[3/1/2002 10:38:54 AM | Rune]
Once, long ago...
I was there, prolly in the late '70's, I guess. I'd taken a bus to NYC with a high school buddy. We made it to the roof. Seems even longer ago now. It is still all so very sad.
Here, in happier times.
[2/4/2002 10:00:28 AM | Rune ]
Global Neural Evolution
Also -- it seems that Stalin (yes, the old evil dead bastard) has a hand to play in the whole Mid-Eastern mess, as the borders that he established after 1927 criss-cross the Fergana Valley as it winds through Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan -- Stalin's goal was to fragment the region (central Asia) as much as possible, further complicating the possibility of establishing any semblance of logical geographic gov't to take place, according to author of Taliban and Jihad, Ahmed Rashid, who was interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air (with host Terry Gross). "Difficult, impractical, debilitating," he says of the borders. What a tangled web is history.
Scary conspiracy stuff: From The Wilderness Publications
Interesting cynical thoughts blog: the angry librarian
[1/22/2002 4:45:38 PM | Rune ]
Yet One More Reason
To despise the practices of the Taliban. Seems that oppressing people and blowing up religio-cultural icons just wasn't enough for the barbarians.
[1/10/2002 9:13:49 AM | Rune ]
Realization
The following thought occurred to your Humble Chronicler this morning: Politics -- be they personal, professional or otherwise -- are borne out of an environment in which people with different opinions attempt to use facts or to bend and distort the truth in a competition to affect the acceptance of their preferred version of reality in order to establish, consolidate or broaden inflence or power. Your comments? -- use the message board.
And -- of course -- feel free to quote me.
Some Anthropomorphic Thoughts on the Fate of the Middle East
Given that "middle eastern peace" remains one of the top oxymorons of all time, is it perhaps possible that there's just no hope of peace ever in the region? History would seem to indicate this, as the region has existed in a perenial state of war as far back as I can remember. (Not to mention that it seems to be quite a breeding ground for particularly dangerous and twisted individuals.)
It's all very confusing, particularly (imo) in light of the fact that -- if you've delved at all into learning about other religions -- they all, or most of them at least, seem to boil down to the same thing. Chrisitianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, Catholicism -- all seem to work, at root, under some similar basic assumptions -- a belief or sense that we (humans, earthlings, followers) are probably not alone "out here," a willingness to accept the concept/idea of a higher power or some form of energy that links us all together, and a general philosophy that, if you adhere to a way of life that embraces an acceptance of differences and respect and love for the planet and our fellow inhabitants thereof, you'll generally be ok.
I am routinely upbraided for oversimplifying, yes. But, really -- no world religions or faith of which I'm aware espouses killing people in anyone's name.
We'll argue that sometimes simplification is the answer.
So, for purposes of this discussion, suspend, if you will, your cynicism, atheism, agnosticism or any other such form of disbelief and assume that there may be a God, or many gods, and that the historical figure known as Jesus Christ was indeed the son of the God of the Jews and Catholics. If you were this God, and your son was executed, wouldn't you be infinitely, universally and cosmically heartbroken and pissed off? Even if it was your plan? And, as a heartbroken and outraged God, what would stop you from damning the region forever, as some kind of gateway leading directly into hell? Perhaps the storm that followed Christ's crucifixion according to New Testament accounts was intended as a warning to the "chosen ones"? Sort of along the lines of this: (God speaking) "Ok humans -- I created you in my own image, and fashioned a paradise where you could live. You betrayed me with your selfishness, and fucked it up. Prolly my fault, because I created you, after all (perhaps the orign of the notion of beta testing), so I sent my own son down there to save your sorry asses. So, that's done. Now get the fuck out of here. This land no longer belongs to you. It belongs to my memory."
Perhaps some apocraphyl biblical texts include this scenario -- I don't know -- I haven't seen them, if they do.
Do unto others. Thou shalt not kill. Love thy neighbor as thyself. How hard, really, is that to understand? Is this at all conceivable, or are these just the vacuous thoughts of a habitual oversimplifier? Am I grasping at blasphemous straws?
What are your thoughts??
[1/4/2002 9:37:34 AM | Rune ]
Cat 48
The two digit catastrophe serial numbers are assigned by the Catastrophe Service Division of Property Claims Services (PCS) which is a dvision of ISO (Insurance Service Office) which serves the insurance industry and carriers.
