i cant remember men in blue blazers. i cant remember men in hoods with silvery pistols trained on their temples, or laced up grey sneakers pressed firmly against spalling asphalt next to yellow chalk outlines of evaporated blood pools. i remember skies grey though, with smoke, with debris swinging before the sun from hovering spherical and linear devices, smudging out the sun. i remember the buildings were somewhat the same. i cant remember how they were different, other than the charred material, and the smoke. i heard how people used them, how they toppled them and stacked them under lakeshore drive. i cant remember people saying they saw the sun. those toppled towers were tunnels and they stretched beneath the freeways out to barren shores that looked like gas refineries. i remember yellow chalk drawn on walls in vague patterns that both camouflaged and pinpointed secret entries. when i dreamt of the tales passed to me they were more clear than those words i read on my screen. those mocking visages painted with the colours of our flag with pistols to their temples were smudged away. i cant remember seeing richter paintings until after the fall of the I-70 front. they were all stockpiled in manhattanville after the death of the last art-runners. smeared fragments peered through in my memories of those skylines. the cranes ramming into the penthouses and stalwarts cartwheeling through the sky from the remaining towers; they were covered with dust that flew like contrails so you couldnt forget their unholy paths through the green dusk. i cant remember dusk. i cant remember the sun turning the sky green. perhaps i cant remember correctly, but i believe i am trying not to remember at all.

if you are able to access this missive it must mean that you are safe. i hope this comes through with some coherence after its translation. but if you are reading this, my technique for encrypting the materials was a success. anyway, i hope this note finds you well. i dont know if you will even remember me. i sent you a photograph of myself. if you can open that file you will probably recognize me. we went to school together. go me a report [sic]. ive sent some presentations for your computer to decode. these are in the comm. e6 that still is able to be transmitted by your PDA. i was sure you had access to those capabilities at the paper. you have no doubt heard of the crises at hand in manhattanville currently. the situation escalates daily. major changes are taking place to people and the city. these physical changes affect the way we live here. you may be able to get some sense of the drama with which manhattanville has transformed. perhaps you will be able to make an accurate report on these events. it might make our plight more visible and we can be helped. i know you are in a position of public presence so i am sure that your email is monitored. uploading documents to a remote scomesport server seem like the best mode of communication. an audience via comm. e6 may be helpful in lieu of conversation. my phone is tapped and satellite links are unreliable from the intermittent blockades placed on datacomm sectors. runners in the art world who saw to it that my hard missives were safe are dead. should i stay out in the open much longer any mail or communications will no doubt cease. there is an ocr machine that can transmit my older diaries -11 [sic] for you. i will encode these ‘00 [sic] again. torture. let my voice be heard.