Fall 2001 was a pretty ah significant time for me. I was just beginning my junior year of college, and had decided at the last possible minute to spend it in New York at Columbia instead of in Paris for a semester abroad - easily one of the most important decisions I've ever made, and probably one of the best. I had spent some time in Paris during the summer, just long enough to realize that Paris totally blows compared to New York, and, more importantly, I was at last starting to find my footing in the NYC - I had finally settled on political science as my major (political theory at the time, inspired by the Situationists and other excitingly radical art-theorists and philosophers I'd encountered in my art history and writing classes), I had finally 'committed' to my awesome g/f who had sent me an amazing, ear-changing mixtape (Sonic Youth, 'Hip to Be Square', reggae, and like 3 songs with 'Alison' in the title) while I was stuck in Paris (thanks Alison, sorry for not making it downtown more often), and I had started to make some truly excellent new amigos amongst the Columbia '04s, perhaps most prominently Nate Davis, with whom I was planning on, finally, starting a band. I showed up the first day of school without housing and managed to get a tiny room with a half bathroom and a stunning view (facing east, I could see all the way to the East River on a clearish day, awe-inspiring sunrises) on the 12th floor of Wien. I remember walking down Broadway with Phil Chu on a sunny day during the first week, having bought awesome 'sugar baby' mini-watermelons, having just made some impressively creative modifications to my room, smiling hard. The clear, warm weather seemed in perfect harmony with my newfound confidence and what felt like a real clarity of purpose - I felt like I was finally getting a handle on my life, having come to the NYC from the NJ suburbs in hopes of meeting rad people and playing cool music and dating an art-school chick and doing some next-level thinky-thinking, and there I was, basically doing it, three years later.
I got an IM from Jeff Eng, a high school friend who was attending NYU and who I haven't talked to since, on the morning of 9/11, alerting me to the emerging fucked-upness. Most of my memories of the day are pretty hazy - scary/relief phone calls from the fam, Alison was downtown, I got in touch and established her OKness pretty quickly, various on-campus friends visiting to commiserate, I got pretty seriously unsober, etc. But I remember really clearly standing on the roof of my building, looking at the smoke hanging over downtown, and thinking to myself (uh, paraphrasing obv but prob not that much) "this is fucked up, our capitalist government that I do not support has endangered me and my friends with its neo-imperial foreign policy," or something along those lines, straight up blaming the victim etc (sorry, America, seriously). I also felt really strongly that I had to leave New York, and probably America, as soon as I could, that all the 'spectacular' (in the Debordian sense) lure of New York was not worth the risk, was not something I wanted to participate in, especially at the potential cost of my life. It seems weird to think of it now, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time I really felt like I could, you know, die.
Soonish, the fear and ideological righteousness faded into the background, and I inevitably learned to make some peace within myself. I discovered Brian Eno's ambient records from the '70s and Oval's 94 Diskont album and listened to them every night - and every morning, for those sacred sunrises. For weeks at a time I would sleep from midnight til 4 AM, wake up for the sunrise, then go back to sleep from 9-12, no alarm necessary. Me and Nate and Jon Schwartz - whose friendship was and has remained probably the best thing I got out of my summer in Paris - got our band going, FuckFace2K wrote a lot of sludgy post-punk songs, many of which featuring semi-vaguely 9/11-centric lyrics which I am weirdly not embarrassed by today, nothing too political, mostly just stuff about how it felt to get ahold of Alison that morning and know she was OK, how it felt to see army dudes with machine guns everywhere you went for the next few weeks, etc.
And, more gradually, my feelings about the politics of the 'War on Terror' and its relation to my life began to subtly change in ways and for reasons I won't bother getting into here, since it's pretty boring and since I've documented a lot of it already in this space - suffice to say, they've become much more, ah, nuanced. And, five years later, my politics are continuing to evolve, obv much due to the events of the intervening years, but also due to the continued gravitational pull of 9/11, working on my compass in mysterious ways. Musically, too, I think it really changed my ear and the city's ear as well, though not in the way I first expected - I firmly believe that electroclash, and the general move towards more danceable, hedonistic music in what was once called the 'indie' scene, was v much inspired, or at least assisted, by those feelings of imminent doom, party like there's no tomorrow b/c there might not be, the 'Cabaret' Berlin in the 30sish vibe, etc.
But despite all that 9/11 changed for me and the world, what seems clearest in retrospect is how much things have remained the same - or, at least, how many of the important changes for me and my life were already in motion before the planes hit. My well-established, Situationist-inspired hateration for insufficiently rigorous and world-comprehensive political philosophy probably played an even more important role than 9/11 in the ejection of all the radical lefties - including, ultimately, Debord himself - from my personal pantheon. More importantly, all the new relationships - friendships, musical and romantic partnerships - that I had been so excited about on 9/10 grew and expanded, and these awesome people and their awesome friends which have become my friends have anchored the subsequent years of my life just as I'd hoped they would. FF2K more or less direclty led to me living in my beloved 502 (we played a show in the basement, thanks Sean), which in turn led to me playing in, and becoming deep bros with, my beloved Aa. Nate moved into the house a week ago, which is totally awesome. Alison and I are on good terms and whine regularly to each other about grad school. Etc, etc.
I still worry about another attack on New York, am maybe even resigned to it on some level, but there is no way I can imagine myself leaving here, this place, and especially all my friends, who I love so much, anymore. Leaving all this, leaving all of y'all, would be like 'leaving' my fingers or my ears or my spleen - it doesn't make sense to save your life by throwing it away. Zawahiri just issued a special 9/11 anniversary message of his own, urging the international jihadis to continue their glorious struggle or some shit, and it's entirely possible (not, like, probable... right?) that it includes some kind of secret message that will trigger the next attack on America, on NYC, even. I hope I'm not being too melodramatic in issuing my own little statement: if, God forbid, we are attacked again, I will have no regrets whatsoever about having remained here in the line of fire, and I consider myself truly blessed to have the chance to risk a senseless, 21st century death with you all. Getting to know and be with you over the past five years has been a privilege and an honor worth any price I might eventually be asked pay. Much much love etc