War Machine By Douglas Murray How can you bring objects of war into our house? The question is one of contempt and scorn. Why would you glorify an object of mass murder? The question is a defensive reaction to the fact that we wage war. The concept of found objects seen as shrapnel- Black stained red as body, blood and bone- The orderly base seems indignant yet marred with shame- Silver is the steely foundation that binds the destructive construct. Grenade pins and bullets invade our sense of acceptable abstraction. Would it be better if we could shut our eyes and ignore the facts? Was the bullet fired to kill an enemy; a man? Was the grenade pin pulled out of rage, fear or political agenda? The machines are blamed as the bodies pile up. The further we get from our kill, the more civilized we become. The less blood we see on our hands, the more acceptable war becomes. The more we can blame the machine for our indiscretions, the less our moral dilemma. Is the machine dangerous out of the hands of man? Can we invite the killer and forgive the sin, once all the bullets are spent? We have placed our hatred in a tool that cuts people from existence. We blame the tool for atrocity and forgive mankind as the only war machine.