|"Off to War Mom" in progress...|
My wife has been a photojournalist for 15 years. As the wars unfolded, I recall that amongst many of the males in the profession there was this adventurist mind-set about shooting the war. Maybe they were eager for the survivalist adrenaline rush. Man and gear staying alive in Hell. Boys are like that. Movies give us this romantic notion of a tortured mind and an invincible strength.
This young man, on his home-made combat-ready rolling chair, is the embodiment of how well prepared I felt many of these men would be had they actually gone.
There's always this character lurking around in my mind. He scrawled out of my head shortly after my leg was amputated. He landed on the flip-side of my medication chart (pictured in a post a few months ago regarding atheism). I haven't a name for him yet, nor am I even sure where he's going. Born from my love of the macabre and probably the narcotics, he is a strolling figure of mystery, magic, and intensity.