clichees of tragedy.
between the time i last checked in the news, removed myself to realize what was
happening in the world
over one hundred forty thousand human beings
and their dreams
have died.
they have been swept away.
i cannot count that high.
yesterday, E.: "it might be 9 on the richter scale, but it'd hang around 1.2 on the conscience scale. people just keep on truckin'".
yesterday there were pictures. yesterday, the man to my left at the internet cafe was looking at filth. people drank and danced the night away, merry new year. there is something ghastly about what humanity has become.
if i say this is a fitting end to the year,
will you believe me?
The grief in the world is hard to fathom. The south coast of Sri Lanka around Galle, which was the hardest hit, is/was exqusite - fine grained golden sand that gradually slopes down into the water, with palm trees and thatched cabanas along the whole length, looking out to an ocean of glass. We stayed in those thatched cottages, too, and slept to the sound of the ocean.
--my mother.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/4126019.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/in_depth/world/2004/asia_quake_disaster/default.stm
http://rebuildingsrilanka.com/
whole schools were washed away. not just buildings, but with parents watching, children and teachers alike.
so much flotsam and how could you hear the screaming?
mines were unearthed by the rushing water. now they're floating free, added horror.
it took an hour and a half for the waves to reach the Indian Subcontinent, even though they were travelling at almost the speed of sound. all it needed was a 15 minute walk for the people to reach inland safety.
i can see the pain of one death. of one love hurting.
but thousands. Lord, what number is this? and when will it stop?
on Sunday, the death toll in Sri Lanka, that tear-drop island, was 4,000. today it is 19,000.
what do these trailing zeroes mean? how thick is the book listing all these names? who will remember? how can we remember?
but we have the choice here to forget what we couldn't possibly know.
on the faces of the living is sometimes a blankness, sometimes an uncomprehending open-mouthed horror, sometimes the cringing of intense pain.
there are collages of photos of dead people, pinned on walls, waiting for identification. for a relative to come by, to shriek, to pull it down, the last proof of a once-breathing body.
there are reams and reams of paper, listing names. the missing, the dead, the survivors. so many letters. so much ink, to run in the sea.
--[likethewind]
there is an edge to these days.
last night i asked my father if past years seemed like this.
Dec 26, 2003 - earthquake in Iran, and ancient Bam was destroyed. 40,000 people gone
Dec 26, 2004 -
Like bookends on either end of a year of tragedies (EHarder.)
