I’ve just come back from Fahrenheit 9/11 and I am very quiet. I don’t think I’m okay. There was family up on that screen. The opening sequence hurt me in spite of the strings, and I mean spite as when it meant something, I mean spit in your face. Planes crashed into those towers, and yet there were people there with cameras, pointing to the people instead of the sky. There were people with a “this should be seen” stride and sense of angle. Black, and the sound. Knowing immediately. Simply the sound.
They didn’t show the towers fall.
I wanted very badly someone whose hand I could take. I curled on the seat into myself and held on. The music is overdone and tries too hard to manipulate, which bothered me to no end. Little bits of guitar trying to put emotion where they want, Do Not Pass Go. I think it is good that Micheal Moore is irritating, but can make a person laugh. There are pieces bigger than him, images, moments. Footage that his pandering fades to nothing beside. I want to watch it again, but I will have to wait. There is a hardness inside right now that will have to fade. I had to close me eyes on the dark. We winced, our row. We bowed our heads. You. Go. Watch.