This was written September 17th, 2001. Approximately one week after the terrorist attacks on the Twin towers.

I was a migrant worker in search of perspective at the time.

Welcome to Earth, where everyday is a near death experience.

It’s morning, I’m mourning.  

Acedro, my co-worker, asked me my religion at lunch.  We were moving sand, as sadly, sand does not move itself.  I told him my religion was nothing, I had beliefs and they were mine.  He nodded.  Time passed, my burrito thought of passing.

I’m Kathuleek,” he said.

The religious topic had passed, I was onto repositioning sand.  No comprendo.

He repeated, I got it.

He’s Catholic.  

He said with verbal and visual communication that his son was sick one.  A fever.  A very bad fever.  Hands locked into claws, lockjaw the doctor said they would do what they could.

Acedro needed a church.  He knew the church he wanted.  He knew he needed to chat with God.  He needed to ask why?  

He walked to the church.  Asking why.  On the way people offered food…

He walked and asked and called home and walked and asked.

…and shelter.

He walked for nine days to the church.  He called home, the fever broke.

I’m not religious, but this was a wonderful story.  This world needs wonderful stories.

I know "migrant work" has not really been the topic.  It just gives me the time to think and observe.

The sound of planes overhead means the world is trying to find normalcy.  Yet there is a distinct lack of unrarity in military planes.  Not fighters, transports.  The swooping plane into the twin towers will never leave.

I have been forcing beautiful women into the conscious, this helps.  Beautiful, kind, intelligent, pleasant, charming women.  I know I will be with her.  I’m not sure where or when or her name, but this too shall pass.

I am not terrified today.  I’m horrified, stupefied, mortified by the actions of people that shall remain nameless.  Much as people do not discuss syphilis.  I shan’t discuss them.

Most American’s are far from terrified.

I’m sad and pissed that I’m sad.  

I stopped reading the daily papers. I read it when I think I can stand it.  The news is never good, because good news doesn’t sell.  This is why we are sheltered from all the “little tragedies” occurring around the world.  It doesn’t sell so we don’t report it.  We are so enamored with our self-importance and getting here and there and this doesn’t affect us.  Apathy runs amok.

It doesn’t sell papers or get viewers tuning in.  But this is our fault, we didn’t care. 

Do we now?

I’ve done the world a small favor by writing only what I know very little about.  Had I chosen to write about things I know nothing about trees would be extinct.

My Mind finally wandered off, thank God.  I think it needs help.

I was in retail for a while.  I think this memory popped in because of the crack-head screaming and kicking the car outside my rather shoddy hotel room.  He kicks it and hollers “…you’re gonna be sorry when I’m gone…”.  I had a poor vantage point, but could not see who this rant was aimed at.  But, I was sure this cracked-out individual was incorrect.  

People were always willing to help me out with the free time I had none of.  They’d pile in their car and zip on down to holler at the underpaid manager.  I had developed the concerned look, practicing in mirrors.  I, however, was not concerned.

I wondered if they cared what I was thinking about.  

I was thinking about how it would be nice if they entered the “Think Before You Speak” program and upon graduation immediately stopped thinking.

I wondered if they thought about leaving, as I did.  Just walk off, leave them randomly screaming and go home.  But this would only cause calls to corporate complaining about my faked concern.

These incidences were more common than sense.  The mirror confirmed my suspicions; my concerned face had become my quandary face.

It’s the face I wear most of the time, now.

I’m sorry for all the losses.  Very sorry.  

Shit, my mind just wandered in…and brought a Memory with it.  Hm, I remember it fondly.  As I remember most intimate times spent with females.  

Well, I have been forcing the unthinkable from my mind by using the female form…

Thoughts from a person trying to force horrid thoughts into subconscious:

I know why he brought this vision along, but this might make lack of female companionship a bit trying…

I’m gonna checkout now and enjoy a memory from long before Tuesday.