That depends. On whether you mean... I mean, did I hold a gun to any man's head, did I pick up a rifle and fire away at whoever happened to be standing around, soldiers, women, children, you name it 'cause who knows who the enemy is anymore? Nah, man. I know some guys who did, but me, I don't know anything about that. Hell, you give me a gun, I'd probably end up putting one through my foot, you know? Yeah, I'd be... bleeding all over the place.
[He shrugs; it's true! He'd tried out a Marine's pistol once, just for a lark and because the kids on base had been bored out of their skulls. The Photojournalist hadn't liked the feel of it. Hadn't liked not knowing what it could do to him or to anyone else, and his hands had started to cramp up; it'd taken the rest of the day for him to feel all right again.
Guns don't make sense. If he had to use on, really had to, maybe he could. But he'd rather hold a camera any day. Cameras make sense to him, even if the shit he's taking pictures of is pretty awful. ...kind of like this guy had been, actually. Wow, yeah; this guy - what was left of this guy - had been a mess.]
But I mean there's, there's culpability outside of pulling the trigger. I mean, I've got eyes and I've got pictures and I've been there, so what was I doing, huh? What am I doing now? What am I-- You can't judge it, man - or maybe you can judge me, because I'm not up there, you know? - but you can call it what it is.
If you know it. If you can sniff it out.
[He stares for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Shit, something's funny. Something's usually funny.]
Anyway, man, I was just trying to help you. You know, give you something to remember yourself by if you wanted. I didn't mean anything by it. Hell, you don't have to look. If you don't want to look, I won't show you anything.
no subject
[He shrugs; it's true! He'd tried out a Marine's pistol once, just for a lark and because the kids on base had been bored out of their skulls. The Photojournalist hadn't liked the feel of it. Hadn't liked not knowing what it could do to him or to anyone else, and his hands had started to cramp up; it'd taken the rest of the day for him to feel all right again.
Guns don't make sense. If he had to use on, really had to, maybe he could. But he'd rather hold a camera any day. Cameras make sense to him, even if the shit he's taking pictures of is pretty awful. ...kind of like this guy had been, actually. Wow, yeah; this guy - what was left of this guy - had been a mess.]
But I mean there's, there's culpability outside of pulling the trigger. I mean, I've got eyes and I've got pictures and I've been there, so what was I doing, huh? What am I doing now? What am I-- You can't judge it, man - or maybe you can judge me, because I'm not up there, you know? - but you can call it what it is.
If you know it. If you can sniff it out.
[He stares for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Shit, something's funny. Something's usually funny.]
Anyway, man, I was just trying to help you. You know, give you something to remember yourself by if you wanted. I didn't mean anything by it. Hell, you don't have to look. If you don't want to look, I won't show you anything.