brian carroll on Sat, 15 Sep 2001 17:39:29 +0200 (CEST) |
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<nettime> going and stopping/oh alan, oh sk |
until, this afternoon, when, across the street of this small island city of Alameda, across the bay waters from San Francisco, a place of 60,000, where my apartment overlooks the 4 block stretch of the 'high' commercial end of the business, the cafés, restaurants, bars, clothing and book shops. there, in the afternoon, there was across the street, out in front of the ice cream shop, two young little girls. they were waving small US flags, and cheering in excitement. i did not notice them, until i kept hearing car horns honking over and over and looked out my window to see these two young ones, waving and waving these flags, and cars, call and responsing, honking, honking, and the girls, excited, and waving their flags in exhuberance. an extended moment of exhuberance. something had begun to change. what, i had no idea. just honking horns and two young people, doing something. it did not stop. for three hours it seemed. then, these girls were gone, but as dusk fell, others, others with bigger, larger flags showed up, at the opposite ends of the block i live upon. and, on one end, when going out to have a smoke, a necessary evil in the wake of the daze that presents itself, i see a candle, and a single individual holding it, with a large flag, on the corner, in vigil, and cars, again, honking lightly and loudly, as each see the flag. and more and more cars, moving on by, at this stop- light intersection, maybe pondering, honking at something. i burnt my last match and my chain smoking was stopped. i went upstairs to get more matches. and came back down, onto the street, where a group of adults, all rather plain looking, ordinary people, the people that make up a real city, real people, about seven, on this corner, singing the song of the flag in chorus: ...And our flag will still stand... it brought a rush of spirited charge into me, there was sanctity in it, a type of spirit about the action, it was no act, it was real. felt. not a statement, a question, but one of endurance, i can not say, i do not know, it is and was to be interpreted. taken in. i clapped. the only pedestrian nearby. two others, far across the intersection on the other side of the street also clapped. in appreciation. as something had lifted from the psyche. something was let go, and some- thing had changed in this moment. all of the sudden, i hear the counter noise, instead of harmony, yelling, from the cafe at the other end of the block. it is the alternative café, where those with difference written all over them like to hang out together. they had a big flag, and candles too. and also, honking, and more honking, yelling, shouting, cheering, but in a violent sort of way, it was not elegant, it was jubilant. i walked down to the other end of the block, to try to gauge what this was, as i did not understand, but unlike the chorus, this seemed more of a superbowl victory crowd, a call to arms, something else altogether. alternatives all around, different clothes, different hair- styles, and politicized in the moment of a simple either-or decision to choose, for -or- against. and, i sat, on the sidewalk, across the street as they roused the crowd of cars. honking, honking, flag waving, teens and those in their twenties, gathering in the dozens. as if ready to fight (back). i had the sense that this was a football game, and this was the 'home team' cheering its troops on. maybe even 'the base' upon which action reenacts. cars with flags driving by, honking, yelling, shouting. a weird charge, unsettling, a sense of group-think where thinking was thought out in advance. something here was decided, it seemed. revenge, maybe, i am not sure. but i felt it. it was intimidating, as it seemed to be another lifestyle being born. where the young punk becomes the young soldier. and the elders, cheering on, as the team gathers up for the game, to go do the work (of nations). two harley's drove by. stopping in the crowd. and revved their engines, enough to cause the heart to beat in unison to the engines, of motorized independence. so too, another motor- cycle, a race-bike, went by, and did a pop-a- wheelie, and the crowd cheered. it felt odd. what seemed authentic down the street, with those young people in the early afternoon, and the reflective parents, singing, had now been turned into a spectacle of sorts. it felt that way at least. unnerving in its simplicity, no questions asked. it is all so predictable. everything has changed. the mood of this small city has changed. both for better and worse. something has lifted, but some- thing as dangerous as any terrorist bombing has also landed in the mass mediated mind. group mentality, without question, is here. and i felt apart. as to question, it seemed a violence. silence, suspect. the flag, a symbol of freedom and hope, to one of the tragic faults of flag waving, which has befallen this country before. things are not linear, one act, and its repercussion. and not to think beyond that. just in the transformation, not intentional, it appears, but natural, of gathering the forces to do the work ahead, has become a rallying cry for the annihilation of the other, that specter that is unnamed, unknown, until unearthed. that is, all that is different. not in dress, not in style, but in mind. caution, foresight, contemplation, this was the dusk. now it is night. the events now over, but more scared now than i have been all week, mourning, with tears flowing from my eyes, in agony and pain, on and off, and again and again, until today. there was the release, in the children, of hope, and of love, and of belief. and in the parents of wisdom, respect, endurance, and peace. and in the youth that have no future, now a clear future, a simple choice, belonging, everyone on the same page. and this is the page that seems will be the same, as much as i despair its possibility, the probability is all but ruled out that by actions larger and small, from leaders high and low in the chain of command, that the fanaticism may replace terrorism, and the great game, if it can still be called that, is no longer between nations, but between peoples. someone mentioned a hyperwar, or some such neologism to fit theorism. yet, it seems so clear that is is a civilian world war, people versus people, in a democracy, and without. and that the fight will not only be abroad, but at home, in the home, as the televised reality speaks for all from above, God be sure of it, fire and brimstone. the first civilian world war, CWW I, is now underway. and the fight is against terror, and its 'ism', that post-modernist conditioning of the brain to speak the same, subjectivizing reality into privatized worldviews. and all that does not fit, no longer exists, in one way or the other. a call to peace, too simple, in the old logic of either-or, no paradox, no lore, no knowledge besides that of the processor. then, a call to education, where the battles of freedom need to be waged, for our common good, our common future, as human beings. but, knowingly, that won't go over so good, as it is a recipe for failure. unrealistic. idealistic. too fuzzy, when certainty prevails. a message of despair, finally today, a glimmer and moment of hope, then total fear, once again, not at the invisible other, so visible, as it repeats in the inner sanctums of the cranium nation. images, over and over, the explosion happens not once, but for eternity, in the mind. what is at stake, what is possibly to become the new unbalancing act on this see-sawing of language-engagement, is that truth disappears, as the disneyland of the mind matches that of the surreality of the flesh in this epoch. something undone, is reborn, for better and for worse, in this marriage. beyond nations, yes, but minds? all is quite on the western front, except the rallying cries, both those of pain, and hope, and possibly violence. the television guides says 'war on tv...', but no body yet knows the day, the time, but all channels will be playing it out, 24/7. and where will we be, those of us whom may disagree. but in silence, for our own safety, to keep things simple in the reality of complex doings. there is nothing more to say, to do. but die waiting. if only we could work together for change, peaceful, through education, through public policy, through thought... but that is either a misnomer, -or- mis- information. no knowledge need apply, as there is no knowing on this ledge of lies. -- # distributed via <nettime>: no commercial use without permission # <nettime> is a moderated mailing list for net criticism, # collaborative text filtering and cultural politics of the nets # more info: majordomo@bbs.thing.net and "info nettime-l" in the msg body # archive: http://www.nettime.org contact: nettime@bbs.thing.net