Title: voor wie in new york is en niet weet wat te doen vanavond> BARLOW, KANG, AND JOHNSTON TO HOST TERROR DAY PARADE TO GROUND ZERO!
>
>
> Yep. That's right. We're going to celebrate the anniversary of The
> Massacre. We will spit in the eye of horror. And blaspheme the angry
> MonoGod.
>
> Some of you will doubtless find this particular jubilee in appalling
> taste. Surely, we all have a moral obligation to slap on our Funeral
> Director masks at the mere mention of The Tragic Events of September
> 11. Surely, dancing on the graves of 3000 is not only a sacrilege but
> likely treason as well.
>
> All the more reason to do it, if you ask me.
>
> Yes, it was a tragedy. And I don't say that simply because it's now
> nationally mandatory to say so. Two BarlowFriendz rode in on separate
> fatal aircraft that day, and I miss them. Many others dear to me lost
> others dear to them as well.
>
> And yes, it was a horror, but more people meet violent ends in the
> upper Congo every week and somehow we manage not to develop a
> national psychosis over it. Is is a human life really so much more
> precious when it looks like you and ends in the presence of a TV
> camera?
>
> Consider further the wishes of the dead themselves. Really, folks, do
> you think they'd want to see us behaving as lugubriously as we have
> since that day a year ago when they all erupted gloriously into the
> Great Beyond? I don't think so. And even if this *is* the Knell of
> Doom, I don't want to go down with a whimper.
>
> Henry Miller stated my sentiments on this subject perfectly in Tropic
> of Cancer:
>
> "It may be that we are doomed, that there is no hope for us,
> any of us, but if that is so then let us set up a last agonizing,
> bloodcurdling howl, a screech of defiance, a war whoop! Away with
> lamentation! Away with elegies and dirges! Away with biographies and
> histories, and libraries and museums! Let the dead eat the
> dead. Let us
> living ones dance about the rim of the crater, a last expiring dance.
> But a dance!"
>
> Exactly! We will literally dance about the rim of the crater next
> Wednesday night.
>
> Besides, the Terrorists, whether in Pakistan or the White House,
> don't dance. They don't throw their heads back and howl joy. For
> them, it's not funny. Not ever. And for the last year, they've been
> obscenely successful in getting us see the world through their
> narrowed eyes.
>
> Observe their triumphs: It is now actually illegal to laugh in
> certain venues. The rote piety of media mourning has become a global
> plague. Mindless fear is pandemic. Every time we travel, were are
> humiliated at great length by folks who've been instructed to use
> their dim minds as literally as possible.
>
> Further, my warnings to you last September 11 about how the control
> freaks would dine sumptuously on this grisly feast have proven
> accurate beyond my wildest nightmares. If you want to experience
> *real* terror, read the entire text of the USA PATRIOT Act. (Though,
> if you want a good laugh, remember that the name of this fascist
> implement is an acronym for "Uniting and Strengthening America by
> Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct
> Terrorism.")
>
> What did we do to deserve these grim idiots? Why do they think God is
> so weird, so literal-minded, so humorless, so murderous? Why are we
> queuing up so meekly to buy their bullshit?
>
> To hell with them, I say. Or rather, leave them to the hell they so
> obviously prefer. Bush and Bin Laden richly deserve one another. Let
> them continue, a deux, their danse macabre. We can dance to livelier
> tunes.
>
> They're both pursuing faith-based initiatives. But, unfortunately,
> they place their faith in fear because our fear gives them power.
> Don't give them your fear. Let us put our faith in love. But we don't
> need to eat their jive soul-killing crap any longer. We can feed our
> hearts with one another's hearts.
>
> Yes, dear friends, it's time we quit shuffling to their dirges and
> start making once more our own joyful sounds. Let us laugh from the
> bottom of our genitals. Let's turn it up to 11. Let us kiss strangers
> on the lips, tell tasteless jokes, cast off our 3 piece suits and
> burkahs, shoot our televisions, see the sun rise at the end of
> raucous nights, teach our children that the world is safer than it
> looks, and rock Ground Zero next Wednesday, September 11.
>
> I know. Some of you may prefer to stay home, staring in slack-jawed
> narcosis at the orgy of portentous emotional pornography that will be
> on TV that night. You may wish to hear Dan Rather intone gravely one
> more time.
>
> But for those of you who don't, you have a choice, and here are the
> particulars. Party central will be the loft and roof of Michael Kang
> and Aaron Johnston at 144 Reade Street, TriBeCa. This is on the
> second floor, a quarter block west of Hudson on the north side of the
> street. It's also 4 short blocks north of the emptiest place in
> Manhattan.
>
> (Michael, is the genius mandolinist for String Cheese Incident. He is
> also my current song-writing collaborator, as well as my daughter
> Leah's boyfriend. Aaron is a monster drummer and all-round sweet guy.)
>
> The plan is for those who would like to eat dinner together to meet
> at the loft around 7:30 and to proceed (together or severally) to
> whatever restaurants we can find that will accommodate us. We will
> leave updated information regarding our whereabouts at 144 Reade.
>
> The party itself will get underway at about 10:00 pm. Sometime after
> midnight we will grab drums and other musical instruments - which I
> encourage you to bring - and make of ourselves a marching, or perhaps
> staggering, band parade down West Broadway to Ground Zero. Ludicrous
> dress is encouraged. We may encounter resistance, but we will have
> our grins to protect us.
>
> After that, who knows? There are a lot musicians and DJ's among us.
> The studio sound system at Michael and Aaron's could make your ears
> bleed if cranked without mercy and there are almost no neighbors to
> disturb.
>
> Remember, we will provide you with nothing but this gathering call
> and a place to gather.
>
> If you want to drink, eat, smoke, or engage in any of the other vices
> you might be prey to, you'll have to bring your own poison. We'll
> have plastic cups, ice, and hospitable attitudes. That's all we
> offer. Personally, I would recommend bringing half again of whatever
> you think you might consume yourself. Wine, beer, vodka, Red Bull,
> and certain fungi will no doubt be particularly welcome.
>
> If you wish to reach us for more information, you can find me, as
> ever, on 800/654-4322 or barlow@eff.org. The apartment number is
> 212/965-0184. Michael's e-mail is twenty12songs@hotmail.com and
> Aaron's is aaronjohnston@mac.com.
>
> The usual BarlowFrenzy conditions apply. If you can't make it
> yourself, think of the most vivid, wide-awake, life-affirming,
> smart-mouthed, social virtuosos you know in the New York area pass
> this on to them. Beauty, regardless of age or gender, is also
> welcome, as are firemen and off-duty members of New York's Finest.
> (The firemen were the boffo hit of my birthday party down there last
> October...)
>
> You are also encouraged to bring with you those who fit the above
> qualifications.
>
> There is a caveat regarding those you might delegate as your proxies.
> I'm giving you such early notice that we may end up with a mob which
> exceeds the comfortable capacity of the space available. Should that
> happen, we may have to restrict entrance to folks who are actually on
> this list or on Michael and Aaron's lists. (You know who you are...)
> I doubt it will come to that.
>
> I have every reason to think that you will find yourself in some
> astonishing company Wednesday night. The BarlowFriendz keep getting
> hipper and more alert all the time, despite suffering the slings and
> arrows of these weird times like everybody else.
>
> The Info, one more time:
>
> 144 Reade Street
> (just west of Hudson)
> Gather for dinner in the Hood at 7:30
> Party Down around 10:00 pm
> Parade to The Hole after Midnight
> Party until Dawn
>
> Bring your own Everything.
> (Particularly musical instruments, DJ disks, and jokes)
> For more info, write barlow@eff.org