I've been sitting here for twenty minutes trying to come up with something civil to say. And then I thought "If you can't say anything nice..." But then I saw that you claim to be driven by an intense need for understanding...

"In my books, knocking over buildings in NYC is a minor offense, like pissing in the ocean, but deliberately smashing priceless cultural artifacts? Get a rope."

I can't even understand how you can be human and think these words, much less speak them out loud. They weren't just buildings. There were PEOPLE in them. Try to understand that, and why your comment is quite possibly the most insensitive and repulsive thing I've ever read on the internet. Ever.

I don't condone violence of any sort, but I have my own values. The willfull destruction of history, culture and knowledge is anathema to me, even more horrible than the destruction of living beings. I did not compare the two destructions to minimize the first but to emphasize how much more terrible I consider the second. For that, I don't expect anyone to share my values. To each, their own.

M.

The destruction of today's buildings destroys tomorrow's history, and the culture and knowledge that lived within the people who were killed.

Very true, but to destroy the last remnants of civilizations we barely know is a form of genocide.

Not that the Taliban invented this flavor of cultural destruction, far from it - they are just another in a long line of uncivilized louts bent on senseless destruction

M.

but I have my own values

Oh yeah?

I was going to go away quietly, but after a few back and forths with someone I deeply care about, who did indeed lose her beloved brother on September 11th, four years ago, this Sunday, her beloved brother. Her loved one.

I needed to stop by, on behalf of T, on behalf of Brian. On behalf of the friend whose funeral they attended today, whose remains were just found a few months ago. I just needed to stop by and wish you and your's an outing, perhaps to the nearest archive of cultural artifacts, a nice day, a clear late summer day, yes, that's it, may you find yourself in the archives building on the day the next cultural destruction is coming down the pike. Senseless destruction, with you inside. After all, you'd give your life for the cultcha, eh?

Uncivilized louts? You are a lout extraordinaire. But as I told American Girl, all she has to do is avoid your horrible Lordly asshole of a blog voice. Your poor real world children must actually put up with you. Oh, and your ex. Your poor ex. Your archness, your bullshit writing, The village idiot psychobabbling through his blog.

I told the tale to my daughters. I told them you pissed on the hurricane survivors as well. I told that there are people so mentally ill, like you, that they have no capacity for empathy, that sometimes they grow up to be serial killers or patent attorneys who are self-aggrandizing torturers of their own family. Yeah, guys who have invented this arch and dead language. Laughably bad and cheesy. So self important you wonder their stiff dicks don't burst out of their trousers, so excited are they by their babbling. Afterwords, my daughters pointed to a sign in the beach souvenir shop yesterday. I told them of AG's distress. They felt her distress. They said, hey Mom, how about this for the bad guy. "Hey, your village called, they've lost their idiot." They said it on behalf of AG. They said it because they are forming values.

You don't value human life. You are a fuckwad, lost in your history channel. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you.

Waft out on the ill wind that blew you in.

Oh yeah, motime posse, where be you? Why so silent? I'm hoping it is because you left long ago.

What passion!

M.

So Malinov for some reason I've been following the comments on this post, even though there have been few and I just don't understand.

I've read over and over the inflammatory paragraph and I don't understand at all. I may be perhaps the only one that didn't think that you were trivializing 9.11 or not calling it a great tragedy. You were just stressing how important preserving history is to you. I mean, isn't that what you call a hyperbole in English class? An exaggeration for emphasis?

Everytime I read the last three words of that paragraph. Get a rope. I was immediately transported to that old El Paso salsa commercial when they wanted to hurt the guy who's salsa was made in NYC...

Ok Malinov -- I've rambled off topic (perhaps I was never really on) but I thought I'd comment since I've watched for so long. I agree the passion is strong and I've also lost friends and family in 9/11 and the subsequent war as well, but I don't understand why everyone's so upset...

Solyluna

Emotions are the blustering breezes that keep us from ever standing still.

Words strike chords and evoke feelings - often times feelings that are very different from the ones the speaker (writer) intended to evoke. I try to be careful with my word choices, but I don't take responsibility for every gust aroused by my words.

In most cases, no one really listens to anyone else. It is a fascinating aspect of our existence. We seem to care intensely about what other people think, yet we rarely take the time to understand their thoughts. Self-defeating and pervasive.

"Get a rope" was definitely lifted from the Pace's salsa commercial. I find it a wonderful reflection of the maverick Texas attitude.

I appreciate your attention, Solyluna, and your understanding. It is good to know that every once in a while, someone is actually listening to me. Thanks.

As for hyperbole, I never lie but I always exaggerate. I recognized at some point that exaggeration is a good method for communicating emotional content - the number is actually ten but it feels like ten thousand. It also causes mucho misunderstanding. Expression is remarkably harder than it looks.

Malinov

It is a reader's reaction that lends power to the written word. Sometimes we can deliberately craft a word-web that evokes a specific reaction in a specific reader, but most of the time, it's completely outside the writer's control what is sparked inside another beging. Even (especially?) a reader who is familar to the writer.

That spontaneous creation is the true beauty, energy, validation of writing. We write because we long to touch. At least, I do.

I always admire passion is writing, even if that burning emotion is aimed directly at me. It is difficult to be articulate while in the throes of emotion and it is even harder to fake these expressions.

M.

M. Sounds like a lot of psuedointellectual/shock for shock's sake babble to me, pal. How can you expect to make a comment like "...knocking over buildings in NYC is a minor offense, like pissing in the ocean..." and not raise a little ire? Yr condemnation/ridicule of passion, coupled w/yr floridly formal prose leads me to think that maybe, just maybe, yr spending a little too much time inside yr own head. Intellect is a wonderful thing, indeed, but in my book, the heart trumps the head every time because while the head thinks, the heart knows
tb

We have to remain in context - knocking over buildings (full of people) is a minor crime in the annals of the human race. Every death is a tragedy. The destruction of history, in conjunction with the destruction of life, is an unbelievably terrible thing.

M.

One of the reasons for my ire came from witnessing the Taliban destroying an ancient Buddha and temple with a missle. Then they went through all the museums in Afghanistan and smashed all the artifacts older than 600AD. That is just so messed up, in my opinion.

M.