Re: [CTRL] You can read this now, or you can log off and shut down and get quiet, and just remember
-Caveat Lector- thanks for that. --- Joshua Tinnin <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > -Caveat Lector- > > http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2002/09/11/notes091102.DTL > > Not Another 9/11 Column > You can read this now, or you can log off and shut > down and get quiet, and > just remember > > By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist > > > You do not need to read this column. You do not need > to be reminded of > September 11 in any such manner. > > You have permission to right this moment click this > link or perhaps this one > or this one and spend your valuable time elsewhere > on the Web, sucking up > the finer ambrosial entertainments and informational > succor, safe in the > knowledge you will be sufficiently pummeled by heavy > emotional 9/11 > terrorist-infused pain throughout the day, unless > you live under a rock in a > cave in a deep trench on a tiny forgotten moon > orbiting Uranus, and even > then. > > Perhaps you should just go offline entirely, just > shut it all down, go sit > on the stoop or walk outside the office and stroll > down to the park and sip > a coffee or a fine scotch or perhaps imported > laudanum, and remember. > > In your own way, on your own terms, remember where > you were, what you were > doing, what you were feeling when you observed the > world change forever, > when you witnessed history writ large and in dark > gothic script, raw and > obscene and indelible. Perhaps this is the best way. > > Remember it personally, intimately, sans smarmy > musical accompaniment or > prepackaged images or Tom Brokaw's melodramatic > intonations, entirely free > of someone with an overly pious glare extolling how > Jesus hates terrorists > too now let us pray but not for those other icky > religions we don't > understand because they are wrong and ugly and they > dress funny. > > All overshadowed by our fearless quivering > chickenhawk leaders, squinting > and scowling and trying to muster some sort of > support for their > corporatized warmongering, droning about how we > shall smite those evil > evildoers even if it means creating new bomb-able > evildoers where none > really existed before, boom boom oil oil let us > secretly examine your email > and tap your phone and scan your shoes, don't you > feel safer now. > > You have permission to keep the TV off all day. It > is absolutely true that > we as a nation need to commemorate, collectively, to > unite and mark the day > and bow our collective heads, draw strength from our > concentrated mourning. > > But if you are like roughly 272 million other people > in this country, it is > very possible you do not need to see the images > right now, or perhaps ever > again: the falling bodies, the doomed towers > erupting smoke like tragic > volcanoes, the huge planes vanishing into walls of > steel and glass like > ghosts sailing through paper. > > Only this time with slow-motion effects and > dirge-like TV soundtrack and the > superimposed image of Old Glory waving in the > background, manipulating your > sadness synapse like a hammer on a nail. > > There, see? Even describing it casts a pallor, > evokes all sorts of > media-tainted responses, draws you down a prescribed > visceral trail, when > the best thing might be just to acknowledge the > collective grief and then > turn the volume way, way down and get quiet. > > This is your challenge, this is your assignment, and > it is not at all easy. > You must sift, you must reject, you must resist > getting sucked into the > sensationalistic media vortex of this day, all the > articles and programs and > talk shows and religious finger-pointing and awful > commemorative plates, as > you pick and choose your 9/11 memories very > carefully. > > An image here, a voice there, the phone call you > made to your loved ones > just after. Find the few remaining untainted > fragments of the tragedy and > its aftermath and feel them deeply, get quiet and > solemn in yourself and > just think, contemplate, turn them over in your > hands, examine closely, > breath and feel. > > Because for many of us, it has become nearly > impossible to avoid cynical or > jaded feelings about 9/11, to avoid seeing how this > epic human tragedy has > been cast and recast and diminished and leveraged > and regurgitated as some > sort of zealous rabid uber-patriotic call to arms, a > pseudo-psychological > touchstone, an excuse to launch more war, a > justification for a million > smarmy melodramatic Hallmark sentiments and a > million United We Stand bumper > stickers and far too many new viewers for JAG. > > You have permission to completely disavow yourself > of aggro-American > hyperbole or false patriotic sentiment or the > Bush/Cheney spin machine. > > You have permission to be a complete traitor by > ignoring Dan Rather entirely > and refusing to stick a flag on your Japanese SUV > and by not believing the > simplistic reductionism of Good Righteous Us vs. > Evil Hateful Them because > in many cases We are Them a
