on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

remembrance day




september 11 2010, the day is almost over here where I am. the ninth anniversary of *that* day. that day at the time we thought we’d never get over, never forget. yet we got over it, we let some of it recede.
one moment hasn’t lost its power, its punch to the gut – crowded around a TV on the breakroom, watching live video of one smoking tower and seeing the second plane hit.

changes of the last nine years, so much has changed, so little accomplished. Guantanamo, Abu Ghreib, rendition, extraordinary circumstances, homeland, Patriot Act, two wars without meaning, end, or winners. worst have been the effect in our psyches; we no longer dare to question, to stand out, to refuse.

the good doctor felt this change, the chill down the spine, earlier. from 2003: “We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer.”

on this the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

Walt Kelly and his friends Pogo and Porkypine still say it best:


"Y'know, it seems to be me this is all backwards….

We, Ever'body, ought to keep our big mouths shut all the

whole year long so's we'd have time to think of two minutes worth of

somethin' to say on the eleventh day of November."





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