11 September 2009

My Twin Towers

I watch the Twin Towers grow up into the skyline as I attend New York University. My twin towers grew slowly. Philippe Petit walks his tightrope from one twin to its other. It was a sensation. I take my twin towers for granted.
The Twins were my destination. I rode my bike to and around them on sunny lower streets and avenues. They loom over me. Their plaza was my focal point for exploring all lower Manhattan. I biked on their plaza, circling their fountain and brass sphere at its peaceful center. I bought Sabretts w/ kraut & mustard and Dr. Brown's from sidewalk vendor. I ate, drank, rested, and was refreshed at the edge. The splash makes white noise in our conversation. I never dined in their Windows on the World. I knew people who bragged of their food, their wine, their view, their being on top.
I took the subway to and from my twins. I navigate their subterranean pathways. My Towers were embarkation and debarkation, a journey in and out of. A community of people worked inside and up the twins served by people who worked down and under the twins.
I rode my Twins' elevators up and down, the longest up or down in Manhattan; such a time in space - you had to transfer from one set to the other to reach the top. They shook, shuddered, and swayed, while we moved up and down in their shafts.
My Twin Towers swayed together in the wind; they were meant to sway. I felt one sway. I stood on its sway. I could see us sway looking down and out our window. I was nauseated. My palms sweat, even now. I felt my fear and I walked a catwalk atop a Twin before their TV antenna is set up on. It's windy and was a blue-beautiful cold October day. We swayed, as one, as I once dreamed.
Townsend said, "I want to see your New York City, Daddy." He wanted to see my New York City. We visited my Twins where they'd lived. Their pit my emptiness is fenced clean with a platform for steady pausing people who look in, peer down, and feel spirits rising hand over mouth....
I was 24 when Joseph Beuys gave me a Twin Towers post card. It was a gift. He wrote Romulus & Remus on it. He signed it; his name and signature is all. It was thanks, a giving; I'd shepherded he and his friends in our New York City. He had given an art lecture Energy Plan for the Western Man at The New School for Social Research. Townsend never saw it. I took it for granted. I couldn't see it. I lost it.

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