New Adventures In Daywalking

We parked in a small turnaround and got out of Adam's car. "Look! That is the trail we are going on," he said. It didn't look like much of one but none the less it was the only one. The first few feet were covered with thorny bushes which should have given me an indication of things to come. We ascended the hill at a moderate pace for a few minutes than stopped to admire the view.


This place reminded me of somewhere I had been before but couldn't place it.


We were headed to some caves at the top of a large hill. Soon we arrived at a meadow that was almost completely overgrown by blackberries. The trail vanished into the thorns. So we did the only thing adventurous souls would do: made or own trail. Making our way through the woods in an attempt to avoid the sea of thorns that populated the area proved to be a challenge, then over one ridge,
to where we faced the incline of another. It had been a long time since I had been in a place that untouched, or at least not recently touched. Here and there we found overgrown skitter trails and old stumps of trees logged decades ago. Along the damp forest floor the dead wood was just the top phase of the soil. There were several logs that I stepped on that turned to dust under my feet. At the top of the next ridge were huge steep rocks. This is where Adam had remembered the caves.

Adam

We made our way up a winding trail to the rocks. I was ill equipped for the expedition in my treadless Dr. Martins but made it up a steep rock on the second attempt despite my now aching ribs. The caves were more like canals that led down through the rocks from one open space to another. I didn't want to take pictures because I just wanted to be in the moment. I figured I might internally use them as an excuse to not go there again. I had sweat the toxins out of my body. It felt great. We made our way down between two rocks to a ledge where Adam had lost his machete on a previous expedition. It was about six feet wide and led to the entrance of another cave. We climbed inside. There was some red spray paint on the walls. In large letters "LARRY AND ELLEN" and below that "ELLEN AND JOHNNY". "Man, Ellen is a whore," Adam said. I didn't trust this "Ellen". I wondered about the bones that we had come across at the bottom of the ledge.


"We better leave before Ellen gets back," I grinned.

South of the cliffs we jumped a barbed wire fence and walked into a meadow. All the thorny bushes had been flattened. I still had my walking stick. We made our way down a road and eventually arrived at what first appeared to be a crooked shelter. Then to our right there were several others spaced out at the bottom of a rock face some fifty feet high. After review we came to the realization that they were once used for feeding cows.


Eventually we made in down through the meadow to the road where Adam used my walking stick to prop a gap in the barbed wire so we could get through. Night had fallen and we made or way back to Adam's car. It was a hell of a time in all its peculiarity and eeriness. And totally worth it.

daywalking

The light of day is not a disease but more like an allergy. Not an ultimate daily obstacle but an itching inconvenience. Blinds drawn I lay in wait, then I remember that I work days. I won't turn to ash any sooner than the rest of the world. Can I at least get a cloud so my head doesn't hurt. When all this comes back around I will be cursing the rain. More to come, but less of this.

Fear of mange ridden animals

It was a camping trip and I was with several friends hiking in an undisclosed location. Undisclosed to my consciousness that is. We were in the forest and they had a dog. This was a very large brown dog. It had the body of a German shepherd but bigger, standing as tall as my hip and had very light brown almost golden hair. We were all walking a trail together, dog on leash, passing a slow moving narrow stream. The dog stopped with ears perched. We stopped as well and stood silently hoping to hear whatever it had. It barked toward the woods then started to run, jerking free with the leash held by one of my friends. We tried to chase after but the dog disappeared into the woods. We searched late into the night with no success.

Fast forward about a week. I was in a house that I knew to be mine (but it isn't mine, it never is). There were several other people living in this same dwelling. Some adults, some children. Dilapidated and filthy from its overcrowded condition and lack of utilities it was apparent that we didn't have a desirable economic status. It was a slum. I had a copy of the local daily newspaper. I opened it to a full page color photograph of a man being mauled by a dog. A large brown mange ridden dog with enormous bloodshot eyes and a foaming mouth. I started to read the article which described this immense unidentified canine creature. It had been photographed in the act of killing this man. "Why would they print this photo?" I asked myself. A television was on behind me. A local news bulletin came on warning of an animal loose in the city that had reportedly killed a little girl and chased a woman with a baby. Both instances were in our neighborhood. The news anchor strongly advised the community to lock all doors and windows, while authorities hunted the animal. I was in a panic because I knew that somehow, some way and for some reason this dog was coming for us. Running from room to room I tried to lock all the doors and make sure everyone was in the house. I was shutting all the windows and then realized that there were holes in the walls. At the back of the house there was what appeared to have once been a pantry area with stained, dusty shelves and broken glass jars everywhere holding rotten food. On the floor and through the open back door were countless animals. Mostly dogs, cats and chickens. We lived with an out of control coop, all the pens destroyed. The whole place was overrun with strays. I was trying to save them all. Something unexplainable had happened to that dog. More crazy and illogical loose associations. But still connected somehow.

The Bastard

Three words I never capitalize even at the beginning of a sentence.

god
christmas
olives

The Commute via RRV

He walked out of the office building and stood motionless on the steps for a moment as the cars past on the busy street. It was a winter night in the city. The rain dripped off the brim of his fedora. He had no raincoat and his suit soon became saturated. Almost in a trance he fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, then a match. On the second try he took a long hard drag and exhaled upward staring into the night sky. As he ashed the wet cigarette broke in half. This was of little concern to him. He blinked repeatedly trying to adjust to the street lights. Staring at green font on a computer monitor for the last ten hours his eyes felt dry and irritated. He felt like an insect staring up at the skyscrapers that surrounded him. He turned to look at his place of employment. The office he was just in was about fifty stories up. It seemed so strange that only a few minutes had passed since he was there and now looking up at the rows of identical windows he didn't know where "there" was. This also was of little concern to him. There were countless times where he didn't know where "there" was or how much time had actually elapsed. He shrugged and grinned slightly as he made his way down the steps and turned on the sidewalk, walking down the street to the commuter station. He didn't even understand how it worked. As he walked past the alley next to his building he looked back at the black spray paint graffiti on the side. It was large and in all caps.

PAY TO PARK. PAY TO LIVE. PAY TO DIE.

No one worked these hours anymore. Most of his colleagues worked through the night and caught the first commuter of the morning. He was alone and waited under the small shelter knowing that it wouldn't be long. The commuter was like clockwork. Never early, never late. It never stopped, never accelerated, never decelerated. He opened his briefcase and pulled out his route recognition vest and slipped in on over his head. It was like that of a construction worker, but electronic, and the built in sensors gave it a very reflective quality. On the bottom left hand side of the vest was the keypad. Route 126 was the way home. He saw the commuter making it's long gliding turn up the street and stepped closer to the magnetic rail, waiting for it to pass. As it did, the ray of light from the gun mounted to the side struck the sensors on his vest. He shut his eyes and the rain stopped. Wiping the water off his face, he looked up at the commuter station sign. COMMUTER STATION ROUTE 126. His apartment was three buildings down.