Hole in the Sky

“Missing (You)”, ©Jeff Glovsky

because it must.

* * *

Care, and Vigilance

In this summer of our discontent, with shootings and racism, homelessness, shootings and racial insanity, shootings, bad music, the death of Bill Cosby and racial shootings in the United States ... and (im)migrants stealing across borders in Europe, invading, creating encampments of despair, yet boundless hope "over there"-- and Brazil going south -- 

which way do I turn?

When I care but can't help, or can't care to help (can't be bothered) - because after all, what's the point (When I fall in the forest, does anyone hear me?)?  Feeling helpless, without hope myself, I succumb:  to inaction, and try to profess an "indifference" ...

While seismic demographic shifts take place, overtaking the landscapes and bludgeoning hegemony; the Banhofs and Autobahns, shorelines and coastlines awash with a tidal surge of humanity ... Families escaping, in flight -- Flüchtlinge ...

Refugees fleeing -- fugindo -- seek refuge.  The words hang together, saying similar things ... a melting pot of assimilations, sharing a genesis ... Like "those people" pronouncing or spelling them differently.  Borne of the same place, the same etymology, if you will ... We are all of us human.

Having said this, there must be order maintained.  There are laws to abide by, as well as etiquette inherent in the guest / host dynamic.  Everybody has got to eat, and there must be enough jobs to allow all to do so.

While it's "polite" and "correct" to "welcome" an influx of displaced humanity, and humans, sharing genesis, for the most part want to ... On a practical level, the borders should not, cannot, be simply flung open.

Germany's push to disperse the new arrivals is potentially harrowing -- Could families be torn apart, to meet quotas? -- and schönen München's herzerwärmende open arms display does not seem particularly thought-through.  Inspiring, emotional, indeed heartwarming ... Certainly what we, as fellow human beings, aspire to and would want for ourselves in a "do unto others", karmic way.

But despite the country's center stage role, and shining examples of welcome and tolerance -- not to mention the peerless steerage of Angela Merkel, coming from the East herself and no doubt recognizing 1980's scenes of trains and walls and Luftballons ...

 

It's important to keep a practical head on our shoulders.  When the last of the well-intentioned chickens and blueberry pies and high-heeled shoes have been gifted in Willkommen, and a meant-to-be-transitory Zwischenstation for many, devolves into permanent crises in housing, disease, crime or civil unrest ... because in the end, fear of the "other" and hatred, fueled in part by prideful ignorance and an innate desire within any species, human or otherwise, to exist amongst creatures who look and communicate similarly, but not to assimilate ...

will not go away.

Inasmuch, the (im)migrants, refugees, all "those people" seeking asylum and better lives in the West via Germany and other places, aren't the problem.  The problem inherently lies in wait, in a societal home opening its doors to guest strangers ...

Then there lurk larger, much darker, non-human issues, unable ever to be solved practically ... With September 11th approaching, and the world well-aware how things changed since '01, it's not inappropriate to point out that any mass influx of humanity to "the West", unfettered by visa regulations, could -- COULD, it's conceivable -- include a bad apple.

Or two.  Or 1300 ...

The USA's near total laissez-faire on USE's latest migrant drama (the worst since 1992) -- uncharacteristically not butting in, but remaining fairly silent to see how Europe fares -- is surprising, in this regard.  Is a full-bellied Trojan Horse marching westward ... ?

Is "the East", figuratively speaking, 'sending rapists'?

Will Chancellor Merkel, and certainly that idiot from Hungary, be left dumm dastehen, with blood on their hands?

I'd like to think not.  Wouldn't want to believe it ... but sadly, it mustn't be discounted, as we do keep the borders, as well as our arms, hearts and, necessarily, eyes flung open.

Schrei nach Liebe (die Ärzte) - with English lyrics

[ #AktionArschloch! ]

Going Down

It could've been me again ... sort of.

On September 11, 2001, I happened not to be working audio-visual with the Windows on the World team at 1 World Trade Center ... in the North Tower, up on the 106th floor there, where I'd arrive for freelance gigs fairly regularly, and in fact, just completed one two days prior.

Now yesterday, as I'm holed up in a Starbucks, waiting for an afternoon appointment to show, the ground shakes ... a terrible BOOM rents the (terrible) day ... and the entire store pours onto the New York sidewalk, cell phones raised, Instagram at the ready ...

I'm literally the only one left inside.  Not deigning to join all the show business kids falling over themselves not to feel, but to transmit, a unique experience -- letting it wash over and past them, instead of sinking in and through -- I help myself to a blueberry muffin, snap a few photos of billowing smoke and walk north, uptown, to get away from it all.

