "IL2 Sturmovik", a flight simulator, that knives were commonly used by women to cut up the remains of the wounded. Western society has lost this attitude towards death and murder; women need to regain their role on the battlefield, if we are to be equal.
And it is the thought of physical contact which ultimately turns me away from the knife. The thought of having to grab someone, and pull them towards me. The thought of their blood soiling my shirt.