Disgraced FBI agent John P. O’Neill starts a new security executive job at the Twin Towers.
“Next time they strike, they’ll try to finish the job,” he comments when a friend asks him about the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.
i just find myself further disillusioned by tech all the time as none of our lives are made any better by its progress. i feel like i am being sold on the future all the time at the expense of the present. life increasingly feels like a mr beast video, where i am told to wait as long as i can in solitary confinement for a big reward but i am not told how long, only how good the prize will be if i make it there. no one is interested in explaining why it has to get worse before it gets better. no one in the room is willing to acknowledge the trolley lever next to us to change course. no one is promising me food and water and happiness. i am told how terrible things will be. i am threatened with punishment. i am being watched all the time. my teeth hurt. i want to wear the chanel halfshoes but the cement is hot and i cant afford grass. i want to eat lettuce and it is infected. i want to be healthy and they are offering injections. i want to relax and i am shown ads. i want to talk to people and i dont know if they are real. there is a new cafe in town but they dont care about the coffee or the local music scene they just want to network with me. everyone wants to build something to help people build something. the factory necessitates itself. we make ball bearings for machines that make ball bearings, so its faster. the fields have always hummed at night but never like this. the fields hum low and they do not pause out of fear when i shout. the bugs and the birds are gone and there is a hum nonetheless. my stomach hurts, my ears ring, my water is dirty, my grandmother has cancer.