south st. louis
you know when you call a friend but their significant other answers their phone? sometimes it’s fine; you didn’t call them but whatever. other times it’s like wtf
we’ve been friends through a lot of significant others. whenever i’m in town we find ourselves on the inside of laughs and mischief. in fact the first draft of this was reminisces of our battles on convention but they doesn’t make sense here. none of this does
friday morning i call. her partner answers her phone, he’s crying and that’s it. a different kind of wtf. the three of us saw each other the week before; looking back she seemed less like herself… the underground stage of RTS
her viewing is my first viewing, i’ve never seen a body all made up the way they do. up-close, it’s a lot. the funeral home is full and everyone is sad. people cry. some of the girls scream. everyone’s dressed in their best blacks (a normal color choice for her mourners on any day). it’s uncomfortably somber. i think: this is not the funeral the girl i knew would want – the girl i knew would want a bacchanalia. no clothes allowed. i say that to the girls and they laugh, if only for a moment. it’s true, though you may not know it without the reminisces of the first draft.
her father gives a sullen speech. it’s short. he pauses then tells everyone the ceremony is over. and that’s it: friendship’s over
note to a friend
made up hands
or the what happened to the book story…
and/or the what are you doing with your life(‘tory)
(PUT IRLrpg001 VIDEO HERE)
white cat in window
yr humble narrator (reflected)
listening to tracie spencer’s this house (1990)
from dixie to a lake in michigan
my taste of georgia’s coast draws to a close. an interesting experience and i learned i love living on a beach, but this is not my beach: it is their beach and it is like gummo meets a prequel to wall-e. isn’t it great they have a beach that’s not my beach?
an invitation to lake-house in michigan arrives with perfect timing: hurricane matthew
my drive to the lake house is pleasant, introspective, full of hard rain – not quite “baptismal” though it has the cleansing vibe one looks for in hard rain. i stop in ashville – i like it there and the iyengar studio has nice views of the mountains which, though hard to see beyond all the prop-cities, is just lovely. my prop city had a million blankets
pulled over in ohio – no ticket
the cottage has been in the friend’s family for a hundred years. it gets the sunsets across the lake. what a treat! a reward for the taste of a place well-done ferrrrrsure
me in hammock
sunset through glass
sunset across the lake
neighbor / kindered spirit
i and dog
lotus and a wink
bike the trail
listening to jonathan wilson’s the way i feel (2011)
if ever pulled-over for speeding in ohio, i recommend the butterfly landing on the hand experience. it was an unexpected yet playful take on the classic traffic stop. the butterfly was soothing and the officer engaging. i got off with warning and a story. how do you get off?
other traffic stops
• 14/Aug2015 – pulled over with the saints
• 29/Mar2012 – pulled over in spartanburg
chatham county, georgia
spanish moss doesn’t play for the camera. try and try to take pictures of her but it’s no use, she’s to be felt. savannah too. the old town and its squares, the gospel coming from the churches on sundays, the cargo boats, the dress and the dialect, sometimes i can’t tell if it’s authentic or retro but it doesn’t matter, things are the way they are and that’s how the south would have everything if it could. after a month in the city i move to the beach. i wake up and meditate by the ocean then go to yoga before going to work at a little restaurant in an old house, it’s not bad – ice cream everyday
the baywatch movie is filming on the beach.
listening to bombino’s tar hani (2011)
south into dixie
listed five places from the map and moved to the first one that came back to me in conversation. proximity to the ocean’s the primary calling. is it really a move? on this drive, at this moment, i’m thinking: i’ll only stay long enough to taste
this year needs a bindle
the whole of golden hour’s spent watching the above house change colors. there’s nothing inside it. the tree in the photo above is as big and old as it looks.
shirt and shoes implied
on fields of soft sand
out of the empire rain (allegory implied)
listening to rhythm & sound’s mango drive (2001)
friends bought a farm
dutchess, new york
the farm is and was a lot of things. 70 acres, two hours from brooklyn, neglected for decades. it’s rumored to have at one point been a roadhouse and a country retreat for city workers at another. it was a summer camp for zionist youth then a family’s discarded escape. the main house was built in the 1700’s, expanded in the 1800’s, and again in the 1950’s. some of the camp era bunk houses still stand with hearts and flowers and anti-‘nam graffiti on the walls. in its present state, it’s an evolving dream of what it will become. this is phase one
the main house
a bunk house in the woods
bunk house sixteen
bunk house thirteen
z and c
this fire burned for a week
amp graffiti circa vietnam
the suburbs are domesticating city life. lyme is the new mugging.
listening to bob dylan’s oh sister (1976)
the [road] journey returns – part five
off u.s. 6 and 30
at certain places, at special points, after a nice thought or a nice experience i’d pick up a stone from wherever i was and trade it with the one from where i was before. on the last day i grabbed the last rock shortly before sunset, the next morning i left it at the destination
this one’ll do
triangle motel. 43.20 a night cash only
listening to color haze’s mountain (2004)
the [road] journey returns – part four
pennsylvania, usa – (pictures of pictures)
my friend remembers when the plane crashed. she was in school. everything stood still, everyone glued to the television. world-changing events unfolding in new york, dc, and a field twenty miles away. it was a confusing time with no one sure what would happen next. that evening, several states away, i went on a first date with a college girl. it led to dry-humping in a parking lot. not sure what my friend did, we didn’t know each other then. she was probably less-chaffed, but without asking i can’t know for certain. i cruise the appalachian hills of coal and stay the night at my friends folk’s place. fellow traveler coming through with the beautiful gift of a home-cooked meal and a town tour. i hit the road after breakfast. pass a junkyard on a rolling hill and take a picture of a billboard of jesus, an airplane, and abortion.
flight 93 memorial
the permanent memorial opened a month ago. minimalist concrete, stone, and slate grow out from the sloping land. people lost their lives here. the mood at the memorial is curious. not quite somber, more like the line at a dinner buffet. i sit in the sun on the walkway listening to the conversations: “jet fuel can’t melt steel beams” is a popular topic. questioning the truth of the official story is another. the leaves are colorful in autumn change.
gettysburg, adams county, pennsylvania
the site of the battle of gettysburg is one hundred miles from the flight 93 memorial. fifty thousand soldiers lost their lives on this place. this battle changed the course of the civil war. the vibe is mackinaw city meets silver dollar city. after exploring the historic grounds, one can purchase souvenirs in one of the many gift shops around town and of course no trip to gettysburg would be complete without enjoying delicious ice cream at its several parlors – i sure did
epitaph for a post
it’s been a big couple days on this what-it-means-to-be-america side-quest: lots to think about. like if the town of gettysburg is what it is a hundred years after the civil war, is property around the flight 93 memorial a wise long-term investment?
the war on terror would have to be nostalgically branded into historical fetishism the way the civil war has but america is almost numb enough for a 9/11 reenactment (l.a.r.p.) scene to kick off so it’s possible. everything in this great nation is // the day after 9/11 our fax machine started getting advertisements for old glory everything- it was a bonanza
listening to little river band’s it’s a long way there (1975)