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I wrote this on the afternoon of September 11th, 2001. Dazed and confused, my inner child pummeled.

I'm not proud of some of the emotions I was feeling, but they were real and raw.

MIGRANT WORKER’S WORLD CHANGES, AS DID YOURS

Today perspective was in flux.  I went to work, stunned, not unusual for 7 A.M.

Even in a relative stupor, it was clear my “theory of devolution” had burst into reality and Darwin was looking a bit foolish.

To be, or not to be.  Previously contemplated, but not from this angle or with new disturbing information. 

Today, I just wish I weren’t. 

Weren’t a relatively self-aware carbon-based life form.  Weren’t feeling sick. 

This is the reason I’m alone.  Failure is rampant, in my pursuits, and one-day the answer may be not to be.  This is an adventure taken alone.

My disappointment in humanity has set a new halcyon standard in an abyss previously unexplored.

I was glad to see my shovel, I said Hi. 

But, it was the pickaxe I needed.  I needed the therapy of thrusting and tearing; the calm that follows slamming it into the Earth until it cannot be lifted. 

My mind raced, the pickaxe slammed into the dirt.  I noticed the moisture splattering in the dirt emanated from my tear ducts.

A recurring picture.  A horrendous recurring picture. 

A woman stressed that she could not find her golf glove.  A man lamented his soreness from bowling the night before.  My pickaxe and I were nonplussed. 

There was laughter from other golfers.  This only added to my current heightened state of confusion.  A level of confusion I had not dreamed existed and I’m an expert on confusion.  As evidence I offer what you’re reading.

I desperately wanted to be an inanimate object. 

I needed a different tool.  I saw the tool.  It headed away from me at a rate greater than I was willing to travel.  I filed that shovel under pipe-dream and went back to the pickaxe.

I had a sneaking suspicion the dolphins have been trying to tell us something.

Embarrassed by human behavior for a long time (Mine especially).  I don’t know what to call it now. 

I am highly distraught to be trapped on this planet with horrendous beings proving to be nothing more than a virus, on an otherwise pleasant planet.  A virus that kills its own.

The thought that there was blissful ignorance and, worse yet, celebrations on this day caused tear ducts to engage.  I swung the pickaxe.

I find myself longing for a gun.  I wanted very much to commit justified homicide.  Violence begets violence, but reality must be dealt with realistically. 
Logic and, yet again, common sense are very hard to apply at this time. 

Insanity reigns with its friend Chaos.  I’m a mess.  Physically shaking at what I witnessed with a cola in my hand this morning.  I assure you it wasn’t unbelievable, the fact that a sad pathetic intellectually challenged life form has been to the moon is unbelievable.

This was believable, a new reality. 

Why?  If we can deduce the motivation, we have a chance to eliminate the motivation.  My stomach turns, its possible this action did not contain a motivation more than hatred.  Hatred is hard to treat and harder to cure.  I hate hatred.

I tried; I really tried to bond with the pickaxe.  But, my mind, the same mind that won’t let me sleep with lesser thoughts being blended about, kept blending.

I knew I wouldn’t make it past lunch.  I needed to be alone, more alone than I was being the only English speaking person around (other than golfers).  But golfers don’t really chat with migrant workers covered in mud, digging trenches.  I needed to be away from other lifeforms.  Because what I saw won’t go away.  Still shaking, still digging.

Trivial.  What we do is trivial.  I suspected as much, yet today proved this true.  I had the urge to track down and slap the woman that lamented her lost golf glove.  I wanted to increase the soreness of the poor golfer/bowler and search for a soul in there. 

Could blissful ignorance be the answer to a happy life?

Fuck, I hope not.

Surreality has become reality.  I gazed into the empty sky.  This is L.A.  The sky is empty?  The absence of planes was eerie and again I was sick.

For some one, somewhere, this horrific cowardly loss of life is a victory.  Am I making myself clear?  I hope you’re not looking for your golf glove.

This flies in the face of all I know to be true and good.  This trivializes everything.  Everything!

The thought of committing planetary suicide by nuking the whole fucking place somehow seems reasonable. 

This way we could be sure to rid ourselves of the horrid creatures that make up what is incorrectly identified with the friendly and positive term…humanity.

The dirt has kindly allowed me to tear away, it knew I needed it.  It occurred to me that I’d rather spend time with this dirt than some humans, OK many humans.  The dirt has no intention of killing me.  Any deaths caused by dirt have been accidental.  This was no fucking accident.

It’s still not enough.  The sweat, the pickaxe, the sun can’t sear this sick, putrid feeling from my soul. 

I was thankful to be a migrant worker, digging dirt.  Getting in touch with something primal, something old.  Something pre-dating our finely honed halcyon skill-level in killing each other.  Fuck it, I’m going home.

My shitty hotel room offers the loneliness I need and my friend is there.  My computer.  I need my computer.

