11.09.2004

Reminiscing

"Now as the years roll on, each time we hear our favourite song
The memories come along
Older times we're missing, spending the hours reminiscing"
-- Reminiscing, Little River Band


I have this feeling . . . it's crawling under my skin. I've had it before when I was moving into a change. This time it's bigger than that. Something big is about to happen. So tonight I'm sitting here reminiscing. I'm thinking of 9/11 and words written by many online friends who were terribly affected by that awful day. Of course, who wasn't? I'm sure there were many like us who turned to words to release the fear, anger and hate that are the legacy of that day. Anyway, we got together and produced an e-book of our writes. I've just dug out my copy and re-reading it has brought that time very near the surface. A piece by evangelos who is from NYC still evokes a chill. It was written on 9/7 and was eerily prophetic

Nothing's Changed

Staring through a gray window, the light rain appears like smog in the distance, head to glass, the fire escape looms, dripping steel, dark savior from death, how can I escape with my life intact? How can I escape into this night and make it all better? What am I doing? Why? I am on fire in this rain, drying off, standing in a sixth floor apartment in the Bronx, overlooking the little strips of lonely trees swaying in the the wet concrete darkness, rising out of little neglected parks, little crevices and coves, shelters for the lost souls, the invisible kids on the street, inhabiting stoops, under street lamp light, smoke rising from under tattered umbrellas just outside their buildings, car alarms randomly going off begin to sound like enormous crickets communicating something I don't want to know, and just beyond the storm I see Manhattan, its light fattening the overcast it's trapped in. The empire state building glows in a gray domed cloud looking like the center of the universe, the underbelly of heaven, its surface tainted with perversion. I hear her voice, familiar and knowing, and then her image appears, twisted, and dark. I am melting outside this rain, trapped in the moment's reflection. I turn around and face the apartment, avoiding her eyes. Nothing has changed. And she watches me like a mother watches her son approaching the dinner table.

evangelos (posted on the Words, etc. forum at CowboyJunkies.com on September 7, 2001)


I shiver tonight after re-reading it remembering when I put the connection to the prophecy in it. It was almost as if Ev sensed what was going to happen just 4 days later.

Some of us began writing of the war in Afghanistan and the fear of anthrax. We were angry, we wanted retribution, but was a war against this country the right thing? Surely it was because we would get OBL the one who destroyed 3000 lives plus countless more (those left behind). But here we are, 3 years later in another war that was declared "Mission Accomplished" this spring and OBL's still out there, plotting, somewhere. Funny, I heard earlier tonight that at least 16 soldiers died today in Operation Phantom Fury in a war that's over. Ironically, I listened to 2 military brass discussing this OPF and the success (?) of it. Phantom Fury - does it refer to our military operation or Zarqawi and hundreds of insurgents who seems to have already flown the coop to fight another day? So, who's writing the words now? Where's the anger? The passion? Here's a recent one of mine:

Americium (a-m&-'ri-shE-&m)

I’ve become a doubting American
having given up my belief in
one nation under God; fear morphs
into frustration with the ongoing bombardment
of terror levels. And yet, there’s the
memory of a long ago 1st grade class,
under God, that danced around a Maypole.
And like those bodies plunging from
the World Trade Center, I’m left with
no choice during this war of politicos.
Listen to my burying song, my anger,
sadness, and loss.
Haliburton’s in Iraq americanizing
while children die by the dozens, last
screams can be heard somewhere in
wwwdotworld, and cash on the barrel keeps
rising. Special interest groups grow money
on the trees of our ecosystem.
Votes will be electronic, hanging chads
a thing of the past. With PC debates minus
cut-aways and no flag-draped coffins to
cry over, listen to my burying song, my anger,
sadness, and loss.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2004


Maybe all this reminiscing is simply because I'm sad and yet angry over the outcome of the election. I won't say that I'm not afraid, either. I'm very much afraid of what the next 4 years will bring starting with the vote in 11 states to ban gay marriage and today's announcement that assisted suicide will be next. Oh, and the soon-to-be approved drilling for oil on protected Alaskan land. I get that shiver again.

Where will you be when your turn comes around?

1 Comments:

Anonymous Albert said...

If you require to get involved with troubled children in the foster care system, read Invisible Kids first. (www.InvisibleKidsTheBook.com) The heartrending reports and the interventions Holly Schlaack recounts will give private citizens the impetus they need to volunteer as a CASA or to go for further training. Professionals who are involved with kids will recognize many of their own experiences in the situations Holly describes. Her creative, positive, hopeful 12 recommendations will give professionals and private citizens practical encouragement to enhance their own work and join in to help these small children who have seen firsthand the worst of the adults they had a right to rely upon.

2:37 AM  

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