Then Germanwings ... German things, in general (prosaically speaking) do not tend to fail.  There is pride in the ranks of the Mittelstandes ... the industrial middle class ... engine and backbone of Europe's standout economy.

Pride.  Perfection.  Precision ... macht frei.  All the trains are on time, I can ride with my phone ... I never once worry about scalding myself, under an electronic showerhead, with temperature exactitudes to a quarter-degree Celsius (!), whenever I'm scrubbing myself in München.

I've never once boarded a plane in Germany -- or more precisely, a German airline -- and needed to worry about being delayed, bumped, cancelled (Hundewetter notwithstanding) or otherwise inconvenienced ... or frankly, pissed off by the attitudes of lazy, bored, undertrained, overwhelmed workers.  There are no such, pathetically flailing in Germany.  Instead, for the most part -- though, in all honesty, with increasing exception -- there is PRIDE still:  in work performed well; services capably rendered.

Some of this dichotomy, I imagine, is generational - There tends to be an older, more loyal, established and responsible workforce in Germany, so things run efficiently:  with experience, common sense and allowances for dignity ... as compared to the soullessly fearful, pig-headed and/or nonsensical service sectors of other places, the U.S. in particular.

Some seemingly glaring differences in attitude, though, I acknowledge, just might be imagined.  For example, I speak almost kein Deutsch ... I can't really know for certain who's slacking, who's beefing, who's grousing about work or their shitty day ... and I can't respond anyway, if I do get pissed off.  In Germany, I'm forced more to swallow nonsense, perhaps ...

But generally (prosaically) speaking, German things don't tend to fall from the sky.  When I heard the news yesterday that Germanwings co-pilot, Andreas Lubitz, intentionally flew Flight 9525 into a mountain, it first came as a relief to me:  It wasn't terrorism.  This one was not a small battle in World War III ... At least that.

It didn't come as a surprise, though.  In the scope of things, given Germany's overall track record for efficiency and manufacturing efficacy, something was wrong (German things don't just fall out of the sky) ... The crash of Germanwings Flt. 9525 could only have been intentional, I thought.

Lo and behold ...

“Wings & Prayers”, ©Jeff Glovsky

Thoughts, Prayers, Remembrance

"A cacophony, full arsenal ... that crisp, blue morning"

"Celebrating" 9/11 (in 2013)

Cold, War and Otherwise

Though spring has sprung in Deutschland, in the States, the cold weather's unrelenting and winter storms -- for some reason, christened like hurricanes now! -- keep howling and blowing.

Also howling and blowing is western media, every time there's a new "global conflict".  Usually so ridiculously narrow and self-interested, reporting breathlessly the "breaking" news of Oscar night parties, celebrity deaths (all too often, self-inflicted) ... and/or imperious, like dolts in a small town, poking fun at perceived foibles: "Sochi problems", for example, or an "inept" investigation (or the opposite: escalating random acts of breathing -- those naturally occurring, every day things we all do because we're supposed to, and most of us are wired that way -- into newsworthy, larger than life acts of "heroism") ...

Where was I?

Oh, right.  So usually the media, particularly in the US and UK, is carrying on this way, perpetuating its curious combination of smug isolationism and Big Stick condescension, the whole time relying on unpaid contributors to file "i-reports", in order to fill all the 24/7 content platforms) ... but Vladimir Putin "takes" Crimea, and suddenly, hot.cool.Sochi gets forgotten; the meaningful Paralympics all but ignored, and CNN and the US start clucking, 'What to do about UKRAINE?'.

Geopolitically speaking, the US should have nothing to do with Ukraine.  The people of Crimea are speaking, and they seem to prefer not to be part of 'the west'.  This (so far) peaceful expression of self-determination should be recognized, in fact, allowed.

Beyond this simple statement of what seems, to me, obvious, I offer no public opinion.  My thoughts on politics, like religion and like my home address, telephone number, love and sexual doings that actually matter to me, are private, and will remain that way ... at least until they matter less, and/or I am ready to "share" them.

Does this mean, though, that I can't opine?  I don't have a politcal thought, or opinion?

"Gloaming Looming", ©Jeff Glovsky

Once I was sitting outside a jazz club where I used to mix sound.  It was a beautiful spring night, and I stepped out of what was, at that time, the stereotypical smoke-filled room to gulp in some fresh air.  It was during a bass solo ... These always tended to go on forever anyway, so I figured I had a few minutes, at least, before the singer would come in again and start gesticulating (wildly) toward her ear, suggesting (none too subtly) that she wasn't able to hear herself, or the piano.

