I really wanted to go to Africa
West of St Louis
It was September just yesterday



Before setting out on a trip, it is a good idea to decide on a date. Those who consider themselves prudent then also decide the exact date of their return trip, thereby closing what will prove to have been the parenthesis of an experience that was all too predictable.

By profound and convinced choice, I am not prudent. I love to steal hours from days and days from months, and the certitude of my departure fascinates me just as much as the vagueness of my return. Above all, however, I find it impossible to ponder the end before the beginning Therefore, I have chosen to establish only one date and one place: September 11, New York.

There is no commemorative intent here: merely a personal need to remember all those who vanished, swallowed up by the countless tsunamis of hatred in the daily “9/11s” of our era, accompanied by distraction and greeted with indifference. In New York, that now-distant September 11, 2001 – a date too soon forgotten and hastily commemorated every year – was just yesterday. Just yesterday, on a September day that dawned like any other, stupidity, hatred, fanaticism and pain had a rendezvous with death, transforming those anonymous and respectable numbers on the calendar into a tragic event in human history.

Again: I am doing this simply …  for the sake of remembrance.

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