Midnight on September 11 / In Praise of the Jumper
<table><tr><td>from <a href="http://www.crimethinc.com/blog/2012/07/04/new-feature-and-vortext-now-on...
IT'S MIDNIGHT ON SEPTEMBER 11, 2011, ten years after the World Trade Center attack. We’re walking down the train tracks, each carrying a scale model of one of the twin towers. Gravel crunches under our shoes. The cardboard buildings are taller than we are; tiny bodies dangle from the windows, rapping against the hollow walls at each step. The full moon shines down from the top of the sky, making a tremendous stage of the world with our tiny silhouettes in the center: Quixote and Panza, Vladimir and Estragon.
Along with his building, my friend carries a placard inscribed with a manifesto:
<strong>In Praise of the Jumper</strong></td><td><img title="I can relate" src="http://anarchistnews.org/files/pictures/2012/blackdeath.jpg"></td></tr><...
Whether they hit the ground with a thud or burned up midair choking on dust as the world collapsed around them, we knew immediately these jumpers had joined the experimentation committee. Trapped between flames and clouds, they chose to fly.
In the face of hellish peril, they chose action and defiance even knowing the apocalypse had come. Would that only we could find the same courage, just once, in the crisis that now consumes us. Amidst the everyday wreckage of this society, this emptiness and boredom, futility and meaninglessness—to jump, along with all those who have ever jumped, with just one grain of faith that we shall fly.
I wish I could have joined those jumpers, everything in flames and a beautiful sky and a hundred stories in free fall screaming: <strong>Long Live Death!</strong>
Whether this is what we “really think” is beside the point; there are American flags hanging from every telephone pole from here to the Mexican border. Our task is to interrupt this pat narrative, this <em>kitsch</em>—not only in the geography of our town but also in our own servile acceptance of it. It would be extremely inconvenient for us to get stopped in the course of erecting our little monument; I have a suspended sentence from felony riot charges, while my comrade’s felony riot case has yet to go to court. But that’s what we’re here for: the risk is the payoff. For this brief moment, we are paragons of transgression, heedless of risk or rule, filling our pockets with firecrackers to jump into the fire. We have joined the <em>Experimentation Committee</em>.