Knowledge is power, is unwanted.  This knowledge

I don’t need any humans.  It would, however, be nice to have someone to breakdown with.  Because the females of the species I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with are of the kinds that have feelings and would not have been looking for their fucking golf glove.  Not today.

Today the fact that I’m a broke migrant worker pales to the new surreality.  My whole being sickens.  My beat-up body isn’t sending any s-mails; it knows I’m too fucking busy dealing with my mind, my existence. 

I send thanks to my body.

For today is in the year we chose to call 2001, the day the World Trade Center ceased to exist. 

Time heals all wounds…too slowly.

The day I was gut-punched with the multitudes of lives ending.  I was so fucking sorry for those that liked their lives and wanted to continue. 

And soo fucking confused by the life form that would perpetrate such a fucking cowardly and horrific deed.  I was nauseous, furious, shaking.

I was so happy to be unhappy, to be human.

It’s quite likely this book is a piece of shit.  But, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t write faster. 

What if we would’ve sent food and medical aid in the same amount we spent in bombs and war to Iraq? 

Would we have been perceived differently?  Would the world have seen us differently?  Would this tragedy not have occurred?  Would the people of Iraq replaced Sadam themselves?  Who knows? 

I doubt it.  I have to doubt it, otherwise I’d have to blame myself for becoming a migrant worker and slacker and not writing this book sooner and I surely can’t handle that.

The water ran off my body.  The water on the floor of the shower was brown…brown…brown…clear.  I stopped showering.  I hoped covering my body in Ben Gay would help.  But, this pain was too deep…

Innocence long thought dead, was ripped into plain sight and killed again. 

Common Sense offered to help, was denied.  Chaos laughed, the perpetrators danced and toasted their success. 

I wished them dead; I wished huge amounts of pain inflicted on these damaged pathetic lifeforms.  Death, if it is just nothingness, would be a gift.

Humanity has been exposed as a sham.  Society’s frailty has been laid open.  This is not the circle of life.  This is insanity.  Such is this day.

“You can’t handle the truth.” True.

I don’t want this truth.

If you are wandering through life in blissful ignorance.  A person that does not feel, think or care about anything but our bubble world.  Please change or continue to do trivial, mundane tasks, so as not disturb those humans that are feeling and attempting to effect society in a positive way.  

Buildings collapsing, replay of the second plane swooping into the screen, destroying lives and the WTC…had a little problem with tear ducts.

I’m a “live and let live” person.  The person responsible for this is not a live and let live.  I want to kill this person.  I don’t like wanting to kill people.

This life form has declared all American’s fair game.  We are not warriors; we did nothing but be born. 

I’m aware of a minority of Americans that’ve been involved with synapse free decisions that lead to pain and suffering around the planet. 

The people used in this indescribable tragedy were fucking innocent.  I hate this person.  I do not understand this person. 

Logic and Common Sense run for cover.

I like guns.  They feel good; they’d feel even better now.

Fresh out of the shower, I plopped down with my soda, just before 6 a.m., the WTC was on fire.  I thought, “shit, I hope they get that fire under control”. 

Then the second plane swooped in and struck (I missed the first), I was stupefied.  This was intentional, this was planned by another human, this was unusually high intensity of insanity.

A fellow human being that disregards life, commandeers innocents and kills them, and untold others befuddles, confuses, angers, saddens and causes me to turn my human membership card (it’s a run-on sentence,  and?).

I was already sick and angry when a fucking national anchorman asked repeatedly; AFTER the second plane slammed into a tower, “Do you think this is deliberate"?  He kept asking, he kept asking.  I wanted him fired.  I changed the channel.

I should’ve written faster (If for no other reason I’d have felt better.).  I’m a slacker by nature, we all are (I tend to be quite selfish as well).

Sorrow fills my soul as I continue to be deluged with disturbing information.

The attack on Pearl Harbor was a galactic military faux pas in our minute history.  It united a fractured squabbling family.  It was Japan’s demise. 

It proves humans do not learn from their massively ill begotten mistakes

This does not bode well for the cowardly perpetrators here.  At least Japan faced us mano a mano.  These are faceless chicken-shits.  They haven’t even had the balls to own up or tell us what their fucking problem is?

It’s easier to discern good from evil today.

Bombing the brain-dead perpetrators back into the Stone Age would require a match and a firecracker.

Our spy cams should be on the lookout for dancing in the streets.

I want to save lives; I want to end lives.  A quandary?  A major fucking quandary, as I listen to people involved in this mindless attack.

I prepare for sleep…if it comes.  I prepare for more world-changing information.  I hate today, I hate being human.

Perception has many levels.  Innocence died some time ago.  What died today?

Levity surely suffered a major blow.

Writing is BS; writing should not be BS if we are a civilization. 

Devolution wins…I didn’t mean it to happen this way…need to stop thinking and caring.

I think, therefore I am…pissed.

All that I suspected has come true.  Humans suck.

I want to be a dolphin or a napkin.

We should discontinue the search for intelligent life elsewhere and play “hide and go seek” here…but we have nothing to hide.

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