via Vox - All https://www.vox.com/

An explosion just outside of the NY supreme court building at around the same time as one of the towers was collapsing.

via Complex http://www.complex.com/all

M/S Estonia - the visor didn't cause the sinking
The Coulombi Egg Oil Tanker - approved by the IMO, forbidden by USA
Atomic Bombs do not work!
The Coulombi Egg FPSO (Floating Production Storage & Offloading)
Impossible human Moon travel
All you need to know about the US 911 hoaxes
911 and WTC1
911 and WTC7 - Evidence made secret!
Why do new passenger ships suddenly lose stability and roll over?

After the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001, a dust-covered Joanne Capestro was photographed by street photographer Phil Penman as she stumbled away from Ground Zero. Fast forward 17 years, and Capestro recently had Penman photograph her again — this time for her wedding.
Capestro had been working as an assistant secretary on the 87th floor of the North Tower when the hijacked American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the skyscraper five or six floors above her. She then ran down 87 flights of stairs in 22 minutes and had barely stepped outside before the tower began to collapse.
And as she walked away from the dust-covered blocks surrounding Ground Zero, Penman noticed her and captured his now-famous photo.

The photographer has that presence of mind and has had it since he was a young man. When he was twenty-one years old, he was standing right behind Bobby Kennedy when Bobby Kennedy was shot in the head. His jacket was spattered with Kennedy's blood, but he jumped on a table and shot pictures of Kennedy's open and ebbing eyes, and then of Ethel Kennedy crouching over her husband and begging photographers—begging him—not to take pictures.

Richard Drew has never done that. Although he has preserved the jacket patterned with Kennedy's blood, he has never not taken a picture, never averted his eye. He works for the Associated Press. He is a journalist. It is not up to him to reject the images that fill his frame, because one never knows when history is made until one makes it. It is not even up to him to distinguish if a body is alive or dead, because the camera makes no such distinctions, and he is in the business of shooting bodies, as all photographers are, unless they are Ansel Adams. Indeed, he was shooting bodies on the morning of September 11, 2001.

Her mother is standing at the front door, about to go back inside her house. Her face has already lost its belligerent pride and has turned once again into a mask of composed, almost wistful sadness. "Please," she says as she closes the door in a stain of morning sunlight. "Please clear my husband's name."