PCS assigns to each catastrophe a serial number recognized throughout the industry. Use of this number permits insurers and reinsurers to track reserves and losses to a single discrete event. It is also important for triggering reinsurance coverages under many contracts. Before assigning a serial number, PCS investigates each disaster and determines whether the insurable damage will meet the catastrophe definition. That definition is $25 million in insured damage involving a large number of policyholders and insurers.
The only national cat codes assigned are from the PCS Division of ISO in New Jersey. They assign cat codes when an "incident" is of the magnitude that they consider to be a significant event.
The most recently assigned codes were for NYC, Cat 48, and TS "Gabrielle," Cat 49.
Many companies will assign a cat code to an event that occurs in an area, or even a sequence of events closely related. It is not uncommon for there to be cat codes for the same event, in the same state, to be of different numbers, letters or designations. All that is up to the respective companies."
[12/11/2001 9:11:00 AM | Rune ]
A Prayer for Peace
I know you'll never forget where you were or what you were doing, when it happened, when things changed. For all of us.
Today, we remember the victims and their families, the survivors and the witnesses. Though we are all, today, witnesses, to some extent.
This is a prayer for peace.
At 8:46 am this morning, with the national anthem playing on my car stereo, I left a NYC subway token at the May 4th Memorial at Kent State University. I wonder what others are doing, what other small, quiet, personal acts of remembrance are taking place, around the country and around the world.
God bless our nation, our principles and our way of life. May we never stop trying to do it in a better way, a way that is better for all nations, and all people.
[11/28/2001 5:15:50 PM | Rune ]
We were There
Well, fans, I've been meaning to post this for over a month -- meaning to re-work it, meaning to polish it, meaning to embellish with some links -- meaning, meaning, meaning.
And yet not quite getting around to it.
I will try to get back to it for you. I intend to. But, for now, here it is, in raw form.
A Failure of Angels
11.21.01
We knew it was real before we arrived, of course. Somehow we knew. I say somehow because there are so many people who seem not to get it, whose behavior would indicate that they don’t really know that it happened, or don’t know that it happened on any real level. Perhaps they should go, go to New York City, go to lower Manhattan, and see for themselves. Maybe then they would understand, would feel something, anything. Would at least stop annoying the rest of us with their obliviousness.
They say they haven’t been “directly impacted.” How are 3,000, 4,000 — at one point it was upwards of 6,000, we thought — people killed in the span of 45 minutes without directly impacting everyone who’s left? The true nature of this event is that, among those who do know that this has happened, there is a very real sense that we were lucky. There is a sense among the living that we escaped. Somehow. We were all targeted. That much is clear. Those of us who are still alive simply escaped. For all of the same reasons that some of the victims were in the Towers, or the plaza, or one of the nearby buildings, also destroyed, were simply there — visiting on business or for pleasure, shopping, walking their dogs, taking a last-minute flight, heading out on some long-awaited adventure, or just enjoying what has widely been reported as an otherwise beautiful early fall morning in New York.
We’re still alive because we were lucky. We escaped.
10.23.01
I’m watching TV, first snippets of news, then some show about a judge and her dysfunctional family and her interactions with them, and their interactions with her. My annoyance with myself for not getting this journal entry posted sooner is tempered by a surprising realization that I no longer need to look at the keyboard to type. I wonder how long that’s been possible. I wonder if it’s some amazing tele-type-kinetic feature of my little Compaq Armada. I wonder if it’s a Microsoft trick. I wonder if it’s a rare effect of mixing a relatively cheap cabernet sauvignon with a Foster’s Lager, and, if so, I wonder if it can be duplicated in daylight. It would be pretty useful. I could, for instance, ditch this management mess, and become a court stenographer. Something interesting with my life, my career, my time, if there is such a thing, if any one of us has anything even remotely similar to time that we can call our own.
I digress, as is my tendency when needing to focus on the task at hand.
