Send us your tired, your hungry, your poor, your terrorists.

Tomorrow is the day you?ve all been hearing about. Yes, tomorrow is the anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the world trade center and pentagon. It?s hard to believe it?s been a whole year already, but what an event filled year it has been.

9-11 is supposed to be a day of remembrance, a day of courage, and a day of patriotism. To this writer, however, the use of the word anniversary is just plain sickening. Anniversaries are supposed to be happy times. We have wedding anniversaries, commemorative anniversaries, our nation?s anniversary, and many others. An anniversary is a joyous time, a time for rejoice and celebration. I see no reason for any of those things here.

Today is merely September 10. For lack of a better word, it has it?s own special anniversary too; A day that is surely not worth celebrating, but definitely should not be forgotten.

Think back to September 10, 2001 for a minute. Save for the Chandra Levy search, nothing really newsworthy was happening. But this isn?t about any significant event that happened on September 10th, oh no not at all, it?s about our way of life and how it was much different then.

For, on September 10, 2001 the Bill Of Rights actually had meaning, it was so much more than the after-dinner napkin the Bush administration has turned it into.

September 10, 2001 was one of the last days where we as Americans were truly free. Since September 10, 2001 Americans have been given new rights. For example:

• The right to have religious and political institutions monitored by government without any suspicion of criminal activity.
• The right to be jailed or detained without having been charged of a crime, and the right to NOT confront witnesses against oneself.
• The right to have all electronic conversations including telephone, fax and email monitored without probable cause or criminal suspicion.
• The right to have all jailhouse conversations between inmates and attorneys monitored and recorded; and in some cases even used against you in court.
• And the right of the public to NOT be allowed access to subpoenaed documents, immigration hearings, or even a lawyer to defend yourself against certain charges.

Yes, September 10,2001 is definitely worth remembering, for it was the day before Americans started giving up rights to protect themselves from terrorism.

It?s the day we allowed the government to do whatever they wanted in the name of ?terrorism?. Take away our rights, Limit our freedoms, House soldiers in our homes and Tax our tea, but for God?s sake, don?t question our ?patriotism?.

Yes, remember September 10, 2001. It was the day before democracy died.

January 1st, 2005

Untitled

That we even think to fly
Is all the cause we need for delusions

January 1st, 2005

DISASSOCIATIVE

Author’s note- With the one-year anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks looming just around the corner, the major TV networks are gearing up for a full-throttle slew of retrospectives, tributes, and interviews to give the event ‘meaning’ that it would somehow otherwise lack. Mulling over this, I decided to write my own feelings on the subject, focusing less on the attacks themselves and more on how we, as a society, assimilate disaster.

. . .

With paint in your eyes, it’s hard to focus on the end of the world. Sometimes, it’s easier just to stay in your own little reality, instead.

____________________________________________________________

The radio was playing all the usual corporate rock Muzak as my friend Case and I were painting the poolhouse for the Aurora public pool. In my mind, there was a floating little calendar on which I was checking off the days until the summer season was over for the Aurora Parks Department, because that’s the earliest that I could quit. Case, all misty-eyed from paint fumes and heartbreak, continued to complain about his girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend). We were both holed away in our own little worlds that meant so much; our own little dramas that our lives comfortably revolved around.

The song on the radio stopped in mid-verse and the station DJ came on. I silently thanked the gods, because whoever that band was, they were crucifying the Beatles with an awful cover of “Eleanor Rigby”. As I thought about this, Case complained that his ex was disinterested in him. Our worlds continued to spin on.

Then the DJ said something that stopped us both.

“Uh, we really, uh, don’t know exactly what is… exactly what’s happening, but it seems that… yeah, it looks like two commercial jets have crashed into the World Trade Center in New York… and we’re getting reports hat a third plane has hit the Pentagon in Washington D.C.”

It’s at this point that a drop of fresh paint fell from the ceiling and landed in my left eye with military precision.

Case stopped in mid-sentence of his anguish and asks, “What’d he say?”

With my face stuck under a water faucet and the raw nerves of my eye screaming in pain, I shrugged, completely forgetting how much I hate this job and how pissed I am about the paint.

The DJ goes on to say, “that this looks like an attack.”

I looked up at Case, who was distorted and blurred because of the water in my eye. We were both trying to think of something clever and appropriate to say, something to fill in this gap of conversation and give this situation meaning, the kind of thing someone would say in a movie.

