Living on the Slopes of Vesuvius
May. 20th, 2002 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lawnrrdWhen I was a child and I learned about the destruction of the Roman cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, I was astonished. How could people live on an active volcano? For God's sake, didn't these people know it was dangerous?
I wasn't much older before I understood, at least intellectually, how they could decide to live there. The volcanic soil was fertile, making it a good place to farm. I'm sure the view of the nearby mountain was awesome, too.
Now I live on Manhattan Island.
Communication intercepts suggest that various terrorist organizations are planning "something big," something possibly bigger than September 11. Thousands, probably tens or hundreds of thousands, of people are willing to kill or die to detonate a nuclear device near my home, killing me and destroying the place I love more than anything on Earth. But I live here because it's a good place to work. It's a great place to strive. And it's the only place I've ever lived that feels at all like a home. I understand Pompeii now.
Most of the time, I'm not afraid to die. Not really. What scares me is that I never have felt as though I have lived.
People who cut themselves say they do it because, for an instant, it makes them feel alive. I think I envy them. I wish I could think of something as simple and straightforward as sticking a blade in my flesh that would make me feel alive.
And as I write this, I realize how fucked up it is that I start by discussing the destruction of the greatest city in the world, the deaths of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people, the impoverishment of countless others--and end with whining about my personal bullshit.
I wasn't much older before I understood, at least intellectually, how they could decide to live there. The volcanic soil was fertile, making it a good place to farm. I'm sure the view of the nearby mountain was awesome, too.
Now I live on Manhattan Island.
Communication intercepts suggest that various terrorist organizations are planning "something big," something possibly bigger than September 11. Thousands, probably tens or hundreds of thousands, of people are willing to kill or die to detonate a nuclear device near my home, killing me and destroying the place I love more than anything on Earth. But I live here because it's a good place to work. It's a great place to strive. And it's the only place I've ever lived that feels at all like a home. I understand Pompeii now.
Most of the time, I'm not afraid to die. Not really. What scares me is that I never have felt as though I have lived.
People who cut themselves say they do it because, for an instant, it makes them feel alive. I think I envy them. I wish I could think of something as simple and straightforward as sticking a blade in my flesh that would make me feel alive.
And as I write this, I realize how fucked up it is that I start by discussing the destruction of the greatest city in the world, the deaths of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people, the impoverishment of countless others--and end with whining about my personal bullshit.
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no subject
Date: 2002-06-17 12:43 pm (UTC)Next time I'm in NY, I'll call you. We'll club.
no subject
Date: 2002-06-17 01:40 pm (UTC)