10.12.01
Your Humble Chronicler and Our Muse spent the weekend in the city. We landed in LaGuardia Friday afternoon, flying in from Cleveland Hopkins Airport. We heeded the FAA’s advice to allow ourselves two to three hours prior to scheduled departure time, to allow for intensified security checks. So, we got there at 8:30 am for our 10:55 flight, and more or less spent all of our time allowance waiting in the concourse, after our ID’s were checked against our tickets, and we went through the metal detectors, and they wanded our coats, the Muse’s purse, and had me tip my cap. Security was tight, I’d say, but relatively efficient; tight for America, that is, compared to the carefree atmosphere that typified air travel in America prior to that horrible event a month and a day ago. Probably still would get us laughed at by, say, Israeli airport security personnel, but I don’t know that for sure. At any rate, we weren’t stuck waiting in any line for more than fifteen minutes, which these days can sometimes qualify as the express line at Starbucks. There were only a few MPs in Cleveland that I noticed, but in New York we had the full monty – uniformed national guardsmen armed with submachine guns at every possible point of entry. It was intimidating as hell, but we did feel safe. As safe as one can feel, I guess, in any situation that requires armed military personnel for safety. America’s very weird right now, that is, if you’re an American. In other words, this is a weird situation for Americans. We had a smooth uneventful flight, which is another current oddity. There is no such thing as an uneventful flight right now.
We were in for a weekend of paying respects. My uncle passed away at 75 on September 18th, 2001. I wasn't able to find a reasonable ticket price to get to the funeral, which was that following Saturday. I’d just started a new job in August, and we’d moved to Ohio from Pennsylvania, so a lot was happening. Much going on, many visits, my son in a new school, trying to stay in touch with family and friends back in The Commonwealth, Our Muse looking for work here in OH – lots going on. Then they blew up the Towers. And everything already disrupted was disrupted further.
So, when a week later my youngest sister sent me an email to tell me that my uncle was in the hospital, followed shortly by another telling me that he’d died, I guess I just kind of went numb. I tried to get a flight into Manhattan for a reasonable rate, but it just didn’t pan out. I didn’t want to drive to New York, the Muse didn’t want me to go alone, and, frankly, at the time, I wasn’t crazy about the idea, either. I was trying to fill some positions in my department, and had some interviews scheduled for Friday, which would get me flying into New York Friday night at best, or Saturday morning at worst, and, either way, basically going to the funeral and turning around and flying back home. I couldn’t get my brain around it. Most of the rest of my family – my mom, five out of my six sisters, my brother -- were able to make it in, which made me feel guilty, but better because at least my aunt wasn’t alone. Plus she had a lot of friends, and so did my uncle. So, while everyone in my family drove in, except my brother, who somehow found a decent non-stop flight in from Columbus, Ohio, the Muse and I stayed in town, and wound up having dinner with my sister and brother-in-law and their two kids, in nearby Akron.
To be honest, I might have been able to find a flight if I’d started really looking as soon as I got the bad news about my uncle, but I couldn’t pull it off. The attacks have really thrown me off. I’ve been way distracted by the news, and have allowed myself to become a bit obsessed with keeping up to date on everything, as in up to the hour, almost. I’ve spent lots of time digging into the news, using search engines like Metacrawler to troll the internet for alternative media sources of information, things like the World Conflict Server, Jane’s Information Group, The Middle East Media and Research Institute. Glum stuff, mostly all of it. Even found an online Afghanistan newspaper -- "Welcome To Dharb-i-Mumin Web-Station (Pakistan's Largest Weekly Newspaper)" -- which was packed with chilling anti-Western diatribes, with the U.S. as the primary target of abuse. Pretty scary stuff, and I’m generally not one to be affected by blatant propaganda, regardless of how inflammatory the language. After the American military response started, I found that I couldn’t access the site anymore. I wasn’t real surprised, but I had to wonder whether access had been restricted on our end, or theirs. Like, were the jihad wackos restricting American internet access to their news, or was the U.S. restricting access to overseas media? For all I knew, it could have been something as simple as the location of the server it was hosted on being blown out of existence by NATO forces. But the times were nothing if not suited to suspicious theories and speculation. And, somehow, information can act as a balm of sorts.