Fortunately, the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” came on the radio and saved us from having to say anything. We probably wouldn’t have said much, anyway. Case couldn’t think of anything to say about his former flame. I forgot what I was so upset about. Our worlds came to a crunching, universe-grinding halt and were frozen on their axis’. We tried to get back to work, but ended up just sitting and listening to the radio reports, shaking our heads.

Later, on my lunch break, I went to my girlfriend’s house to watch the news. It’s a school day, but her classes were canceled because of an anonymous bomb threat. It’s a coincidence that, at the time, I didn’t find so funny.

As we watch CNN, we’re shown the same three clips: two of them show the second plane plowing through the Trade Center at different angles; the third clip showed the destruction at the Pentagon. These clips are on a loop that plays every five minutes. After a few cycles, they begin to seem more like movie clips than disaster footage. My girlfriend says the same thing. Already, we began to digest what has happened, and subconsciously start to accept it. Already, it started to become something far away, projected to us on a repeating pattern of television pixels: red, green, blue.

Red, green, blue.

Angle 1: shot from above.

Red, green, blue.

Angle 2: shot from below.

Red, green, blue.

Angle 3: Aerial shot of the Pentagon.

Already, on another network, a reporter was coughing up vague but meaningful quotes from John and Robert Kennedy. Already, CNN was giving the event an ominous, piano-based theme song. Already, someone in the room was asking, “They ever find the intern that the senator, or whoever, killed? What’s her name? Darva Conger?” Already, the tragedy and scope of what happened began to dwindle. Already, I began to hate my job, and dread going back to work at 1:00.

Everyone’s little worlds were fighting to start spinning again, lest they confront a situation that was just too real to deal with.

Back at work, my boss blames everything on Muslims. Only, he calls them “sand-niggers.” He says how, after work, he’s going to Wal-Mart to buy some ammo for his at-home gun arsenal, just in case there’s an invasion. I ask him if he really thinks that our little town in Missouri is going to be invaded. He stared back at me, confused, muttering, “you never know what those crazy camel-bangers will do.” I thought, tonight he’ll fall asleep with a shotgun tucked between his legs, and he’ll be that much more of a man. I said this out loud, but the sarcasm was lost on him.

Back at the poolhouse, our eyes red from paint fumes, Case and I wondered who could have orchestrated the attack. Then, after a few minutes, I asked, “how many days ‘till the summer season is over?” Case didn’t know. He asked me, “should I call her?”

We fight so hard to maintain a pattern. It’s so much easier to fall in line. It’s easier to disassociate yourself from tragedy than to embrace it, to face up to it. It’s easier to see it all as some far-away movie, something to be watched on TV. It’s easier to curl up with your little worries and dramas that give your life meaning than to accept something that makes you so insignificant in comparison.

When I get home after work, some of my friends come over and watch the coverage on TV, with all the repeating images and pixels.

Red, green, blue.

One of my friends said, “Come see this crash footage. CBS has an angle that the other networks don’t have yet.”

Red, green, blue.

Another asked, “If Bush comes on TV tonight, will they still air Survivor afterwards?”

Red, green, blue.

And I started to wonder if the summer season for the Parks Department ends in September, or is it in October?

Red, green, blue.

January 1st, 2005

Everybody love Raymond

I have finally figured out what bothers me about the American show ?Everybody Loves Raymond?. For those of us who don?t watch it, basically Raymond is a full time sports writer, while Debra is unemployed. Raymond never helps out with the house work, as Frank (his father) never did when he was working and Marie (his mother) was at home.

The fact that he never helps out around the house is seen as quite ridiculous. The show seems to create some sort of mood where you think that Raymond is so lucky to have Debra to do all those things for him, because he is practically useless.

But I think that is nonsense. She should cook, clean and pick the kids up from school. He works. He makes the money, from 9-5 (and frequently later) while she stays at home all day. Why should they share the housework? If Debra worked as well, then sure, they should both be cooking and cleaning but the fact is that he works and she is a housewife.

Its her job to cook and clean. This was once mentioned by Frank to Marie and was seen as one of the most shocking things ever said by him. Which is utter crap, because it is her job. Debra should quit complaining that Raymond never does anything around the house and do what she?s supposed to do.

Oh, and if anyone sees this as sexist you?re wrong. Because there is no reason why the roles couldn?t be revered… actually nothing would make me happier then marrying a professional woman and getting to stay home to do the chores.

