August 22, 2004

NOTES (SUNDAY)

The airshow is happening down at the lake. Today is the old-fashioned plane day. They are quiet, just puttering.

Yesterday, all quiet was atomized by Blue Angel formations splitting the air. I saw a stealth bomber flying low, while trapped in traffic. It is, appropriately, the most stunning aesthetic/visual representation of death I have ever seen, it was gliding, like a kite. Like a black oragami swan, flattened in the sky. Then about a minute later, it's sound moved through. It rattled my marrow like bass on the rearview.
Deafening.
Colassal.

I thought about how many times they have flown over Iraq in the last 12-13 years, thought about how shaken I am from them just running laps around my city politely, to woo oohs and ahhs from the yay-hoos in the yard chairs down at the shore. As they loop up in tight fours, arcing and racing and diving, folks clap for where technology and man's cunning has gotten us. What an asshole country we be, weekend-watching plane spectacle for entertainment , watching the war-made machines, playful on their days off from dropping detonation for kids to catch in some other land.

Fuck us.

Posted by Jessica at August 22, 2004 02:11 PM | TrackBack