Since my uncle died, I’d been using the web to try to locate his obituary in some New York publication. I never found one, but I did run across an online memorial page put up by a club which my uncle had helped found. The club is called the "Sons of the Desert," and it’s a social club for fans of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, the old-time film comedy duo. Old-time as in these boys started out doing silent pictures, and ushered in the age of “talkies.” The website consisted of a single page, which simply showed a stage curtain in black and white, with the words “In Memoriam” displayed over my uncle’s name. Some text at the bottom of the page said that their next meeting was taking place on October 12th, and that “the evening will be dedicated to our dear friend,” my uncle. I got the idea that The Muse and I might go up for the weekend, attend the meeting, spend some time with my aunt, pay our respects and the like. I ran it by The Muse, and she thought it was a nice idea, so we spent a little time online and were able to track down a weekend package that included roundtrip flights for the two of us, plus a hotel from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon for a half decent price, so we booked it that evening. I’d check with my boss to make sure I could have the day, and we’d fly out of Cleveland on Friday morning, and get into New York early afternoon with more than enough time to get from the airport to our hotel near Times Square. Aside from our itinerary, it was a little exciting, despite the not unwarranted national mood of general anxiety. On September 11, 2001, over 5,000 people were killed, suddenly and without warning, in a series of coordinated terrorist attacks in Manhattan, Washington, D.C. and Pennsylvania. The terrorists used planes to do it, just simply high-jacked them with box cutters, terrorized the respective crews and passengers, and flew them into both of the World Trade Centers in New York City, the Pentagon, and field outside a small town about 80 miles southeast of Pittsburgh. Fucking box cutters, they used, and they threatened the passengers, said they had bombs, and slashed the flight attendants, and told everyone they were going back to the airport, to remain calm and they’d be ok. This is what we have been told by the journalists and the authorities, and I believe them, what they tell us, though I don’t know if it’s because it’s credible, or if it’s because they’re very good at what they do. Or if I just really want to believe it, to believe anything that might lead us to think that someone out there is in control, is somehow in charge, has things under control. Aren't we in America? This shit can’t happen here. But it has.
They killed over 4,000 people that morning, in less than 45 minutes. In America.- As of 12/27/01, the official count has been reduced to under 3,000. - Ed.
- As of 1/3/02, the victim count is 2,936, according to CNN. - Ed.
So goddamn them to all hell, and now there’s another fucking war going on, if you can call it war when the world’s mightiest financial and military power decides to launch full-scale attacks on a so-called nation that has no GNP to speak of, unless you can consider starvation a GNP, and then, well, whoa, we’re talking some kind of Super Power. Frankly, it’s hard to tell really who’s crazier. The enemy of the day, today, is this whacked out group of fanatics (they claim to be Islamic fundamentalists) who call themselves the Taliban (means “students”), who live to rid Saudi Arabia, land of the two holy places (Mecca and Medina), of the corrupting influences and presence of Western society, such influences taking the form of our instant-gratification-money-driven-godless-heathen-pagan-economy and presence in the form of American forces in Saudi Arabia, the sick residue of the Persian Gulf war of the early ’90’s, when the bad guy was Sadaam Hussein, and our interest was oil rights. What a twisted mess that was.
So we decided to go to New York because my uncle died, to see my aunt. This in the midst of ongoing threats of more attacks, even as the FBI was warning US citizens that “further terrorist events should be anticipated.” We were on “high alert” during the time we travelled, and we still are. We were bombing the shit out of Afghanistan (and we still are), plowing a steady stream of missiles into the bomb-shot waste of a nation already decimated by thirty years of civil war, most recently with Russia (itself formerly America's sworn enemy No. 1) which, before withdrawing in defeat, had pretty much reduced the entire place to rubble. I think a lot of what we’re doing now is turning rocks into more sand. And we have militant radical groups everywhere calling us terrorists, and denouncing the American military response, calling this a jihad or holy war, accusing the US of using the whole thing as its latest excuse to wage an all-out attack against Muslims everywhere. It’s all pretty confusing. But, we were going to New York, the greatest city on earth, The Muse and I, and I’d be a liar if I denied that there was some appreciable level of spite involved. I think I’m pretty liberal, but lately I’ve had thoughts like, “no third-world underbelly whacko is gonna tell me when I can and can’t fly in my country.” Fear does weird things to your brain.
We picked up our bag, called for a shuttle and then sat down to wait. Not a bad wait, but long enough to be greeted by the face of New York mayor Rudy Giuliani (now Rudy Giuliani, KBE), having a news conference (when did they stop calling it a press conference??) to announce that an NBC News staffer – a woman named Erin, or Aaron, I think, an assistant to Tom Brokaw, had been exposed to and had contracted the anthrax virus from a piece of mail that had been sent to the studio. ......guess so -- didn't hear until this morning, while waiting in LaGuardia Airport for a flight back in to Cleveland......spent the weekend in Manhattan, saying goodbyes and being a good nephew and citizen........had dinner with my aunt -- was good to see her, and spend some time with her....they really loved him.......was good to hear their stories, and how they felt about him........(he also was for years *the* Santa Claus for the Daily News, when they were still in business)........they meet in this wonderful place called the Players Club (in the Gramercy Park section -- used to be Edwin Booth's house (brother of John Wilkes Booth)).........very historic -- packed with memorabilia from Booth's acting career, and paintings and portraits of other famous members, like Mark Twain, John Barrymore, Eugene O’Neill, Helen Hayes, Jane Pauley, Jack Lemmon, Walter Cronkite and James Earl Jones – none of whom were present this particular evening – but very interesting, nonetheless.