January 1st, 2005

I hope I never get old.

The following is non-fiction:

?Holy shit, she?s still there,?

I said as I opened the blinds above my computer and looked out the window. I?d like to tell you her name, but I honestly don?t know it. I never really cared to learn it. It didn?t matter though, because there she was. Standing there, staring straight at me, wearing her black Capri pants and her flowery pink shirt which was now soaked with sweat; no doubt from spending the last 4 hours in the hot July sun.

I laughed, and headed to the kitchen to pour myself a nice frosty Heineken. It?d been over 3 hours since I watched her son drop her off. She got out of the car, waved goodbye and off he drove. I remember well, it was right around noon and I had just finished cleaning the car when I watched him pull up.

As I sipped the foam from my beer and headed back to my computer I casually glanced at the clock. The bright neon green numbers now said 3:30. ?What the hell is she doing?? I asked myself as I sat down to read the latest User Friendly and check out what?s new on dotCULT.

Perhaps she was watching something. Maybe she was lost in thought; possibly thinking of her late husband. He lived across the street from me for the last 10 years of my life but I don?t remember his name either. Is she locked out? No, the door is wide open. Is it possible to sleep standing up? That would be a pretty cool skill to learn??

6:00 ? I crawl out of the shower, thrown on my work clothes and re-open the blinds.
?what the hell? There is something seriously wrong with her.? Apparently I?m not the only one to notice now. In fact most of the neighbors are now outside probably wondering the same things that I am. Doesn?t bother her though, she?s been staring at the sky for the last 20 minutes. She doesn?t even know we?re all watching her.

I grab a quick bite to eat and head out for work. As I get in the car I notice a vehicle pull up into her driveway. Her son exits and together they both walk in through the open door and shut it behind them. I laugh and slowly drive off to work.

Now I know what it?s like to be lonely.

January 1st, 2005

Quantum Theory, 18th Century Philosophers and God.

I?m sure you?ve heard of the idea of quantum computing and how it can drastically change the world around us, and if you?re anything like me you?re both excited and scared. Being able to test multiple outcomes instantaneously would render cryptography as we know it useless, and vastly improve the superiority of machines. What if, however quantum computers could also help us to understand more deeply the concepts of reality, space and time, and even God.

Truth is, it can; and while they had no means with which to explain it, philosophers as early as the 18th century have understood it. I?m actually getting ahead of myself here, so let me start by explaining a few very very basic ideas of quantum mechanics and modern philosophy.

The theory of quantum computing relies heavily on the fact that subatomic particles appear to ?make decisions?. Not only that, but they do so based upon decisions made elsewhere. The shocking fact is that particles seem to ?know? the results of another decision made somewhere else Instantaneously .(that?s right, no time whatsoever) Better yet, somewhere can be as far away as 2 cm or a completely different galaxy. It doesn?t matter!

Now, if you picture a ?particle? as something that takes up space and has mass, this is definitely hard to grasp. You might be saying something like ?sure, they can communicate, but they have to shout, yell, sign, or send some sort of signal; and this takes time, HockeyGod, you?re insane!? Don?t worry, I was thinking the same thing too until I did some reading on it.

The typical physicist view goes something like this: Maybe, just maybe, particles aren?t really particles at all. Just like every tiniest part of a hologram contains the entire image, and each cell contains the information required to reproduce the entire organism, maybe each particle in fact contains the entire universe. An abstract way of thinking, but it does explain the observed phenomenon. We know particles are organic, maybe they are all part of one big, inseparable organic pattern.

I was reading this the other day when I remembered back to my Modern Philosophy class when we studied a guy by the name of Barach Spinoza. Spinoza is most famous for his one substance doctrine, which is basically a large and complex mathematical proof claiming that there can only be and is only one substance.

?Whoa, what do you mean one substance? I?m sitting here looking at my glass monitor typing on my plastic keyboard, how are you calling those the same?? Spinoza would argue that these are merely ?modes? of the same substance, similar to a wave in an ocean. They are 2 separate modes of one substance: water.

What if there was only one substance, one organic material that was home to all sub-atomic particles and the ?things? that they make up? This would surely allow for particles to ?communicate? with each other, as they are modes of the same thing, and thus would be able to instantaneously know what?s going on with each other. (eg if I heat this cup of coffee, it heats uniformly, each molecule does the same thing instantaneously)

Reading further into Spinoza?s doctrine, one sees that a substance must create itself, as it can not be created from another substance. (this would allow more than one substance, which he claims to have proved can?t exist).

