Sinister: The Year of Let it All Come Down

[mh843 at xxx.edu]

I am living about 90 miles outside of New York City.  I was in my college 
cafeteria this morning, getting my cottage cheese and apple sauce, when I heard 
the radio talking about the World Trade Center.  I thought, "Maybe it is the 
anniversary of the World Trade Center bombing, an they are replaying the 
coverage."  So I went to class, and people started to filter in with more and 
more news of what was happening.  Many of my classmates are from Manhattan.  
People were running out of class crying everytime we heard about the next 
terrible thing that had happened.  They tried to call their families to make 
sure they are okay, but all the phone circuits were busy.  The moms and dads 
work in the world trade center, and they had no way of knowing that they were 
okay.
My philosophy teacher began exploring the light and dark possiblities for 
heroic acts.  He drew the line at rationalizing the terrorists sacrifice as 
heroic.  And I was sitting in class, wondering if I could draw the same line.  
I felt numb, unhuman, sociopathic.  I am so afraid that I am not so far away 
from those terrorists.  I wonder if the emotion they were feeling when they 
flew the plane into the Trade Center is like the emotion I have experienced 
while in love.  They must have been so in love with their cause.  How many 
times have I been blinded by love?  Since that philosophy class, I have spent 
all day realizing that as much as any person may be able to empathise with the 
perpetrators of such acts, there is no excuse for sympathy.  I do not feel 
sympathy.
We had a school wide meeting at 3:00 on the rugby field.  It was a beautiful 
day, the butterflies were dancing on the grass.  It was too much.
My best friend, Bunny, watched the planes crash from her 12th floor brooklyn 
apartment, as she ate her cereal at 8:30 this morning.
I talked to my Architecture professor, she listened and really helped.  but the 
only thing that really worked was when she started talking about the Mies 
exhibit at MOMA.  I am convinced that art is the solution to every emotional 
delima.  It always makes me feel better.  Plato says that art is the furthest 
seperation from reality.  As a philosopher, he sees this as a bad thing, but I 
think its great.
I wrote a letter last night naming this year, "The Year of Let it All Come 
Down,"  after the Spiritualized album coming out in a couple weeks. I really 
only meant it to honor Jason Spaceman for quiting drugs and turning his life 
around.  But, now it has taken on a much heavier, unfortunately appropriate 
meaning.  Now no matter if I like it or not, it has become the year of Let it 
All Come Down.  I wish I could take it back.
Martha
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