Kiss my Ascention

I'VE GOT TO FUCKING STOP WATCHING 'RESCUE ME'!!!!

Remember to recite this shit to me. Remember this for me because it is both compelling and upsetting, and all the fuck I am doing lately is upsetting myself. I should put a staple in my dick just to put a period on this sentence of my life. I need to stop this shit because it's beginning to break me the fuck up.

I can't seem to shake the fucking cold assed fear, the dread, the shock that when the first plane hit tower one, at something like 8:00 am, I would have been walking out of my job, just across the street from the World Trade Center. I would have been right there to see tons of debris come raining down on my head. I would have been there, trying my best to help people, because that's just the way I am. I want to help, especially if lives are involved. NEVER, and I'm deadly certain that the firefighters there at that time NEVER believed that those two buildings would come tumbling down. NEVER!!!!

Then I think. Shit bumps against shit in my head. I would, in all certainty, have DIED at 9/11. I know this. I've accepted this. It WAS my destiny. This was my lot in life...trust me, it was. I was supposed to have died that day, and that's why my life turned straight to shit right afterward. Whatever grace we have with god or connection to the physical universe, whatever the fuck you believe, once we are un-hooked, disconnected from that grace, that connection, we are the walking dead. There is nothing left within you. You mimic life like some stupid fucking puppet, dangled on the end of strings. Children come to laugh at your antics. Your struggle to act like you are still human inside, when you obviously ARE NOT is the biggest fucking joke in the world!

You are a joke, and whatever higher power exists, it even doubts you should continue. I think about this, and I realize that my parents, who, at the time of the disaster were and are still alive, were the sole reason that I was NOT there. I had flown to North Carolina to see them. I stayed with them for a few days, and on the day of the disaster, I was to fly back to New York to resume my responsibilities on my job the very next day. Consider this: On September 11th, my bags were packed and I was just killing time, talking to my father when the television news went to a special report. A plane had struck the towers....

Now, you can fucking imagine the laughter of death in my ear. Taunting me, laughing at me. I missed you this time, it croaked, like some fucking frog. I missed you, but I did get your soul. And it did. It took my very soul from me to watch those two buildings fall. So many emotions filled me on that day, so much was then drained out of me. I realize this shit now. I really do. But unlike most Americans, or people around the globe that felt the shock, the awe, the loss...I had to go into that fucking hellhole three days later when the rescue workers were pulling out bodies. I was unique in that because not only did I have to experience the worse disaster this country has ever had to deal with on American soil, I had to take a teaspoon full of it, like ash filling your mouth. The smell of death, the sight of bodies, Ground Zero at night that looked like the end of the world.

I'm fucking watching RESCUE ME with Dennis Leary playing a fireman who dealt with 9/11 and I understand what he is trying to portray. I know, or maybe I don't, that Dennis was NOT THERE, but damn, if he wasn't he's a very fucking good actor, because he makes me believe that he was. I like the show, it's funny, it's new, it's different. It plays around with many things, especially Dennis' character Tommy Gavin, whose entire life disintegrates right after the disaster. Just like mine. He does absolutely everything that I have done. EVERYTHING. So much so that it's as if I wrote the fucking script of the damn television show and laid my life out for all to see.

I'll give you a case in point. In the most recent episode that I watched...
well, I'm watching all of the past episodes on Netflix so it's not up to date with the series at the moment, but in this episode that I watched recently Tommy Gavin takes this hot assed French reporter to Ground Zero to talk about his feelings. When the show had cut to the scene at the site I could not register a word that was being said. I was locked, hypnotized on the surroundings. Everything around Ground Zero. The buildings, and how they looked in the daylight, completely different from that night with the substructures around the Trade Towers, those stumpy black buildings were still standing, tattered and torn in the night like ripped clothing. It was like looking at a happy family smiling in their back yard in one photo, and their stripped clean skeletons the next.

I remember, just like Tommy Gavin, myself taking a hot woman to Ground Zero from another state because she wanted to see a hole in the Earth. She wanted to make a connection to something I was fleeing from. But I took her, and when we got out of the subway, right where the television show was filming, I felt a horror that I could not express. I walked with her, a gorgeous redhead, to the building that I worked in many years ago and she fired off photo after photo with her tiny camera, and I looked around at the buildings until, in my Mind's Eye, the sky grew black, and the buildings grew gray, and it was Christmas. Yeah, Christmas in New York.

