Bikeman: An Epic Poem
On September eleven, 2001, journalist Tom Flynn trigger on his motorcycle towards the realm exchange Towers no longer realizing what he used to be using into. Bikeman is one man's trip again to the horrors of that day and to the humanity that in some way emerged from the airborne dirt and dust and the loss of life. either heartbreaking and haunting, his phrases will stick with you love that 'forever September morning.'" --Meredith Vieira, NBC's Today
Tom Flynn brings to his topic 3 priceless attributes: the attention of a professional journalist, the soul of a poet, and his gorgeous, first-hand event of that terrible day." --David good friend, Vanity Fair
The lifeless from here
are my endlessly companions
i'm their pine box,
their marble reliquary,
their bronze urn,
the residing, respiring coffin they by no means had,
their ultimate resting position with out a stone.
I flow on at peace.
Modeled on Dante's Inferno, veteran journalist Thomas Flynn's Bikeman chronicles the morning of September eleven, 2001 like no different released paintings. Flynn offers a private account of his studies starting with the 1st strike at the international alternate heart whilst he made up our minds to persist with his journalist's intuition and element his bike's handlebars towards the north tower. His tale maintains as he transitions from reporter to player hoping to outlive the autumn of the south tower. Now Flynn, as either journalist and now survivor, needs to come to phrases with the harrowing ordeal and in some way locate peace within the very act of surviving.
Part journalist's list, half survivor's eulogy, Flynn writes:
Survival is the absence of death.
It is a subdued, a hushed lifestyles. . .
I stay to discuss it,
to narrate the story because it happens,
not just its extremities and cruelty,
but additionally the goodness that prospers too.
Loud, decided, the troubling tremble comes at the assault from the North. It tickles my mind, yet at the start, like a dream after waking, i will not seize it, a inspiration un-noted. it's the fishing line to the fish, a danger unseen. I learn on because the jet skims at once overhead. i will keep away from its presence now not, it rattles and kilos in any respect underneath. The roar grows ever extra continual. it really is revving up, a big-effort runway whine and gunning for downtown. My eyes keep on with the sound of the.
Is my expertise of all that surrounds me. XII DANCING sooner than demise The growling lofty tower wall expands now. The concrete pores and skin bellies out just like the throat of a frog approximately to croak. It stretches, elastically till it bursts. The frail, wrong tower vomits its guts out excessive above us. In slow-motionness, the damaged dermis, like semiliquid chunks, drifting wooden at the serene bay floats outward then pauses. it's a murderous nonetheless existence in air above, indifferent yet now not but descending. For.
What i can't see I worry as I did whilst i used to be a toddler on my own in a darkened room with thunder crashing throughout. once more I listen the stalking monster who has no longer but complete his assault open air my darkish cave-room, his thunder crashes and peals and rumbles throughout me. forward, the darkish mound is in my direction. It doesn't stream whilst I shut on it. I ease apart and slide alongside a slender direction among the mounds. What used to be the movement? not anything now is relocating. I succeed in out to the touch on the.
The gloom and darkness. i think i'm headed to a gap yet here's one more wall. i believe like a drowning baby attaining for the ocean’s floor, heading for air with my final breath yet in its place contact the ocean backside. i locate no air the place I seek the place I contact. Now, for the 1st time, i've got the chilly willing understanding that the heavy ash will kill me during this unkind tower-particled gap. My breath comes briefly gasps, breathing in the new grit-filled cloud that packs the gap. I.
With a suddenness of a cymbal crash, there earlier than me flows the river. it's uneven, unkempt. it's fearful, stirred up. I stream nearer with the awkwardness of a wood toy on newly formed legs. As I achieve the sting, i'm comforted with the known. XXVII THE RIVER The salty water includes up memory. It envelops me within the reminiscence of summer time night softness. I belief it's going to lead me again to the candy air and residential just like the direction as soon as some time past that took me there while i used to be small.