A ton of bricks isn’t half enough

Saturday, 24 November 2001

“Where were you when you heard on September 11th?”

That’s what people will ask. They won’t include the year. Not in our lifetimes. I wrote something about Kennedy getting popped, some years ago already. Where I was when. Not even in utero. Barely an itch in pants. Never to care one way but the other.

On September 11th, on the West Coast, I was stepping out of the shower and my significant other said.

I replied, “No it didn’t.” I called her a liar to her face. That’s how sure I was it didn’t happen. This is the United States of America.

I went downstairs and got to see it on teevee over and over. I guess it did happen. I only thought it was impossible because it’s unreasonable that anyone or group so completely backwards could ever have the resources to do it. But petroleum makes those rich who would else never own more than they could rob from the next camp of slave and camel thieves. Viva le dieu. The same god of Christ, the god of Revelations 2:23, “I will kill her children…”

I wanted to join the CIA to kill. Their résumé submissions were up two-thirds though and I hate being a copy cat. I wanted to move to Israel to kill Palestinians. I know how. I wear leather and eat meat, it wouldn’t be hard. Or, better, by Biblical example, Palestinian children. Nip it in the bud, as they say.

I wrote an essay, a year before I applauded the dying of the Kennedys, about the murder of children never having any justification. I tried to hold onto that. Tried, I’m still.

I have friends who are upset about the killing of Afghanis. Those innocent Afghanis. The ones who, though never having attacked New York City, made sure women were uneducated property, the unfaithful received a public bullet in the back of the head, and the locals who didn’t subscribe were poisoned-raped-fatherless-sonless.

I have friends who believe in live and let live. These same friends said, “Whoah! What’s that about?” when I celebrated the death of a US President and damned the government cops for killing kids in Waco. Friends never short on emotion, never long on history, nor IQ.

I remember having friends, but I seem to get angry.

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