We?ve already acknowledged that this substance is organic, and being the only one it must encompass all known attributes right? What if we called this substance God?

All powerful; creator of the Universe; exists within us all; all knowing; lives outside of time; etc?. I?m sure many religions could take comfort with this too. The sad part is, as long as we live in and experience the world, we?ll never be able to explain it, just observe it. Like a 6 yr old looking at a car. He can tell you what it does, but without being able to open the hood, he?ll never be able to tell you exactly how it works.

I was unable to find the complete one substance doctrine online, however I did find This Site which seems to explain it pretty well.

January 1st, 2005

Your Money or Your Life (Part I)

It was a hot August afternoon; the mid-day sun was beating down hard on the pavement of the city below. A single drop of sweat rolled down his furrowed brow. Nervously he wiped it aside and flung it onto the pavement where it immediately evaporated. Two more beads formed on his forehead, but he hardly noticed. One of them rolled into his eye, but without blinking his eyes remained focused, his gaze was on the task ahead.

His eyes were staring straight ahead, his right arm slightly extended, glistening in the hot sun above. His hand was quivering, fingers shaking as they tightly gripped the hard, cold black handle of his revolver. With a slight tremor his jaw opened and he muttered out ?give me your wallet?.

Thoughts were racing through his head now. What was he doing? Did he really have to do this? Of course he did. There was no other way, this is what it had come to; he had to go through with it, but what did this mean? What had he let himself become?

It all started about a year earlier. It sort of just sneaked up on him on some idle Tuesday. He was a young man, mid thirties. Two kids, a wife, dog, house in the suburbs, he had it all. He was a shipping clerk, worked nights on the river. The pay was shitty, but it didn?t really matter. Linda, his wife took care of that. She was in politics; state representative for that matter. Everything was going swell.

Then it happened, that one day that started him on his downward spiral. Linda?s cancer finally caught up with her and she was taken from him at the age of 32. It?s also about this time that he began drinking heavily. For you see, it seems Linda had been having a secret affair. While he got the house and the kids, some Washington intern got everything else.

The kids were getting older now, one was even starting college. Unable to find means to support his children his drinking grew increasingly heavier. It wasn?t long before the county came and took his house, and then the drinking got out of control. He lost his job, the kids abandoned him and he was out on the street. Life looked pretty dismal, and if he didn?t get money soon, he?d surely end up dead.

A crow cawed and he caught a reflection of the sun?s hot rays from his car window. It was a 1982 dodge. Rusted, falling apart and barely able to drive it was his only possession; lately it had become his home.

He blinked once and twitched his head, perhaps in an effort to help concentrate on his task at hand. He could hear the crow cawing in the background as the man, scared for his life, shyly handed over his wallet. Opening the wallet, a look of shock came across his face as he removed exactly thirteen dollars from the billfold. He counted it again, hastily shoved it into his pocket and threw the empty wallet to the ground.

?Thirteen fucking dollars??, he said as the sun glared on his face from the nearby car window. The crow was getting louder now, almost to the point where it was becoming a nuisance. The cops would be here soon, and he was risking going to jail for a measly 13 bucks. This wouldn?t be enough to feed himself; let alone pay for another semester at Brown.

He held the gun out, pointed towards the man. An elderly man, in his early 50?s stood there, eyes glazed, hands twitching, shaking feverously, muttering a silent prayer.

He stood there, grasping his revolver tighter and tighter each moment. He glanced around to see if there were any witnesses of his crime; there were none. What had he done? He risked never being able to see his kids again for little more than the price of a combo meal and a six-pack. A tear formed in his left eye as he thought about what he had let himself become. Angry with himself he vowed never again to let his emotion take control.

?CAW?, went the crow, disturbing his thoughts and causing him to jump slightly. As his stare returned to the victim he caught another of the sun?s reflections and was blinded for a second. Suddenly he heard the crow caw again, this time the animals screech was so loud it was deafening. The sound of 100 fingernails running down a chalkboard filled his head as the ringing still remained in his ears. His body tensed up and his squinting eyes caught one last glimpse of the sun. One last loud noise, and then there was blackness??.

( There are 2 more parts to this story, of which I shall post at a later date)

January 1st, 2005