september 28, 2001

/i didnt know so i saw a plane and got scared
blind guardian - when sorrow sang

loneliness soon fades into root beer and this girl with a deftones shirt telling me how nothing freaks her out anymore, i agree without question, but why am i so tense over this war shit. my dad was driving me on the highway with the strange name that sounds like an ice cream flavor, and told me not to worry about getting drafted and i say to him "four words, dont ask dont tell" thank you former president clinton for the moment of silence afterwords.

i sense tension. i told him i'd rather put a bullet in my own head than shoot a machinegun at some guy i dont know (haha kiki found a white power grind metal song called "towels arent hats" disturbing, not really, though maybe it should be). again he reminds me that i wont be drafted. well i guess if the gay thing wouldnt work, though i dont see why not, i could make a great janitor or something. i have experience at cleaning womens toilets. now that fucking sucked.

i know this girl who sits on a carriage and steers around her horse named ginger (or some g word, oops), and sometimes there are passengers on the carriage. we drove past her one night and i was like "this is michael!!" from the passenger side. he smiles and waves and she screams "nice to meet you too, i'm cold" 'cause lately it has been rather chilly. i still wear a tshirt and shorts. i used to call em "little pants" 'cause thats what they are. well i guess "shorts" is somewhat more brief and efficient.

so i sat there eating lunch with a girl who's not as much of a stranger as before, 12 piece chicken nuggets with those big ass potato waffle fries and my wonderful medium root beer (i still dont believe it is caffiene free). we agree that younger kids should not be talking about sex at such early ages in there lives, even though we probably thought even worse thoughts at their age. surprisingly this doesnt make me feel old.

neither does he. i feel like i can wear my all black attire and spiked courier bag and red chucks with black laces and still let him nibble on my nose. haha aww how cutesy. well fuck you, it fucking rules. ha, we watched this television program on human sexuality (those hetero bastards), they showed a close-up of a woman's breast with nipples getting hard, then this heat sensor video of a man getting an erection. hell yes.

(umm hi dad...oops ah well)

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september 17, 2001

/a quick note
reliance - apathy

just letting you kids know i've been posting a little bit to my livejournal, stuff about this whole world trade center / pentagon attack thing. however, vague emo comments about my exciting dazzling life will still be posted here. :-P

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september 13, 2001

/flight of the bumblebee
the coup - swervin'

tuesday, september 11, 2001. 9:30 am. i woke up in his warm arms, eyes slit. i'm late, ohfuck, gotta make it to my exercise class. kiss kiss and then the boy scanned my card and "ben!" she called out and i smiled and ran into her arms. her grandpa passed away and she was gonna fly to dallas for the funeral but all flights were cancelled for the day. she didnt know either. dozens of students crowded around a small tv screen in the gym cafeteria. i assume its some big sporting event or something. friend in class softly tells me the twins towers no longer exist.

toes and fingers vibrate as i overhear other frightened students discussing the safety of our university (the one with the largest amount of students of any school in the united states). i watched the news broadcasts on that small tv for a while after class, i cant fucking believe this shit, first one plane and then the next, like toy puppets with no strings yet a steady determined course of movement.

i dont know what i would do without them. i wanted to cry but i guess i forgot how. i call my brother and leave a message with tears in my eyes. wanting more than anything to listen to the warm breaths of air in between his words. my best friend is next, i email him in a panic i've never felt before, shit whats his fucking number...leave for my design class, no one is there which is good 'cause i didnt feel like making a collage any way. didnt know what i wanted to do. to the computer lab, i receive an email from the mishka, i can barely keep my hands steady but my eyes are fixed on the computer screen as i read his words. he was running from the collapsing giant with the crowd, turning around once in a while to see human beings falling from the sky from many stories above. but he is ok.

later that night my phone rings and it is my brother, i pinch myself and rub my eyes and smile to hold back the tears. he tells me he would never forget the vast clouds of gray smoke emerging from the ground. he observed thousands of people running, and at one point, peered into a shoe store and saw people trying on new shoes as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening that day.

it is hard to stay calm when you forget to breathe. i feel like grabbing my feet and holding on forever. needed to be alone yet wanted to be in his arms and in everybody's arms 'cause sometimes mine dont feel big enough.

i remember walking right up to the two great big towers with my dad when he took me to work with him. looking straight up into infinity, my head always felt like it was gonna fall off, or maybe i might fall backwards on my butt from being in such a daze at how grande these buildings were. it's like every time i looked up, no matter how many times i had did it, it was always the first time seeing those magnificent towers. they seemed to bend in optical illusion. i always thought "boy i bet i look like an ant to those people way at the top."

mishka and i used to go into the city many a weekends, pretending to be hip and cool, going to thrift stores and eating at ben's pizzeria (mama mia), riding that crowded moist subway like we fucking owned the place. getting kicked in the face at a weezer concert and being forced to ride those subways at midnight in a sweaty blurry mist. taking photos of shadows and trying to avoid the kid that said he would beat us up if we didnt give him a buck or two. smelling the hot pretzels and piss stained streets and cabbies driving like maniacs saying fuck you in a circle. the only time i felt like i actually had a home. new york city.

i am tense. the bus rides back to my apartment are like sitting at a funeral, empty faces and closed mouths and radio news programs with a gentle hum. this "terrorism" is so brutally surreal, yet i wonder why the 200,000 iraqi victims (mostly civilians) of the gulf war, for example, arent seen as equally a catastrophe to these same tears. if we are growing up programmed to believe that "towel heads" always mean trouble, who needs to be punished, why there should be a punishment at all, what will it achieve, if anything at all.

the ultimate exploitation and manipulation of technology and our sophisticated tools of communication. i can shake my head and close my eyes but these postcards and photographs have forever been altered.


side note: please visit indymedia for alternate views of this tragedy

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