[CTRL] You can read this now, or you can log off and shut down and get quiet, and just remember
-Caveat Lector- http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2002/09/11/notes091102.DTL Not Another 9/11 Column You can read this now, or you can log off and shut down and get quiet, and just remember By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist You do not need to read this column. You do not need to be reminded of September 11 in any such manner. You have permission to right this moment click this link or perhaps this one or this one and spend your valuable time elsewhere on the Web, sucking up the finer ambrosial entertainments and informational succor, safe in the knowledge you will be sufficiently pummeled by heavy emotional 9/11 terrorist-infused pain throughout the day, unless you live under a rock in a cave in a deep trench on a tiny forgotten moon orbiting Uranus, and even then. Perhaps you should just go offline entirely, just shut it all down, go sit on the stoop or walk outside the office and stroll down to the park and sip a coffee or a fine scotch or perhaps imported laudanum, and remember. In your own way, on your own terms, remember where you were, what you were doing, what you were feeling when you observed the world change forever, when you witnessed history writ large and in dark gothic script, raw and obscene and indelible. Perhaps this is the best way. Remember it personally, intimately, sans smarmy musical accompaniment or prepackaged images or Tom Brokaw's melodramatic intonations, entirely free of someone with an overly pious glare extolling how Jesus hates terrorists too now let us pray but not for those other icky religions we don't understand because they are wrong and ugly and they dress funny. All overshadowed by our fearless quivering chickenhawk leaders, squinting and scowling and trying to muster some sort of support for their corporatized warmongering, droning about how we shall smite those evil evildoers even if it means creating new bomb-able evildoers where none really existed before, boom boom oil oil let us secretly examine your email and tap your phone and scan your shoes, don't you feel safer now. You have permission to keep the TV off all day. It is absolutely true that we as a nation need to commemorate, collectively, to unite and mark the day and bow our collective heads, draw strength from our concentrated mourning. But if you are like roughly 272 million other people in this country, it is very possible you do not need to see the images right now, or perhaps ever again: the falling bodies, the doomed towers erupting smoke like tragic volcanoes, the huge planes vanishing into walls of steel and glass like ghosts sailing through paper. Only this time with slow-motion effects and dirge-like TV soundtrack and the superimposed image of Old Glory waving in the background, manipulating your sadness synapse like a hammer on a nail. There, see? Even describing it casts a pallor, evokes all sorts of media-tainted responses, draws you down a prescribed visceral trail, when the best thing might be just to acknowledge the collective grief and then turn the volume way, way down and get quiet. This is your challenge, this is your assignment, and it is not at all easy. You must sift, you must reject, you must resist getting sucked into the sensationalistic media vortex of this day, all the articles and programs and talk shows and religious finger-pointing and awful commemorative plates, as you pick and choose your 9/11 memories very carefully. An image here, a voice there, the phone call you made to your loved ones just after. Find the few remaining untainted fragments of the tragedy and its aftermath and feel them deeply, get quiet and solemn in yourself and just think, contemplate, turn them over in your hands, examine closely, breath and feel. Because for many of us, it has become nearly impossible to avoid cynical or jaded feelings about 9/11, to avoid seeing how this epic human tragedy has been cast and recast and diminished and leveraged and regurgitated as some sort of zealous rabid uber-patriotic call to arms, a pseudo-psychological touchstone, an excuse to launch more war, a justification for a million smarmy melodramatic Hallmark sentiments and a million United We Stand bumper stickers and far too many new viewers for JAG. You have permission to completely disavow yourself of aggro-American hyperbole or false patriotic sentiment or the Bush/Cheney spin machine. You have permission to be a complete traitor by ignoring Dan Rather entirely and refusing to stick a flag on your Japanese SUV and by not believing the simplistic reductionism of Good Righteous Us vs. Evil Hateful Them because in many cases We are Them and They are Us and the lines that separate Us and Them are more like thin ideological equivocations, which don't. And finally, you have permission to feel patriotic in your own way, define your grief and your sense of allegiance independent of the imposed governmental guidelines, to connect with
