Eight years ago today.

 
It didn’t matter to me before I got a LiveJournal account, but since then it feels obligatory to say something meaningful each September 11th. This is not always a welcome duty; sometimes I don’t really have anything meaningful to say, or I have to dig for something that might pass for meaningful.

The anniversary of such an event calls for special remembrance. For celebration of heroism: the firemen and policemen who rushed into the disaster they knew would almost certainly kill them; the passengers of United 93, who chose to die attacking our attackers rather than be used as weapons against their own countrymen. They deserve better than I can give.

I don’t have the eloquence. I just want to kill every one of the murdering barbarians who helped bring about that black day. Everyone who helped plan it. Everyone who helped supply the ones who planned it. Everyone who knew about it and thought it was a keen idea. Everyone who cheered on hearing the news.

Every last fucking one of them.