Over the past seven years, I've been allowed to observe and document the process of conceiving, curating, building, and now opening to the public the National 9/11 Memorial Museum. My images and recordings span seven remarkable years.
Because of the hell into which he was thrown with thousands, Flynn conjures moments reminiscent of Dante's Inferno. There are even echoes in his lines of T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. And what could be more understandable?
I love psychics -- but you knew that. I have been going to them for years. I don't live my life by what they tell me -- maybe I should -- but I really enjoy listening to what they have to say. I've been to quite a few over the years.
The "new" (to me) Newseum offers an amazing array of displays and information in its airy galleries packed with information on America's history, geography, politics, international relations, and media-related technological advances.
All I'm asking, New Yorkers, is that you either honestly document the city, including the trash bags that get buried for months under the snow when the blizzard hits, or quit clogging up my feed with propaganda.
You don't fuck with the One World Trade. Unless you want to get devastated. Completely destroyed. Decimated. Lit up. You can consider it, but if you really try to take it on, you will be crushed. I suggest, for your own safety, you just admire from afar.
How very strange. I sort of came to, wading out of a fugue, and realized: What am I doing? I was doing something, to the continuing coverage of the tragedy on the East Coast. I was creating order in... chaos.
Fred Gabler was 30 years old on September 11th, 2001. Freddie was a practical joker who loved getting a rise out of people. He loved watching sports, especially football. Freddie loved a lot of things, but nothing more than that he and his wife were expecting their first child.