Thread 515470992

happy 9/11

>>515470992 (OP)
Israel did this

<3

>>515470992 (OP)
Happy Charlie Kirk pumpkin day!

Pew pew!

>>515470992 (OP)
fuck you

>>515471281
happy 9/11

>>515470992 (OP)
where he goin

>>515471281
why? is OP the owner of WTC 7 or something?

Another day where non Americans think this upset us when we made some of the earliest fucked up memes about this

>>515470992 (OP)
Never Forget

Need another 9/11 to pull the country together

>>515472084
i'm the one who likes 9/11 on its own merits
there has never been a better point showing of pure unadulterated doomporn

>>515472084
>hogan was still relevant in 2001
that is fucked up anon

>>515472217
>there has never been a better point showing of pure unadulterated doomporn
WW1 is worse by a mile
https://youtu.be/TieL5YDB9U4

>>515470992 (OP)
Happy 9/11!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxQ2-DcZuR4

A bunch of New York city slickers die and I have to hear about it for the rest of my life

>>515472412
well they didn't exactly have very many cameras let alone in decent fidelity in the corpsemuck around the likes of verdun to show for it i'm afraid whereas this was very vivid and well captured

yes, though, sections of ww1 are as hellish as it has gotten outright on this planet in any recent memory

>>515472286
Just coming off his NWO hype and 1 year before returning to the WWE yea he was

>>515472641
>well they didn't exactly have very many cameras
they did you just have to look for it. Seeing young white men mentally and physically broken is 10000 times worse than the husk of a kike building

>>515472785
soldiers deserve everything inflicted upon them
everyone deserves whatever they get
this is a cosmos of perfect justice and well, perfection no matter where one looks outright ;3
one ought to have eyes to see rather than wallowing in self-inflicted distress

Imago
Perhaps the deepest reason why we are afraid of death is because we do not know who we are. We believe in a personal unique, and separate identity—but if we dare to examine it, we find that this identity depends entirely on an endless collection of things to prop it up: our name, our "biography", our partners, family, home, job, friends, credit cards... It is on their fragile and transient support that we rely for our security. So when they are all taken away, will we have any idea of who we really are?

Without our familiar props, we are faced with just ourselves, a person we do not know, an unnerving stranger with whom we have been living all the time but we never really wanted to meet. Isn't that why we have tried to fill every moment of time with noise and activity, however boring or trivial, to ensure that we are never left in silence with this stranger on our own?

--Sogyal Rinpoche
IT'S EVENING. LISA HAS PUT Maggie to bed. She opens a bottle of wine and pours us each a glass. She hands me mine and sits down across from me, glass and dayplanner in front of her. She'll be going to bed after this but I still have to go out and walk the dog and have my nightly nightcap with Frank and then come back here and try to get in another hour of work.

Lisa sits quietly and sips her wine. She needs to be pushed and she wants to be pushed, so I give her a push.

>>515471555
down

>>515472946
didn't realize I was talking to a sociopath NEET never mind

"Why are you carrying your dayplanner?"

As if it requires a burst of resolve. Lisa takes a deep drink, then opens the leather-bound book to a page near the back and places it in front of me. It's a photo from a magazine, black and white, grainy, laminated and hole-punched, buried deep amid the calendar and contact pages. It's a body falling from the World Trade Center on September 11th. 2001. You can tell by the shape of the hair end clothes that it's a woman. Her face is just barely visible, just enough to imagine features, to wonder
I look up at Lisa and find her deeply entranced by the photo. She removes it from the dayplanner and holds it. She rubs it with her fingers. She speaks in a very quiet voice.

"It was a Tuesday," she begins in a quavering whisper. "She got up just like a thousand times before, showered, woke the kids, got her husband going. She took time to notice that it was a beautiful September day, and to share that with her family, trying to make the daily grind a little easier, to make the day seem special, but it was just another Tuesday. By six-thirty her house was awake and everyone was grumbling through their morning routines. Once she had everyone going she returned to dress and do her face and hair, standing in front of the mirror in her slip, thinking about work, about the day ahead, about family schedules and upcoming events, about the lines in her face. the extra pounds on her body, bills, her parents' health, just like any other morning.

Lisa's eyes are shimmering with tears now. Her fingers rest on the-bottom of the photo.

