Thread 41251017

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That photo looks scary, They look like they became watermelon when they hit the ground!

>>41251017 (OP)
Bump out of sick curiosity

https://youtu.be/n6PJsvaeoJM?si=Xcra3k4Q80qEAKla Jack Taliercio's 9/11 footage, a recording capturing multiple jumpers + an extremely horrifying scene of the WTC plaza

>>41251017 (OP)
How about you step off a tall building so we can all laugh?

>>41251034
On the topic of jumper impacts, I believe there was once a video circulating during the wild west days of the internet. It was very similar to Jack Taliercio's footage which was already embedded, except it literally captured jumpers impact feet away from the cameraman.

>>41251051
maybe you should kill yourself?

>>41251052
do you have it? i never heard about it, can you explain it a little more to me, it would be nice to see it since i believe almost no videos capture the impact

There is this video right here, it shows the people jumping but not the impact https://youtu.be/ChCRJagk6nw?si=p0117RAMIN881_eh

>>41251063
Absolutely. In 2015, a user on this very board made a post recalling a video he saw on YouTube when he was around 11-12, remembering the video to be called "LOL SUPERMAN." Said video was around two minutes long and captured multiple jumpers impact just feet away from the men filming it. The video was not difficult to find back in 2006-2010, but now it is quite literally scrubbed from the internet.

Video capturing a jumper hitting some sort of lamp post or railing https://youtu.be/2aum8HjByS4?si=HDz2oJ6-vnMI0gxl

>>41251077
wow, if it was not difficult to find in 2006-2010 why cant we look at websites from that time in the wayback machine? also i think the video is not scrubbed, its somewhere very deep in the internet

>>41251074
That's Guy Rosbrook's footage. The video actually does capture a jumper impact the stage later in the footage. Apparently at some point there was a longer version of the recording, including Rosbrook following a jumper all the way to the ground, but that too is lost.

>>41251052
LOL Superman. There’s two versions

>>41251093 there’s an anon that posted a screenshot for it recently and claims to have it

>>41251103
i hate that some old content get lost, some of them are important or historic, i wish that resurfaced some day.

Compilation of jumpers from the long-gone shock site Ogrish.com https://www.vidlii.com/watch?v=NY8eXuxXFrR

Ah ogrish i loved that site When it existed before it merged with Liveleak

>>41251111
Do you have a link to the post?

Was it instant death or did they feel something?

>>41251130
Presumably they felt at least a pinch if they landed feet first

>>41251130
instant death for sure, it takes like 500 miliseconds to feel pain, they were already dead 10 miliseconds after hitting the ground.

>>41251122
I miss the forum so much. The las vegas shooter boomer used to post therem

>>41251111
two versions? can you describe it?

>>41251152
>>41251122
There's this https://archive.org/details/ogrish archive that includes many of the site's old videos

>>41251152
the forums were unique, it had lots of unseen content, and they posted rare things there too, i miss the good age of the internet

>>41251164
hmm, but according to what OP said, the video showed the jumpers hitting the ground up close, i looked through it and only found videos of the cameraman distant from the jumpers

Theres some rumors going around that the footage was taken from Austin J. Tobin plaza, it shows 2 jumpers landing right in front of the cameraman, it has lots of names such as "man turns to jam" but no one knows the real name of the video.

>>41251195
I recall someone saying that around 2020-2022 there was a Spanish iceberg video covering shock media from the early 2000s, and at the bottom they mentioned a video called "Man Turns to Jam." The video had a link to the video in the description, which was shot in the Austin J .Tobin plaza and captured a couple jumpers impacting near the stage. The channel was called "NeroLoquendero" and had a bunch of numbers but it has since been deleted.

>>41251203
near the stage? that sounds like guy rosbrook's footage

also, NeroLoquendero sounds interesting do you have the link of the video or an archive of his youtube page?

>>41251055
I had thought instantan the exaxt thing you said to this Chickendickhead as i was in the reading what a fag.

>>41251055
>MOM! I told someone on 4chan to kill yourself lol.

>>41251262
maybe you should put yourself in fire?

Bump

oh some retard made up the name "falling retards compilation v19" which is a fake ass name

bump

turns out gore videos are the hardest thing to re-find on the internet. you better save anything youre intrested in because once its gone its gone. you can forget google to try and find it again. weird times

If Hell did not exist, it would be necessary to invent it.

Even if you somehow hilariously believe you will escape the judgement of a God, could you truly be so ignorant to think you will escape us, your peers? So too composed of your same flesh, utilizing your same tools?

We are right here. We can find you. We can chew you.

Shame on ya’ll. Ya’ll going to hell for these posts

>>41251130
Most of them would've died instantly, but then there's this:
>When I got to her, I ripped out a black tag. What impressed me -- and scared me -- was that she was alert and was watching what I was doing. I put the tag around her neck and she looked at me and said, "I am not dead. Call my daughter. I am not dead." I was so startled that for a split second I was speechless. "Ma'am," I said, "don't worry about it. We will be right back to you." That was a lie. She couldn't see what I could see. Somehow, I guess it was an air draft or something, her fall had been cushioned enough so that she didn't splatter like the others. Still her body was so twisted and torn apart that I could only ask myself, Why is this lady still alive and talking to me? How can this be? Her right lung, shoulder and head were intact, but from the diaphragm down she was unrecognizable. Yet she was lucid enough that she continued to argue with me. "I am not dead," she insisted again. I am convinced she had some medical training because she knew I had given her the black mark of death. And she resented it. "Don't worry about what I put around your neck," I told her. "My coworkers are coming right now. They're going to take care of you."
I don't see how anyone could survive a 90+ story fall, even for a few minutes (air draft or otherwise), kinda fucked to think about though

>>41251017 (OP)
No

>>41251089
I dont see anything

a l l
f a l l
d o w n

>>41253567
listen for the *ding* it's a mist explosion to the right of the lightpost.

>>41253703
lol that's epic

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.

"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?"

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?"

don't you dare avert your fucking eyes you coward filth

>>41251279
you don´t know what i am feel about this, it is a right thing to show people what horrible things happend, so that they will never forget this. So fuck off stupid son of a Kike.

>>41253760
The deaths on 9/11 were horrific, but at the same time forced some people to reflect on how they live life and claw their way out of materialism. Which is poetic, considering people who jumped out the building "free'd" themselves from a painful, slow-burning death inside a metal box created with the idea of capitalistic, worldly gains in mind. It's poetic.

>>41255153
that which so abjectly invites memento mori is just as likely to turn someone off of it for the rest of their present life
all the better either way

>>41255153
>The deaths on 9/11 were horrific
A jump and 10 seconds of panic before a quick and absolutely painless death is horrific?
You should read up on some of the war crimes you amerimutts did all over the globe, but you won't because you're way too much of a coward to face a glimpse of truth. Vietnamese rice farmers that were forced to watch their wife get gang raped, their children executed and were then beaten to death over several minutes had a horrific death. They would have been grateful to only have 10 seconds of sheer panic ended by a painless death. I hate you yankee crybabies so much it's unreal.

>>41251017 (OP)
they dont make em like they use to...

>>41251017 (OP)
Yippie!

>>41253525
That's the "black tag woman' narrated here around 315:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUSOUv4BVJY&t=186s

This is one that not too many people have seen. A guy was at 1 Liberty Plaza on the 20th floor and tells his family how he met eyes with a jumper wearing a gold jacket and saw his soul leave his body 40 feet before impact and "obliterating". (around 8:40)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nk6kIMwp9nc