......Saturday, spent the day just walking the city, riding the subways......our hotel was in the same block -- right around the corner, actually -- from the Ed Sullivan Theater, where Dave Letterman does his show, so we were about four blocks from downtown........had lunch in Chinatown, and then went down to the site......I think you have to.....I can't imaginec how anyone could go to Manhattan today and not go........just the thought of it......all of those souls.....I think they are still calling to us....I can't even attempt to explain it, so I won't even try.....when we flew in, we could see it below us........like a grey hole in the middle of this amazing metropolis........it's part of you as soon as you get there -- the whole city smells slightly of wet ash from burnt paper.....how could we not be breathing in some atomic residue of the victims?......it's ok......I wanted to feel like I could take some of them away from it....suffice it to say that it is, truly, the saddest thing I have ever seen........the pictures, and the notes........the sight of it all is poignant and terribly heartbreaking.....it really, really makes you angry, but you're crying within about two minutes or so of paying your respects.....and no one messes with you, no one gives you looks.....everyone leaves you alone, because they know.....for once, everyone knows the same thing..........we left flowers, shook hands with as many law and other official types as I could reach.......it is a different city today..........how could anyone do this........we were glad to have been able to be witnesses, though........kind of makes you feel closer to the heart of our nation.....more a part of the American family, maybe.....but this is truly so heartbreaking........I plan to return when they reopen the site, or a memorial....as the case may be......I will never forget the starkness of it all.........elderly new yorkers stopping as they pass openings in the blocks, where you used to be able to look up at the towers......they're prolly on their daily walk to the newstand, or fruit grocer, something they've done for the past 50 years.....this was, still is, their neighborhood.......Deniro lives here....Lou Reed......the Tribeca area........they stop, and look, and just shake their heads, and drop their faces and continue walking........what amazing people......I felt like I loved them all -- even the wild-eyed freaks, cursing invisible people who they think offended them..........stopped in for a much needed beer, and on a whim called an old high school buddy of mine, who I haven't seen for at least 15 years, knowing he lived in the area, and he stopped into this 50-year-old corner bar, and we had a few pints.....was very good to see him.....he lives three blocks from the site, and works nearby.....saw the whole thing from his office.......has a wife, a 9-mo-old son......all are fine, thank god.......said when you see shots of the site on the Fox news, they're shooting from the office next door to his...........
.....home now......son, asleep.....lover, asleep.......cat's a little nuts.........stay safe.....keep in touch..........peace.......rune
[10/5/2001 4:04:02 PM | Rune ]
Pretty well-organized gobs of information here, courtesy of the WSJ and MSNBC.
[10/4/2001 2:26:44 PM | Rune ]
Ken Kesey, he of Merry Prankster Fame, on The Real War. (Was Dubya listening....??)
[9/28/2001 10:08:09 AM | Rune ]
communiques
----- Original Message -----
Sent: Friday, September 14, 2001 1:22 PM
Subject: RE: ...the bowl breaks....
Hi folks,
Forgive the unattractive formatting as I attempt to frame my responses below with outtakes and pastes.........my $0.02.....
H. writes:
"So, my feelings are mixed. I feel something like we are victims, and something like we are the ugly Americans."
Well said -- a good description of the contradictory emotions that we're all wrestling with. I share a message I rcvd today from my best friend:
J. writes:
"Hey Buddy: Feel the same way. Or is it that I don't know what I feel? Want to kill somebody one minute, want to hug somebody the next. When I'm in the hug mode, I'm thinking of you guys."
H. writes:
"We have played into bin Laden's hands, just as if we had handed him guns and armies."
I'm currently thinking of terrorism in terms of being the most extreme form of passive-aggressive behavior. On the one hand, having been attacked, if we don't respond, we are the vanquished. If we do respond, we are the oppressors. It's a lose-lose game. If there were a shred of humanity of morality at work here at all, terrorists who have made the decision to engage in an act of such egregious aggression against a nation (forgive the jingoism) of America's size, stature and resources -- financial, political and technological -- the very absolute *least* they could do is to warn their own citizens, and then immediately evacuate the nation.
