September 13, 2001
Untitled
There is a place… somewhere off in a corner in the back of my head… where stuff tends to rattle around incessantly. Stuff like poorly crafted pop songs and insipid lyrics. Stuff like missed opportunities and child-like aspirations. Stuff like the faces of people I met years ago whose names are now completely obscured in an alphanumeric fog. There is also a voice back in that corner telling me things. Things like… I don’t need to look at any more images of destruction or panic. I don’t need to read any more first-person accounts of survival or loss. I don’t need to stare at my monitor, slack-jawed and boggled, at every publication and jingoistic rant and infographic and newsfeed and plea for hope. That voice tells me I don’t need to. But I am compelled to. I’ve been able to tune out the poorly crafted pop songs and the missed opportunities. This, I can’t seem to tune out.
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