Results tagged “9/11” from HAWT action [hot ak-shuhn]

HAWTsHAWT: Memorial Lights

By John de Guzman on September 14, 2009 11:00 PM | | Comments (1) | | | |
I take photos like a madman. I click gigabytes like they were... bytes.  In this massive collection, I've got some decent sHAWTs (statistics, really). I'm sharing them with you in this series: HAWTsHAWT [hot shot].

HAWTsHAWT.pngI try to capture the 9/11 memorial lights every year.  This is the first time I'm capturing it from the isle of Manhattan.

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From Where This New Yorker Sits - 8 Years Later

By John de Guzman on September 11, 2009 10:30 AM | | Comments (1) | | | |
I posted this post last year, 9/11/08, and it's the only way I can think of to commemorate 9/11/01. 

Two days after 9/11/2001, I still couldn't sleep in my Murray Hill apartment.  I had tried walking the streets at 3am and watching CNN all night, but I couldn't settle down until I wrote about my experience.  My 9/11.  Like any writer, I continually itch to my own work, but I chose to honor the raw emotion that kept me awake, sore, lonely, sad and shaken.

9.11.jpg

FROM WHERE THIS NEW YORKER SITS

 

The next night all I wanted was human contact—primal, indubitable, close human touch—but there was none.  Instead I was accompanied by irritating air, tainted by an odor that was roaming Manhattan, the consequence of water scorching as it touched the twisted blazing metal of New York’s toppled Twin Towers.  So, I was forced to settle for my own arms for human contact, my eyes stinging and my nose accepting its violation by the stench equivalent to a million electric fires, and I wept, never feeling so alone in all my life.

 

Then I heard the media’s announcements of the evacuation of the Empire State Building, and I rolled off my futon, so drained that I appeared callous to the thought of another Manhattan icon collapsing, this one into my apartment, and headed into the streets again where I was haunted by two things.

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From Where This New Yorker Sits

By John de Guzman on September 11, 2008 12:00 AM | | Comments (1) | | | |
Two days after 9/11/2001, I still couldn't sleep in my Murray Hill apartment.  I had tried walking the streets at 3am and watching CNN all night, but I couldn't settle down until I wrote about my experience.  My 9/11.  Like any writer, I continually itch to my own work, but I chose to honor the raw emotion that kept me awake, sore, lonely, sad and shaken.

9.11.jpg

FROM WHERE THIS NEW YORKER SITS

 

The next night all I wanted was human contact—primal, indubitable, close human touch—but there was none.  Instead I was accompanied by irritating air, tainted by an odor that was roaming Manhattan, the consequence of water scorching as it touched the twisted blazing metal of New York’s toppled Twin Towers.  So, I was forced to settle for my own arms for human contact, my eyes stinging and my nose accepting its violation by the stench equivalent to a million electric fires, and I wept, never feeling so alone in all my life.

 

Then I heard the media’s announcements of the evacuation of the Empire State Building, and I rolled off my futon, so drained that I appeared callous to the thought of another Manhattan icon collapsing, this one into my apartment, and headed into the streets again where I was haunted by two things.


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