Review
The blackout ended up being a good thing. We, or at least I, figured out that we could take another breakdown, another falling apart if we had to, that the world could end a little and things would keep moving.
It’s still as if some massive hand came at downtown with an ice cream scoop. They’ve got the lights up now, and I find myself thinking, of course, of that week after, flying home. Walking past the smoking wreckage, and later, circumnavigating the entire scene, thousands of feet of fencing, arc welders cutting down the last few remaining stories. So many familiar things gone.
2 years later I guess I understand a little more about the frailties of architecture and a little less about human beings. The world seems to be bound on a path towards more of the same, slipping steadily into miscommunication and escalation. I am sensing what it will be like to feel that giant hand again. How are we so like a gross and spoiled child that believes it can have whatever it wants without consequences? And how much we lash out blindly when hurt, throwing rocks across the oceans, attacking what we can when we can’t reach our attacker.