oddly enough, i feel like cursing the news. i am so sick of the scenes they keep playing; it's as if any moment roger or ebert or whomever is going to come on to explain that those clips were the highlights of tuesday, september eleventh.
it's like someone is about to give the demolition of the twin towers two enthusiastic thumbs up.
you'd think i'd be starting to level off, but somehow, i am either numb, or seriously depressed. i haven't felt this way in about three years. during that period, though... i remember dropping a carton of milk on the floor, and crying for a half an hour straight because i couldn't even seem to pull milk out of the fridge without making some sort of mess. logical, isn't it?
i know people who died. two, to be exact. and this is nothing compared to people living in new york, who lost entire circles of friends. or parents, or children. one of the news programs today mentioned that one of the planes that crashed into the towers was carrying a husband and wife, and the wife's brother was working in the tower that she flew into. he is still missing. i think that, by now, missing should be reported as 'presumed lost' or some other politically correct way of saying 'probably dead'.
my god, i never thought i would type anything like that.
i feel a bit lonely. my friends on the west coast are all about peace, and it is a good and noble concept. but i am not fucking ghandi, and to tell you the truth, this whole incident has completely pissed me off. i try to be the better person, and to shake off the visions i see on a constant loop in my head when i attempt to go to sleep, but nothing seems to be working. the anger is swelling within me, and the more i try to ice it, the less sleep i get.
at first, i saw the towers. crumbling and burning, like a snake shedding it's skin: down they went. over, and over. planes. explosion. smoke. ashes, ashes... we all fall down. then it's the pentagon. fire coming from the roof. the mis-reported death toll of eight hundred. then i remembered what it was like not to be able to check in on my friends, as i watched their apartment burning on the news.
now, it's the shiny kodak faces of the missing. each with a loved one pleading for any information anyone might have, websites devoted to the last floor someone was seen on, people announcing their home numbers on national television in case anyone has heard anything. candids of your typical american insurance agent, or secretary, or stockbroker. they are all smiling, happy... holding their children. firefighters, priests, running headlong into disaster.
i. can't. sleep.
and, although it might pain my friends on the west coast to hear this, i want retribution. i want bin laden's head on a stick. i want his throat to squeeze, personally. if nothing else, to ensure that he will never be responsible for creating one more motherless child, or grief stricken widower. i have never in my life thought anyone utterly deserved to die. ever. but now... fuck, yeah. no question. it's not that he should die because of this particular event alone. it's because he will never stop. and this can't happen again.
i would never approve of carpet bombing afghanistan. a good family friend immigrated from kabul when he was seven; he still has family there, and is scared. i tried to reassure him as best as i could that they probably won't just bomb the whole country. he hates the taliban as much as i do. and so does his family back home, actually.
but the point being: someone, sometime, has to draw the line. and i am all for it being the united states. now.
discretion is the better part of valor. before tuesday, that meant live to fight another day. nowadays, it means use discretion when engaging in battle to begin with.
at least, that's what it meant/means to me.
i don't know if what i am feeling is wrong. i don't know how i would be reacting if my family and i lived on the west coast. i don't know if i would be sleeping at night then, either. i feel guilty for wanting bin laden dead. and selfish for not wanting him dead sooner, considering he has done these types of things over and over. i suppose i just didn't notice until it literally hit home. if i knew that, by giving my life, i could end terrorism, i would do it in a heartbeat.
and mostly, i don't know how to assemble the above thoughts into some sort of cohesive timeline. i need some sort of emotional chronology. like the twin towers on tv.
planes. explosion. smoke. ashes, ashes... and then i suppose we rise anew.
5:30 a.m. - 2001-09-15
Recent entries:
cliffhanger - 2005-11-12
Mary - 2005-02-08
Border - 2004-07-26
Propaganda - 2004-02-20
Lifer - 2003-12-05
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