As I was sitting there, pleasantly digging the gloaming, this homeless guy shuffles up to me and says, "Nice night, huh?"  He sits down on the brownstone stoop beside me, and offers up something about the second Gulf War ...

Well, I'd always been taught, and took pains to adhere to, the common sense adage about not talking to strangers.  I took this literally, and to this day -- fast-tracking to fifty (!) years old -- I struggle with its application.  Innately shy, to the point of awkwardness, if not coming across as 'differnt' (as in, 'that boy ain't right!') in most social settings, I was struck even dumber by my new companion's next and final communication.

After commenting about G. Dubya Bush, our troops in Iraq and September 11th -- all still very fresh wounds at the time -- and receiving zero response from me, this homeless guys says, "Man, I thought you were an asshole, but you might just be stupid."

Then sneeringly, he shuffles off.

I go back inside the jazz club, not offended or defensive, but really struck by what the homeless guy just told me: that I was an asshole, but I might also be stupid.  I'd never thought of myself as "stupid".  Throughout my academic career, with the exception of some shaky punctuation, Geometry in high school and five years of college, it was always the opposite!

But as I made my way back toward my sound booth that night, noticing that not only had the bass solo ended but the first set as well ... that the house lights were on, the stage was empty (though an amp was buzzing) and people were standing up to leave ... it occurred to me the homeless guy was probably right.

"Celebrating" 9/11

in 2014

A dozen years ago already.  Almost last century.

And I remember the sirens.

New York is, has always been, a hot bed of decibels.  Among other gruesome sounds and noises, sirens forever going off ... but on this date twelve years ago, as I sat on the Upper West Side near Lincoln Center, literally miles away from "Ground Zero", they weren't just hitting-and-running through my consciousness.  They were becoming embedded.

As the 9am hour began that day, on September 11th, 2001, the sirens kept coming and going off -- police cars, fire trucks and ambulances -- and coming from all sides:  from uptown, downtown, east and west ...

A cacophony, full arsenal, of howling sirens that crisp, blue morning, as I finished my bagel and sat wasting time, told me something substantial, and amiss, was occurring.

I was freelancing then (as I still freelance), but not working steadily.  One of my regular clients was an audio visual company installed with an office on the 106th floor of the World Trade Center, in the North Tower.  When that tower collapsed -- taking with it the office (where I'd arrived for a job just two days earlier) ... as well as the renowned Windows on The World restaurant and several friends and colleagues -- I was back home, having my every suspicion confirmed.  The sirens were right:  something massive was happening.

"Views on Freedom", ©Jeff Glovsky

A dozen years later.  Older.  Unwiser.

I think of the years in between with regret; of the lack of substantial forward movement career-wise, creatively, living-wise ... conjugally.  Businesses and a marriage failing, friends (and colleagues) come and gone ...

I think, twelve years later, of every nook and corner of the 106th and 107th floors of the North Tower, which my client, the in-house AV company, serviced ... and what I might've been doing just before 9am if I'd worked that day (and not two days earlier):  Sitting, sipping coffee, reading a newspaper, maybe doing a crossword ... waiting for the day's first meeting to begin, so I could unmute a podium microphone (then go back to my crossword!); then truly gruesome, hot decibel noise:  explosions, heat, fires, bewilderment, panic ... Where would I have run to die?

Knowing myself, I probably would not have piled into a crowded, dark and smoke-filled stairwell to begin a slow-motion descent from the 106th floor; or I certainly would have been loathe to do so, and likely remained put, trying to wait things out ('Let's see what happens').

As certainly, I would not have run and plunged for oxygen.  No matter how fresh air seemed to be evaporating, throwing myself out a window from the 106th floor wouldn't have crossed my mind as an option:  if the stairwell was unpalatable, trying to take flight, to this day, remains inconceivable.

Now possibly (also knowing myself) ... I might have been downstairs already, out on the street - buying coffee or a newspaper, or using a payphone, when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed in, at roughly 500 miles per hour ... but really, who knows?

John F. Puckett did not have time to think things through.  Neither did Christine Olender, and 1,358 others above the 92nd floor.  I wouldn't have either.  Who does?  Who would?

All I know for certain is that I'm still here ... my flailing life, (e)strange(d), beautiful wife ... friends, family, my dreams and prayers.  And in the 'Big Picture' scheme of things, that's what I celebrate each September 11th - and the other 364 days also.