a couple of days ago i mentioned how i seemed to have stopped shaving….well, it ends like this….
maybe it’s a matter of balance.
i chose not to photograph the moustache and the ratty chin-shit growing below it.
it’s a work in progress; my ratty ‘stash, this planet and the entire universe.
a while back when it snowed (the snow between the blizzard and the “minor” snowstorm a few days ago), i returned to the genesis of the “earth reclamation project,” – the name of the file on the photobucket account that houses pics of old airplane hangars at floyd bennett field, a nuclear missile site at fort tilden and the glass-filled dissolving landfill of “dead horse bay” at gateway national park,….
but i digress – i was speaking about photographing the hangar –
and attempted to sneak in with my new camera and document another year of one particular place filled with such beauty and otherlife that i am drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
there is less roof everytime i go there.
there are more warnings prohibiting me from being where i love to be.
last time here i was admonished by a green-uniformed federal official and chased away.
this time the above photo was all i’d get, but not because of government intervention.
maxx posed-up real nice when i took this bearlike photo.
i liked it so much that i took another;
when he rose after these photos and began to walk around, i saw large red spots in the white snow.
i immediately hustled maxx into the car and began cleaning and assessing the damage to his front-right paw.
my time at floyd bennett was over.
i wrapped him up and headed home, one hand holding the makeshift bandage, applying slight pressure on the wound.
i was a concerned parent or as close to one of those as i’ll ever be.
quiet panic welled up in me like when buddy was dying four years ago.
maxx was bleeding and i was all out of joint about it, though he didn’t think of it as that big a deal.
after a few days of peroxide baths and bandages that would be chewed off and left around the loft, maxx healed well enough to return to the beach the morning after the newest snow…..
…. with this, he was again the happiest dog on the planet and i took my winter portrait of him where he charges at me, hurling his near hundred pounds of madhappy canine directly in my path.
this year i would side-step him.
an old boy and his dog.
neither of us are getting any younger though my concern had more to do with the camera than my carcass.
later in the hike i would meet maxx head on as we do and be flattened on a deep-snowed path. the camera would be safely encased and out of harm’s way when that happened. i would laugh and maxx would lick my face.
as i lay there looking up at the blue sky i would wonder about the likelihood of hearing from my friend. the wind would cease.
a quiet would settle over where i am. the hiss would begin and it would seem like a vacuum…..like being drawn into the peal of a galactic bell being rung from the dawn of it all….
the humm and vibration underlying everything that i’m connected to here, at this moment.
this moment being what?
big and lumbering and slow-moving and seeming to be a vortex-y feeling kind-of-thing that i remember before i passed out once.
like a dope-nod meets a seizure. like a dream skirts eternity.
all in a matter of seconds.
i look everywhere for my friend.
i know she exists in these fractals, these sputterings and skitches.
these would be maps to those places where i’d find her.
the math involved in reading them has various degrees of joy and despair factored into them.
it’s the same kind of thing you need to assess when working out who’s the lucky ones in front of an arizona safeway, who’s the unlucky ones taking an unscheduled river-ride through brisbaine, australia and what accounts as good or bad fortune on a brazilian mudslide.
for my money…..ha!…..i can assure you of one thing;
the offshore breeze was heading east the moment i took this photo.
and that’s all i got;
cause and effect.
lucky and unlucky.
here and gone.
i don’t doubt that i’ve been quietly overwhelmed with my friend’s situation. for the longest time i’ve hinted about her and “it” and won’t stray very far from this path though she had given me license to speak of her openly, but still i prefer to speak about these matter in an historical context rather than current notewriting (maybe not a word but still better than that other word) so her anonymity remains and she’ll be my subject of factual fiction or fictional fact along with the grifting lazards that i’ve known – particularly the one that sounds like eduardo ciannelli and looks like omar sharif and maybe the ones who wore ken lay, ayn rand and the madoff son who DIDN’T hang himself, the one i saw being ripped open that day in the parking lot, but you’ll have to find that posting.
as i look for the note that introduced madoff’s son the day he sped past me and maxx on the path headed toward his fate in the parking lot at fort tilden, i brighten – if that’s the word – as i see the dates of these postings and do the math regarding my friend and me.
“oh…this was written before we began our communications…..,” or “this was when we were able to communicate freely and constantly,” and so on.
i count the snowstorms we shared, even though she was “over there”.
i wonder if these newest snows count though i know that they’ll be filed as they are mentioned at this moment.
i wonder if she knows about them. i wonder if her dreams know about them.
such thoughts break me up into shards of sad glass littered on the sands of dead horse bay. i recall learning her middle name as i walked this beach speaking to her on the phone, not that it accounts to much, but it raises the spectre of how i arrange my priorities and how something so trite should be so big a memory when much of my thought dismisses the importance of anything as a matter of “universal course.”
maybe what i’m attempting to say here is that my/today’s hunger to link to the divine becomes seated in being able to laser onto something – friendship, love, pain, the good, the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension, the big casino, heaven (heaven forbid) or hell (ditto), the big math….whatever it takes to link to “that” which is eternal.
and oh…this too will pass.
and pass again, like the sputterings of my molecularness and atomicnicity, two more “unword” reasons that the sense of anything i think is an open gulf of endless possibilities.
yesterday i heard an expert on NPR say that there might be as many as ten dimensions out there, in the out there.
i found myself laughing out loud with a mock sigh of relief.
galactically speaking, maybe i’m an expert, too.
intergalactically speaking, it’s hard to be wrong when talking this stuff.
but it also sobered me to the thought of finding my friend and wondered at the chances.
would i use a pack of twizzlers as my divining rod?
sitting here at the bench that overlooks the marsh of the great blue heron, i wonder at this.
they forecast snow for tonight, another opportunity for mapmaking.