Tanis Nikana

I remember watching a CRT television belted to a five-foot tall roller stand, and we had suspended all classes that day, even though we were at school. We had just sat there, crying and watching the news, as both towers were smoking, then one had collapsed and myself and other kids had screamed, wailed, and one vomited there on the carpet. Occasionally someone would get pulled away to take a phone call, and they didn’t come back the same. They changed. We all changed.

I still remember Kevin Cosgrove’s last phone call.

Newberg, Oregon, September 11th ‘01.

‘85 here, I’m so tired.

At the end of the day, I take comfort in recognizing that no one knows me, and that both my contributions and my cringe will be erased from the shore of civilization by the tides of time. I’m not famous, not smart, not special, not a pedophile in charge of the country, I’m just nobody, and that gives me all the power I would ever want.

I actually have no idea what my IQ is. I just say 96 cause it’s the shy side of perfectly average, and no one has any follow-up questions about that, and then the IQ conversation is fizzled out, and we can talk about more interesting things, like the guy who’s currently leaving a shit against my birch tree just outside.

Fucker better wipe my tree. >:(

I’ve got an IQ of ninety-six, which is good enough for me. It’s pretty high, just four points off the maximum.