Because we've been known to be swift and brutally ruthless in our retaliation. Brutally merciless. Our own pundits and politicos have already verbalized their opinions -- that our retaliation, which will inevitably come, will be, when it arrives, "completely disproportionate" and will take the form of "ending states that support terrorism."
S. writes:
"It's not just our support of Israel, altho that has a lot to do with it. Why do we support Israel? Not because we *like* Israel, necessarily, but more because Israel is our toe-hold into the Middle East, and we need to protect our affordable gas prices. Our Middle East policies are driven (if you'll pardon the expression) by what is good at the gas pumps and in our pocketbooks, with little regard for anybody else."
I'd be hard-pressed to come up with a better summary of the origin of the term "ugly Americans." As for oil interests, see "Gulf War." Nothing about that one fit Aquinas's definition of a "just war."
S. writes more:
"IMNSHO, suicide bombings are a tool of desperation...I cannot accept the stereotype that "those people" have glorified suicide to the point where it has so easily overcome the instinct of self-preservation. For a people (or an individual, for that matter) to consider a suicide mission to be viable, they must feel that there is no other way."
B. asks:
"Ever notice how those that direct suicide missions in any form, never really put themselves in a position to die for the cause their own damn selves?"
The phrase "lunatic fringe" comes to my mind. For instance, who in their right mind would, in our current climate, phone in a bomb threat? Who would attempt to board a place with false id's? Answer: No one. No one in their right minds would even consider such a thing. These individuals are of some wholly alien psychic make-up.
H. writes:
"My reaction is weak in the extreme, and I'm a bit ashamed of it. Maybe I've been working in juvenile court too long, but I have this feeling of wanting to understand what in god's name we have done to them, that they are pushed to this much anger. It's the same reaction I have to juvenile murderers: what happened to this kid that makes him so angry and lets him have so little regard for life?"
[ I would say that shame is not what we need, but I understand it. And I appreciate your humility -- you've stared in the face of serious and irreparable injustices more than most of us, certainly more than me, H. (H. is a practicing children's advocate public attorney.]
S. poses a similar question:
"It's time for us to ask what our culpability is...what have we done to make America and Americans targets?"
Best I can say is that I'm conflicted. Coming from someone who doesn't believe that humans are intrinsically evil, this kind of tragedy is hard to explain. I tend to think there is no explanation, though I, too, am at risk for oversimplification. The only way I can even remotely comprehend it is if I look at it from a perspective of critical mass. Perhaps the sum total of positive and negative mass in the universe is continually swinging into and out of equilibrium. Perhaps at present, we've reached a point where the negative has reached critical mass, and has become a real threat, and only The Universe really "knows" this, and what we're sadly witnessing is a cycle, the utterly conscience-less swing of the pendulum. Think of the human spiritual energy involved -- we're talking like 5,000 *LIVES* -- where does that energy go? I don't believe that it goes nowhere. Perhaps, as I heard Netanyahu (sp?) say, this was our "wake up call from hell," like Pearl Harbor, like the Holocaust. Perhaps humans are just dense, and this is what it takes before we realize that there's a serious imbalance, that the center is not holding. There's nothing positive about it, but maybe, from a Universal perspective (which I, granted, have no right to claim, even if it were possible, and I don't know that it is) this is a corrective measure, some cosmic trigger to address a universal wrong. I wish I knew more. I wish I knew anything.
Peace,
Rune
Aside: Ram Dass responds.
[9/26/2001 10:48:35 AM | Rune ]
and only shadows remain
tears from a metacrawler search:
Windows on the World, New York City --- Reservations: 212-524-7011
9, http://www.windowsontheworld.com/ (Direct Hit)
Pages at this site with the same name:
1. http://www.windowsontheworld.com/wow/index.shtml | More Like This
Top of World Trade Center New York City: Click on this Internet Keyword to go directly to the Top of World Trade Center New York City Web site at wtc-top.com.
750, http://www.wtc-top.com/ (Internet Keyword) | More Like This
In memoriam
[9/21/2001 5:24:44 PM | Rune ]
perhaps the only objective picture
and then some flags
well said
[9/13/2001 3:06:02 PM | Rune ]
speechless, still
What can anyone say. Here, some NYC bloggers cover the tragedy in words and pictures at The Fine Line, Like An Orb and cia's ext212.
Other opinions at Madison, WI's The Capital Times.
Namasté.
posted by Rune @
12:18:00 PM
|
3.05.2002  |
