Whydja Bomb?

The date has an ominous feel even when you just write it after your signature. When i was a child i remember my teachers having me interview adults asking them where they were when man first landed on the moon. They instantly remembered, even before i had time to get the question fully out of my young lips. You'd see the look on their faces... you could tell they were there again. No matter how much time had passed they always remembered and could instantly bring themselves right back there.

As an adult i now have, along with everyone else who was alive on that day, an event that i will never be able to forget "where i was during". i can't even fully get those three numbers out of my now adult mouth without the memory flooding back.

Then i slowly retrace the emotions i have experienced since then. First came fear, then came anger, then came sadness, and now i have found myself returning to anger. It seems to always come back to anger. The first occurrence of anger was towards those who committed the act. The second anger comes from what has been done in that day's name.

Early in life i realized that Santa Claus was a lie. Not long after i learned that history was a lie. A lie written by those in power. Rarely is the truth a part of history. As i am now old enough that i have lives through some history i realize more than ever that i had found some truth in identifying a lie.

The story of that day is not the reality that we experienced. i will ever be disturbed by how many people still believe the lie that there is some tie between the attacks of that day and the atrocious war that we are currently fighting. My heart aches every time i see those new ads on the television where family members of soldiers and survivors state that leaving Iraq is giving in to the 9-11 terrorists. This propaganda makes me think of '1984'. It makes me think of my trip to Dachau. With so many people claiming to be history buffs, why have so few seen the connections between today and then? Is this still my country?

Listening to 'Animal Chin Radio' today (my iPod on shuffle) everything was put back in to perspective. i have said many times that Allen Ginsberg reading a telephone book could calm me down in even the most panicked of moments. Him reading Kerouac's 'Dharma Bums' fills me with peace. Today it was a recording of him reading his own poem that helped me. Somewhere in the crazy mixed company of The Ramones and Damien Rice a recording of Allen Ginsberg reading his poem "HUM BOM" came on (here is a link to the words: http://archives.obs-us.com/obs/english/books/ginsberg/humbom.htm ).

This reading from his box set has always been one of the most impressive displays of poetic tongue muscle i have ever heard. Although he died before this current war started, today he reminded me that we have been doing this forever, time and again. In fact, we did this exact thing once before. Not even the names have changed.

i was also reminded of something else. i was reminded that art can save us all. It is the only thing that possibly can.