My soldier thus becomes my swan, my muse, my washed-up whore. Like an allegory, he hardens around all our abstract relations values assuming a shape around history’s contusions and contradictions, a scar where my alienable form has been hygienically sutured to the loss he represents. Referring to something with which it no longer coincides the signs that bloat his corpse my apparition appears by disappearing while the soldier manifests a void absence of what he stands for. What would it feel like to rematerialize his body as my own fate of all our proprietary claims as if this fate hasn't materialized already. His body entombs sustains the absence of its own referent, and so my soldier is a terminal melancholic or is that me. A studied nihilist, he incorporates an order of transcendent meaning democracy, freedom, trade while the ground of such meaning becomes the ground of our catastrophe. My soldier is the narrative of these disjunctions story of identity with nothing inside eternal integument hardened skin around a liquidated meaning, as if his hardening alone could arrest these processes of decay.