"When I first saw this picture, this woman, seconds from death, I couldn't take my eyes off it. It held me, like a trance. and this whole back-story, this woman's life as I imagined it, her house on Staten Island, the ferry ride to work every morning, it all just flooded over me. I taped the picture to my bathroom mirror, one just like this, and every morning as I went through my own daily rituals, I'd look at it and think about how she started her day just like I am now, just another day: brush teeth, floss, worry about little things, thoughts full of details and concerns.
She pauses. sips her wine. I don't say anything.

"That first picture got ruined. Dennis didn't like it: he said it was morbid. He didn't want to have to look at it every morning. I didn't want anyone else looking at it anyway. I got this one and protected it and put it here where only I would see it. I sit with her on the train ride in the mornings. I talk to her, I guess, and she talks to me. That's how it happened. It started out as this sense that the life I was living was all wrong. I resisted that thought, tried to push it away, but it wouldn't go away: it just stayed there at the periphery, always there just at the edge: office, car, dinner parties, grocery shopping, club, meetings, always there. Then your books," she laughs and looks at me, "your books just threw on the houselights, exposed everything, made everything raw, and that's when it built to the bursting point. It had to do with your books, but it had been slowly building for the three years she'd been talking to me."

"The woman in the picture talks to you?"

>>515470992 (OP)
So fucking disgusting.

We sit in silence for a long while.

"'I was nobody.' That's what she says to me. 'I was this way for my boss, this way for my co-workers: I was this person for my parents, this person for my children, I was this person on the phone, this person with store clerks and staff. I dressed for other people, spoke and behaved for other people, spent the minutes, hours and days of my life for other people, and there was never anything left for me I read books and magazines to help me be all these different people. I spent what little time I could spare shopping and at the gym to keep thin and well-dressed, always struggling to be these people I needed to be."

Lisa speaks in a whisper and holds the picture in both hands.
"I worked ten hours a day and commuted two. I cooked, cleaned, shopped, paid bills, and was lucky to get four hours sleep a night. I told myself it was all for the children, but I always knew that was a lie. We could have done much better for the kids. We were just stamping out more versions of ourselves because that's all we knew how to do. We became just like our parents because we didn't know who else to be. That's what I'm thinking as I fall, that it's hard to be sad because I don't know who's dying. What does it matter that I'm gone if I was never really here? I'm two seconds from the end of a life that was never really mine I was all these people but I was never me, and now it's a beautiful September morning and my life is over and I don't know who to be.'"

I don't say anything. Lisa sniffles and smiles at me and laughs, "Then she starts blubbering about how she wishes she hadn't been such a prude in school and how she should have tried more drugs and toured for a summer with the Grateful Dead and maybe spent a month in a nudist colony." She laughs self-consciously and puts the picture away. "That's usually when I start tuning her out."

She takes a break to freshen up. Despite her pain. I can only be happy for her. What's dying in her is something that should die. What most people call life is really just the fearful protraction of a pupal state. Like butterflies too scared to emerge from the cocoon. The butterfly stage of development is called imago; adulthood. That's what we are meant to be, imago. If we 1'ved in a society of imagines, we would be well prepared for metamorphosis: it would occur when it's supposed to and be easier by magnitudes. Not easy, but not cataclysmic either. But we don't live in such a society, and when the transition happens, if it happens, it is more likely to result in catastrophic upheaval than a coming of age ceremony.
Nevertheless, I'm happy for her. No one visiting a coma patient suggests that they look peaceful and are better off spending their life in that state just because waking up from it might be unpleasant.

Lisa pours herself another glass of wine and returns to her seat.

"The photograph is what started the whole thing for me," she says, "but who knows? It wasn't a big event, it was like a tiny pinprick, just a little jolt, but right from that instant, you know it's fatal, like a poison has been injected into your system and there's no antidote, no hope I think I knew right from the very beginning what it really meant, what would have to happen. I fought against it for three years, tried to keep it pushed aside, tried to bury it under all the minutiae of life, work, family, home, but all that time it kept growing in me, growing like a cancer. What was it, really? A thought? A realization? A glimpse? I really don't know, but it's definitely a point of no return. I knew all my denial was just a temporary solution. I knew I was heading toward my own ruin by staring at the picture every day, but I couldn't help it. It would have felt like a betrayal not to. That was a painful time. I felt like a stranger in my own home, like an alien in human disguise. I had this secret thing growing inside me; as it got bigger, the other me, the mom, the wife, the attorney, all the rest, got smaller. I was looking out through the same eyes, but behind them I was an imposter, a pretender, trying to hold on to a world that was no longer mine. I knew from the first chapter of your first book that the time had come, that whatever was happening to me would soon be born after this uncomfortable three year gestation. That this thing that had been growing inside me would burst out and ruin Everything."

