[astigmatic much?] pith.org content, daily-like
most recently
archive

Wednesday September 12, 2001, 01:09

Serenity.

Quite the only way to describe it at the moment as I look up and see the waning moon glowing over the horizon on an otherwise clear and virtually cloudless night. The normal city noises I am so accustomed to: the cars traveling down the street, echoing up the canyons of the city, are missing, replaced with the fans from surrounding buildings and the occasional siren.

The stars twinkle silently only to be interrupted by the rumble of the jet engines of a military plane flying overhead, protecting our skies.

Protecting them from what, I wonder? Is this it? I've been asking myself. I've been wondering, convincing myself that it is over. That there is going to be no more. That a single attack, tragic as it was, was all that would be inflicted on us. But could there be more? Could there possibly be more? I could go on, but I fear boring myself.

I woke up this morning to news on the radio. Thirty minutes earlier, an airplane crashed into the World Trade Center. That's what I heard. Sure I was hearing it wrong. Surely, I thought to myself, this must be a fiction, a possible scenario; what one could possibly hear. It was not. And as I looked out my window I saw the trail of smoke slowly drifting east. I dressed and headed up to my roof where I saw a dozen other people staring, unspeaking, at the sight of the two largest structures in Manhattan.

Burning.

The rest of the day was a surreal mix of frantic peace as I placed and received a flurry of phone calls, trying to find my friends, assuring others that, in fact, I was ok. But nobody could be "ok" on a day like this.

I walked through the streets of New York and watched as people walked, devoid of emotion. Normally such an expressive people were reduced to listening to the reports on the radio, trying to reach friends and family on mobile telephones, or simply walking, away from downtown. They were all walking.

Their faces, lips normally curled in an urban cynicism were flat, unable to express anything but the flat line of someone who has absolutely nothing to say. Eyes, normally piercing, simply glazed, pupils dilated, focused straight ahead, turning back at moments and rubbed, disbelievingly.

And really, that is all that there is. I just started sobbing, watching reports on the television1 of people recounting stories of getting out, leaving behind co-workers. On the street2 below, a line of trucks queues up behind police cars, roof-lights flashing. These are open trucks and construction vehicles, traveling downtown to begin the process of carting away the debris (one would speculate).

The moon continues to rise up over the city, burning brightly.



1. The television has been playing all day, sometimes in conjunction with the radio and mostly with the Internet as well. Really, there seems to be nothing else to do.

2. A street that has been blocked off to all but residents and emergency vehicles. The part of the city in which I currently reside has been closed. Nobody gets in. It is an eerie feeling, to say the least.

[ permanent link ]

[ email love | your love | consumer love ]

------------------

search the past

remember the past

1999
    aug 04 05 06 08 09 11 12 15 17 22 26 30
    sep 01 03 07 12 20 28
    oct 04 14 18 22
    nov 02 07 12 19 25 26 27
    dec 12 15 18 28 31

2000
    jan 02 06 11 12 18 29
    feb 03 10 14 17 21 23 28 29
    mar 05 06 20 22 25 26
    apr 02 05 06 08 09 10 12 13 17 20 21 24 25 28 29
    may 03 05 08 11 12 15 17 17b 18 18b 21 23 25 29 30 31
    jun 01 01b 03 06 07 08 10 13 14 16 18 21 23 25 30
    jul 03 06 09 10 13 16 26
    aug 02 03 04 08 10 17 21 25 29
    sep 06 07 12 13 18 24
    oct 06 11 12 19 30 31
    nov 08 11 22 26 30
    dec 01 10 14 21 30

2001
    jan 01 09 14 16 30
    feb 11 15 20 22
    mar 06 08 09 21 25 30
    apr 01 04 05 09 13 18 23 24 25 28
    may 04 09 11 14 16 17 21 25 31
    jun 02 08 20 21 28 29
    jul 07 13 17 28
    aug 14 24 26
    sep 09 12 23 24
    oct 10 26 28 31
    nov 11 17 18 28 30
    dec 02 08 15 18 26

2002
    jan 03 07 08 18 20 23
    feb 04 05 17 19 22
    mar 06 10 13 15 17
    apr 13 16 19 26
    may 03 13 16 21
    jun 08 15 21
    jul 03 05 10 18 24
    aug 03 18
    sep 11 20
    oct 03 05
    nov 10
    dec 30

2003
    jan 19
    feb 04 14 27
    mar 10 23 31
    apr 11 15
    may 26
    jun 16 29
    aug 17
    sep 15
    oct 08
    nov 30
    dec 11 24 28

2004
    jan 06 23 30
    feb 01 21
    mar 04 09
    apr 15
    may 02 10
    jul 03
    aug 02 16 30
    oct 04 17
    nov 28
    dec 28

2005
    jan 03 24
    mar 24
    may 28
    aug 01 10
    sep 03
    oct 12 28
    dec 25

2006
    jan 01 07 16
    feb 02 13 28
    mar 12 13
    apr 17

other things to look at

back home