I used to love Christmas in New York when I was a child, when we used to get those serious Nor- easters that would rage snow in the city, and pile up amazing snow drifts! I used to jump into them as a kid and vanish from the world. It was like jumping onto a pillow and disappearing. Snow that made vehicles into mounds, and covered even the sides of lightposts, making them into white candy canes. It was a wonderful thing for a child. Beautiful memories burned into my psyche for all time...well, maybe not for all time.

Yeah...until 9/11. Snow drifts, cars that looked like white humps on the streets. Snow is so pure. It's white, and we equate white with purity. 9/11 was different. It was the same snow. The same snow drifts piled up HIGH against the side of the buildings, covering the streets, the cars, the lightposts. But this snow was grey. Grey. A lifeless color. It looked like diseased snow. I cringed when I saw it because it melted my childhood memories. It pissed on them all, shitted on them all. I could not believe what I was seeing. I was lost the very first second that the golfcart that the police officer used to drive me and another tech into Ground Zero crossed the street and rolled past the avenue. Remember, Ground Zero was several blocks wide. You entered it, and as you continued in, it only got worse.

I'm standing next to a woman that I want to see naked. Shit, in fact I wanted her in the worst way possible, and yet, standing in front of what most saw as a construction site, I kept seeing it as a large mound of rubble. Twisted I beams in the night, graced by floodlamps and the dark shapes of buildings around us like condemning gods, staring down woefully upon humankind who dared enter into a Hell that they would never forget. It was disaster that swallowed up the mind because you had the immediate area, which was pure desolation, but you had blocks of blacked out world surrounding it. The Governor had shut down all power and gas and water in the area, so it was black. Black, black, black until you entered the great mound where there was some light. But honestly, it was already too late. You had entered a Stygian hurt, where all around you, as far as the eye could see, was nothing but death and destruction. It was as if the world had come to an end.

I couldn't see it any other way. Even in the daytime, it was crowding in on me. I asked my female companion did she get enough, and she said she did. As horny for her as I was, that shit was all erased being at Ground Zero. Life once again became meaningless. There was no joy any longer, even if sex was involved. Can you imagine feeling that way? Let me ask you, have you ever liked something, like a good steak and one day, while eating a great steak with a friend, he gets sick and pukes all over his steak, and you watch this in horror. Then for years afterward, you order a steak and get a queasy feeling when you look at it. Yeah, it will never leave you.

Nothing is ever correct after things like that. After the smell of death hits you. Trust me pal. It's horrible. You cannot imagine it, and will never forget it. It's a smell that you've never smelled in your life, and once you smell it, it will haunt your dreams. I cringe when I think of soldiers now. I understand why the VA hospitals keep veterans who can't re-integrate into society so fucking doped up. They will never hack what they've been through, without centuries of therapy and drugs. Never. I understand that shit now. It's not fair, and it will never be. We all make sacrifices, but we never count on the price being so steep.

Why am I watching RESCUE ME? Well, I've been feeling an acute pain for weeks now. Pain on top of pain on top of pain. And the truth of the matter is that I believe that I deserve it. I am a hollow man. There is nothing inside of me any longer. I have no life of my own. No desire to live it...and that has been the case for so long. It's like living on borrowed time. How can I relate this feeling to you? I guess the closest approximation would be as if you were on Death Row. You don't know the date of your execution, but it WILL come. So what do you do? Plan for the future? Get married? Build a new addition on your house? How about lose weight to be healthier? I don't think so. You stop giving a fuck. Now flip this entire idea over. You have already died. You don't know it yet, but you're long dead. Do you make such plans now? I don't think so either. Your breathing, your eating, your fucking is a mockery, because you are NOT alive. You are simply an imitation of life. You are so busy fooling the living that you feel a fraud.

Think about it. You are a Black man, wearing the hood and the gown of a Klu Klux Klansman at a Klansman meeting, swearing that Niggers should burn. Why are you doing this? You are a hypocrite. What is your reasoning behind fooling others? Okay then, maybe you are a Federal Agent, trying to infiltrate and put down a band of dangerous Klansmen. Hey, more power to you. What the fuck am I though? What is my purpose for fooling the living that I am alive? Can you tell me? Maybe there is some funky medal in it? You think?

I would like...well this is a secret so keep it to your- selves...to go to the city morgue. Oh yeah, the city morgue. Why? Well people...people like YOU who are living do not believe that they will die. No, you don't. You seriously don't think about such an event. You feel that life is everlasting. Let me ask you...have you even made out a will on your own? I'm not talking about insurance beneficiaries, I'm talking about a Last Will and Testament? I bet less than half of you haven't. And do you know why? Because it's an event that you continue to deny. You continue to put it last on the list of shit you have to do, because you know that it will be the last motherfucking thing you'll EVER do.

