I just returned from a 9/11 Memorial Service in DC. I am very tired- drained would be the proper term. With that in mind, please don't judge my writing ability right now. I feel completely inept.
Alright... :sigh: When that first tower went down, it was as if the entire room, country, even world took a simultaneous gasp. I remember thinking this when I laid down that night. 16 years old. A grown, albeit technically adolescent, woman crawling into my mother's bed and holding her close all night. Gripping family, substance. Protecting that cocoon of something trustworthy.
And, yes, it feels as if we're still suffocating, when the truth of my own country/reality settles in too deep. Oh, not even deep. When it settles on me... Imagine laying in bed as someone feathers out a cool sheet to slowly fall, slide, and rest over your naked body. When I sit, observe the past six years, it collapses feather-light and all-encompassing in that way.
Watching the towers fall with no sound, I think of that sensation as well.
I have watched six years worth of footage concerning 9/11. I have spent countless nights since my discovery of the reopen911.org movement dissecting that material. Trying to understand the big picture of that day and the century leading up to it.
Six years of video, sound, charts, books, congressional hearings, indie movies, conspiracy theories, PhD conferences, and moonlit gravestones at Arlington. However, this specific piece I want to share has always hit me the hardest... It's the quiet of it. This is what I remember of that morning. No stampedes, no screaming, no riots, no outrage, no
audible terror.
Just a quick intake of breath, and "the stare of trauma" I have learned so well from my current work in a military hospital. Six years ago, I remember watching everyone around me, and it was that wide-eyed stare, that stillness in others which frightened me the most. A hand over the mouth, but no breath. A tremble in the face, but no tears. When fight or flight had no meaning, when the very humanity of us quit, and all that was left was a cold, hurt detachment.
One great simultaneous gasp for air, and the quiet. A blind man might have thought New York was empty, and every few moments that day, I think it was. When the spirit of us choked before the vengeance came later. Before any unity or nationalism or even all that damn pride...
There was the lack. Seeing that is what has changed my life more than any empty skyline.
[link]
----
We're back to the predecessors.
Hoods and cowls,
the armored many against
the tattered few.
Broken glass crunching between
riot boots and asphalt,
kicks and territory.
On the street bellow,
marching to center,
the newborn revolutionary
and the Master's feudal slaves,
pitted for every lie,
and it's an uncommunicated,
worldwide phenomena
of Our law versus Us.
the Black Bloc Brigades.
No shield, just air.
Forget the sword and go
with the purpose,
and a mask against
the psych-ops and lenses,
the red lists and the teargas.
No barricade but linked arms,
no propoganda but our chants
echoing down mainstreet like
the whistle of falling bombs.
"Shut 'em down"
you cried, Seattle,
and 8 years later
they're still shaking
to the beat of our march.
Oh Black Bloc Messenger,
remember that we have no terms
to offer except the questions
plagueing our wakeful minds.
This absurd world is ours...
Remember to give them nothing,
and show no temperance
as your neighbor stares at
you through his riot gear,
and both of your children
wait at home, playing together
in backyard poverty.
This absurd world,
they have laid the stakes,
but we have been nailed by them.
And we will take what is ours
by Our Law of the Republic.
Pull the hood low, and
hit the street running to that end,
as the Grid becomes home
with every beat of the Black Bloc Brigades.
Lost at Sea
Bemused
Dominance
High
rotein] You have eaten a bug.
Emotional
Mesmerized