"And now here you are, sitting in conversation with me," I smile, "Ain't that a piece of luck."
"I guess you and I wouldn't be sitting here talking together if I were just normal, the way I was: if I wasn't in this goddamned meltdown, I mean, it's not like we're, you know... I don't know. Never mind.'

"What would we be talking about if you weren't in this meltdown?" I ask. "Your retirement plan? A shoe sale at Bloomingdales? The war on terror?"

"I guess not. Never mind."

"So you're asking me, if you weren't on fire, if your life wasn't in flames, could we be having this conversation, and the answer is no Our voices could never bridge the gap. But because you're in this crisis, and because you are here with your death by your side, we can talk."

"My death?" she asks quietly.

I laugh, but gently.

"Certainly," I say. "Who'd you think that is in the picture? Who do you think you've been talking to on the train and in the bathroom? Who do you think is trying to slap you out of your coma?"

now that the dust has settled, heh get it?
>gets booed by the crowd
was it an inside job or just muslims?

>>515474253
think about it, they wouldn't cover up just muslims, they would exploit and utilize that to no end
/pol/'s razor suggests with certainty there was foul play and israeli involvement

>>515474253
full dick self-inflicted thinly-veiled nuclear terrorism conducted by portions of the US government and pals

Beautiful.

>>515474547
grim as it is, yeah
pretty fucking spectacular shit

>>515474253
I've always subscribed to the idea that the US government wasn't directly involved, but knew it was going to happen and chose not to stop it.

Happy 9/11 /pol/

>>515471082
Israel also did yesterdays assassination.
Greatest ally.

thread theme
https://youtu.be/NbYFAvb9fhE

>>515470992 (OP)
A.I generated fake

>>515470992 (OP)
This isn't funny guys, 3000 people died in this tragedy.

>>515475386
they're all much better off for it tbqhwydesu
life is forever

Essential viewing for discerning schizos on this day of 9/11:

https://www.corbettreport.com/episode-308-911-trillions-follow-the-money/

https://www.corbettreport.com/911wargames/

https://www.corbettreport.com/911whistleblowers/

https://www.corbettreport.com/911suspects/

https://www.corbettreport.com/alqaeda/

https://www.corbettreport.com/episode-045-ptech-and-the-911-software/

>>515475571
the myths concocted around the downed plane likely surround a scenario in which one of the pilots of the craft in the process of getting their air traffic signatures cloned by drone jets intended for the collisions didn't play along and was show down with a missile by a fighter aircraft instead or so a bunch of stuff seems to point to

>>515471412
I wonder why no synagogues ever fall in by themselves like that...

>>515470992 (OP)
today we shall remind them

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-aduZ2ne9U

when a crime happens you ask "cui bono?" or who profitted from the event

>>515470992 (OP)
>mfw it takes blowing up a half-empty skyscraper to make the goyim go to war and then flee like pussies

On March 25, 2020, researchers at the University of Alaska Fairbanks issued the final report of a four-year computer modeling study on the collapse of World Trade Center Building 7.

The 47-story WTC 7 was the third skyscraper to be completely destroyed on September 11, 2001, collapsing rapidly and symmetrically into its footprint at 5:20 PM. Seven years later, investigators at the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) concluded that WTC 7 was the first steel-framed high-rise ever to have collapsed solely as a result of normal office fires.

Contrary to the conclusions of NIST, the UAF research team found that the collapse of WTC 7 on 9/11 was caused not by fires but by the near-simultaneous failure of every column in the building.

https://ine.uaf.edu/projects/wtc7/

>>515476733
>and then flee like pussies
After 20 years of bombing civilian targets and electing a nigger to win a nobel peace prize for it

>celebrating 9/11
now that's just plane wrong

>>515470992 (OP)
damn

has the insider trading ever been investigated?

Nothing happy about 9/11.

It was also a zionist false flag attack.

Here is the clear proof, no wacky theories.

https://ine.uaf.edu/wtc7

It's only 4am bud. Peak web traffic hours aren't til 6-8pm.

>>515479740
that video is a well-known fake. its also mirrored from the real video

https://youtu.be/cmp7rV2aZhM?t=157
(2:36)
Is the real footage. note the lack of white flashing explosions and fake digital/adjust zoom