You live in a state of denial. That's why my existence hurts so fucking much. Because I have died already. I just have to accept that shit. I'm fighting to survive, to prove to myself that I did not pass away, but unfortunately, it's not nor will ever be enough. You got it boys and girls, Survivor's Guilt...It's a bitch...take my word for it. So I am always haunted by death. I see things, hear things that are otherworldly. I've become delusional and quite insane. I know this, it's not a real problem for me. I can deal with it, with drugs of course, but I can deal. So yes, I AM drawn to death. Violent, sudden death. Death that rips you to shreds with forces beyond your comprehension. Like a car crash. That kind of death. I would like to go to a morgue and view car crash victims. Victims of instant, sudden, otherworldly death, like being hit by a truck, bus or van. Like taking a stray bullet to the skull, like slipping off a train platform and landing in front of an oncoming train.

Death that not only claims you, but destroys you. Rips you apart into so many pieces so instantly that the last thought in your mind is that you will meet the most unimagin- able ending possible...like those at 9/11. Yeah, I hate to tell you, but I'm trying to relate to my own death. A death I ducked, I cheated because of the love of my parents. Love pulled me from being claimed, but it could not pull me clear of the wreckage. I feel forever guilty for that fact.

Yeah, I want to see the dead that have died instantly and other- worldly...violently. Why? I want to see their faces, to stare into their eyes, to read them and their thoughts. My god! The morning of their deaths, when they got out of bed, and took a shower, and brushed their teeth in the fucking mirror...did they know? Did they have any concept that in less than a day they would be lying naked on a coroner's table. A cold metal bed, naked, with only a thin sheet over their bodies, or what is left of their bodies. Did they know? Did a spirit appear to them? Did their food taste differently? Did something minor happen, like their morning newspaper ending up in the shrubs against their house and not against their front door?

Did they know? Should I have known? I want answers to an impossible situation. Without answers, how can I move on? I could only dismantle my life. Tear apart my marriage, tear apart my home, my job. I could only live homeless, and because of the desire of a woman, I crawled out of the slurry of the homeless, but not enough to join the merry ranks of those who do not believe that death is approaching on a daily basis. I've cheated death, and it doesn't feel good. He hates me for it, and took my soul to prove it. Nothing feels right any more. Up feels down, left feels right, good feels bad, sex feels like pain. And love? Love? It is a syndrome. A condition that needs to be cured because nothing good comes from it. I was always told that the most powerful force on this Earth is love...but sorry...this is not true. Love is meaningless. It's a weight that should not be bothered with. Lift barbells if you want to hurt yourself. At least you'll build a better body. Love builds nothing.

Why am I so bitter? Because I have been watching RESCUE ME. It's so fucked up. I can tell you that I myself had went into Ground Zero night after night after the disaster. I can only remember clearly the very first night in. Then bits and pieces of the daylight hours just outside of Ground Zero. But every night in...my brain has entirely cut that out from me. My therapists have told me that that is my brain blocking out a tremendous hurt that I can't handle. Months of entering Hell, forever lost. Still though, the emotions of it bleed through, altering my behavior.

Here is the ugliest story of it all. The 9/11 Commission has already given me a list of competent doctors that deal with what I'm specifically going through. All I have to do is make an appointment. But I am frightened. Yeah, I'll say that to you. I'm not a hero, neither am I an Alpha male...I am scared shitless that whatever my brain has buried should NOT be unearthed. It probably needs to be left buried. Let sleeping dogs lie, right? I know what needs to be done, I'm just too afraid to do it. I think about what I've forgotten...I don't like it. A friend of mine, who took me out to dinner and I got drunk related something to me. He said that at one moment in our conversation I began to relate what I saw at 9/11. Dead bodies, the smell of death, horror, mayhem, pain, hurt, fear, shock, tears and suffering. I was so dead drunk that I don't have any recollection of our conversation, much less of what he was talking about. I have no memory.

Do I want to dig up all of this blood and gore? Mangled bodies, and sorrow? Do I want to remember this shit? I don't think so. But if it will get me healthy and happy again, why not? The only thing that bothers me...is that I don't think it will make me happy. It'll only become one more thing that I have to overcome. In clear technicolor. Not a good idea...No?

Hey, I'm still bleeding here. I'll talk to you later. Now I have got to get an emotional tourniquet, or maybe a tampon.

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