A moment of reflection
You, know I really begin to wonder if this world is worth saving when people make comments like:
"I can think of many ways to die that worse than smoke inhalation and jumping out of a building." [in relation to 9-11]
Ah, fuck you. It's amazing how arrogant and callous people can be. This individual actually supposes to comprehend what it's like to suffocate, or arrive at the decision to jump out of a 110 story building because tons of gallons of jet fuel, hot enough to melt steel, are ablaze all around you.
I can't speak for exactly how it must have been, but I certainly know the peril of suffocation. After the North Tower fell and the streets were covered by a black blanket of debris, each breath was like a kick to the chest. You're faced with this horrid contradiction. I'm running and I need to breath. Breathing hurts my chest and lungs. Not breathing hurts my chest and lungs. If I don't inhale I will die. If I inhale too much I will die. All of these thoughts scurried surreptitiously around my head during epic moments where only a few seconds pass. I doubt she knows what it's like to breath in full particles of debris, so much so that you convince yourself you can't do it again. And so you hold your breath until your body fights your will, and consequently take in more debris and dust then you did the first time. Each episode progressively worse then the last. Thinking, Understanding, Comprehending that you are going to die...fighting it, and for whatever divine reason you live through it all to tell the tale while talking with strangers in a park in Brooklyn Heights later that night.
I cannot imagine what it must have been like, to suffer through all that and worse because of the heat, to where its so unbearable that your only recourse is to jump...*sigh* There is no good way to die. I've almost lost my life on numerous occasions in various ways, and neither are the same or comparable.
My high school mentor who will remain anonymous for privacy purposes, lost his life that Tuesday. He was a great fucking guy, only 26, and his remains were never conclusively found. Through speculation of video tape and other factors, he's believed to be one of the many people who jumped to their death. For other various loved ones who lost their lives that day, nothing has haunted me more then his. For the others, the families were able to have funerals and achieve a type of closure. For him...nothing but the thought that maybe pieces of him are still out there. I say a special "hi" to him every time I pass the WTC site, just incase he's still out there. I hate that people still gawk at ground zero, a burial ground for so many, and yet to outsiders, it tends to be just another stop on the NYC bus tour.
I had planned to write a post about 9-11 the day after, but unfortunately things get in the way. Too much partying, booze, drugs, and tragedy even for my liking. The reason I wanted to write about it the day after was because, that's when shit really began to hit. Prior to that point I was in a daze. Now that I'm here typing this, there really isn't anything to say that I haven't whispered in private to those I still miss. What it comes down to for me I guess, is that 9-11 is very personal. It's not just some horrible day that happened 2 years ago, but a very personal fucking experience that affected me in many ways. It affected my life afterwards. It caused me to fear. How else do you explain a large gathering of people at the UA Battery Park Cinemas congregating after a film, all hitting the deck when a plane flies by overhead, way too close for comfort. All this 3 months afterwards when we all thought we were pretty much *over it*. With that said, I don't take kindly to people telling me how I should feel about something so personal, nor do I appreciate the media sensationalism of the attacks or people feeling like they can use 9-11 as a billboard for politics. Yet even in all the tragedy and suckyness of the entire affair, there was this beautiful contradiction that remained.
People had given their lives to take many, and people had given their lives to save many.
When it's all said and done for, the towers can be rebuilt. The heroism of that day speaks boundlessly about humanity. Everyone who was downtown that day, was someone's hero. 9-11 is a testament to the power of human compassion and sacrifice, because at a time when everyone could have just been about saving themselves, people instead pulled together to save each other. It's for that reason I wept when Ben Fold's performed "Superman" at the concert for NY. Because as he sang those words, I remembered the quilt of kindness woven that Tuesday. Had a single thread been missing, the whole thing would have fallen apart. It's nice to know that everything isn't all for shit.
The awe inspiring beauty of 9-11 far out weighs the tragedy.
"I can think of many ways to die that worse than smoke inhalation and jumping out of a building." [in relation to 9-11]
Ah, fuck you. It's amazing how arrogant and callous people can be. This individual actually supposes to comprehend what it's like to suffocate, or arrive at the decision to jump out of a 110 story building because tons of gallons of jet fuel, hot enough to melt steel, are ablaze all around you.
I can't speak for exactly how it must have been, but I certainly know the peril of suffocation. After the North Tower fell and the streets were covered by a black blanket of debris, each breath was like a kick to the chest. You're faced with this horrid contradiction. I'm running and I need to breath. Breathing hurts my chest and lungs. Not breathing hurts my chest and lungs. If I don't inhale I will die. If I inhale too much I will die. All of these thoughts scurried surreptitiously around my head during epic moments where only a few seconds pass. I doubt she knows what it's like to breath in full particles of debris, so much so that you convince yourself you can't do it again. And so you hold your breath until your body fights your will, and consequently take in more debris and dust then you did the first time. Each episode progressively worse then the last. Thinking, Understanding, Comprehending that you are going to die...fighting it, and for whatever divine reason you live through it all to tell the tale while talking with strangers in a park in Brooklyn Heights later that night.
I cannot imagine what it must have been like, to suffer through all that and worse because of the heat, to where its so unbearable that your only recourse is to jump...*sigh* There is no good way to die. I've almost lost my life on numerous occasions in various ways, and neither are the same or comparable.
My high school mentor who will remain anonymous for privacy purposes, lost his life that Tuesday. He was a great fucking guy, only 26, and his remains were never conclusively found. Through speculation of video tape and other factors, he's believed to be one of the many people who jumped to their death. For other various loved ones who lost their lives that day, nothing has haunted me more then his. For the others, the families were able to have funerals and achieve a type of closure. For him...nothing but the thought that maybe pieces of him are still out there. I say a special "hi" to him every time I pass the WTC site, just incase he's still out there. I hate that people still gawk at ground zero, a burial ground for so many, and yet to outsiders, it tends to be just another stop on the NYC bus tour.
I had planned to write a post about 9-11 the day after, but unfortunately things get in the way. Too much partying, booze, drugs, and tragedy even for my liking. The reason I wanted to write about it the day after was because, that's when shit really began to hit. Prior to that point I was in a daze. Now that I'm here typing this, there really isn't anything to say that I haven't whispered in private to those I still miss. What it comes down to for me I guess, is that 9-11 is very personal. It's not just some horrible day that happened 2 years ago, but a very personal fucking experience that affected me in many ways. It affected my life afterwards. It caused me to fear. How else do you explain a large gathering of people at the UA Battery Park Cinemas congregating after a film, all hitting the deck when a plane flies by overhead, way too close for comfort. All this 3 months afterwards when we all thought we were pretty much *over it*. With that said, I don't take kindly to people telling me how I should feel about something so personal, nor do I appreciate the media sensationalism of the attacks or people feeling like they can use 9-11 as a billboard for politics. Yet even in all the tragedy and suckyness of the entire affair, there was this beautiful contradiction that remained.
People had given their lives to take many, and people had given their lives to save many.
When it's all said and done for, the towers can be rebuilt. The heroism of that day speaks boundlessly about humanity. Everyone who was downtown that day, was someone's hero. 9-11 is a testament to the power of human compassion and sacrifice, because at a time when everyone could have just been about saving themselves, people instead pulled together to save each other. It's for that reason I wept when Ben Fold's performed "Superman" at the concert for NY. Because as he sang those words, I remembered the quilt of kindness woven that Tuesday. Had a single thread been missing, the whole thing would have fallen apart. It's nice to know that everything isn't all for shit.
The awe inspiring beauty of 9-11 far out weighs the tragedy.