2003-04-16 : 9:31 p.m.
Faith moves atoms... and calms seas.

Listening to: (The Psychedelic Furs) Pretty in Pink.

On Monday, I found myself unable to go to work. Just unable to do mundane things really.

So I went to church. This is a bit contradictive for some people who think know me well.
If only because I’m not the “church type”. I.E. I don’t believe in organized religion, or religion in general for that matter. But that’s a whole other topic of discussion, that really gives no importance to the matter at hand.

In any case, I decided to go to Trinity Church. A beautiful, cozy, gothic church, which holds interesting residents- like Alexander Hamilton, in it’s humble grave yard.

I hadn’t been there in almost a year. The church is located in the midst of where the remains of the World Trade Center lay. In fact, the last time I had been there… much of the area (the side streets and such), were still blocked off. And more importantly, the subway path (Cortland Street), which traveled just under the Trade center, still remained braced and closed. Which meant I normally would have to change to a different line, to get dropped off as close as possible to the church.

But this time, it wasn’t necessary. And although the path had already reopened a few months prior, It would be a first time exit for me.

The last time I had gotten off that same spot, was January 11th 2001.

Well… getting up and out of the those steps…was by far one of the most surreal and heart stopping experiences…

For one… I walked out to complete sunlight. (You see the towers use to cower over in such a manner, that the area always seemed to be under a constant shadow.) And if you’re familiar with the city at all, then you know how packed in the buildings are. I literally walked out into a complete vast of nothingness…

It was disorientating… ironically enough. I had to stop and figure out where on earth I was.

It was so foreign… yet oddly familiar.

And everything was clean…and leveled. I mean, really leveled. It’s true what they say… (and I knew this all ready, having been there before and after 9-11…) that, through pictures and TV… you really cannot grasp the enormity of the area.

It’s massive.

And breath taking. In a vomit-ly, pain staking way…

They have even replaced all the wooden panels, that use to protect and shield the area… with just a fence…

A simple fence.

That allowed you to see completely thru… and on this particular day, had a score of teenage f*ck nuts, hanging off the thing, taking pictures, having a good ol’ time…

Forgive me…

But I was wishing on hell… that the fence would give way, and give the pre-pubic nerds a good kick in the ass. Hell, I understand people’s fascination with death… (admittedly or not). I myself, am and have been fascinated by the subject on all levels. Hell, I use to photograph tomb stones and grave sights (for projects)… as they are symbols of tributes to the lives they mark…

But pictures… of a murder scene?

A mass murder scene?

What Colombo made you side-kick detective?

And this isn’t the first time. It was worse right after… the tourists were on it, like maggots on a puss field… tourists… all kinds.. of every language… (I could specify… oh boy could I specify, but I don’t want to hear squat from the like minded nerd, that forgets they’re reading a diary and pipes up with… “Yo…you’s talkin’ to me?” Just fall with the rest of 'em and wake up, ey?)

But anyhow, it’s just sickening. It really is. And I can’t understand it.

You want a memory you pre-pubescent numb nuts??? How about the scathed and altered skyline… or the last piece of surviving sculpture from the WTC, currently standing homage in battery park? Those things give credence… tell stories…

But pictures of the remaining dust… literally the ashes of those whose bodies will be nothing more but of??

Yes… these are “teens”… but I was a teen… and I never understood that then… nor the behavior of the adults who fanned the nonsense.

For months I couldn’t erase the face of the young man who served me my coffee, in the basement level mall of the WTC…

Or the hilarious Puerto Rican Bronx Girl… with the flashy long hot pink and black nails, telling Shari and I to “psst… don’t tell no one I told you… but it’s cloudy today… don’t go up derr… wait for duh next day? Uh-kay?” behind her counter at the lobby.

Tacky, but flavor to hell- that lady… I couldn’t have smiled and chuckled any more that day…

I don’t know… I can take pictures of words written in tribute on stone… to remember and acknowledge… but if I am murdered and massacred… please… please burn me…

Don’t pose me for your cheap photo album… and call it a trip. Because you have obviously defeated the point… and only bludgeoned me once again.

***** But yeah… I went to that church. Trinity Church.

The church I go to talk to Danny G. ~ In my head… in silence… in the smell of his faith, to remind myself how much I loved him.

And I went, to be there in a cohesive frame of mind with my mother.

And sat… as there happened to be a choir singing soft hymns… while miles away, she buried my grandfather.

It was surreal… for all that energy transcends…

Because my only faith resides in the fact, that it cannot be created nor destroyed. And thoughts and images, no matter what your opinion of it’s origin, propel fundamental waves of energy…

And for this, I know somehow… I can be anywhere, with you, at the same time~ given the same inclination. As long as I remain focused…

my mind can really be there.

Funny enough, I have never thought differently… even as a very, very elementary child…

I prayed to focus, to send strength and thoughts, and waves… to anything that could receive benefit…

The actual presence of a physical God was irrelevant, because if there was a creation of the here and now, regardless of any theoretical faith, that only meant, that without a doubt, I was responsible to just the here and now…



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