Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Surround Me Now, Like Holy Water

Well, since I'm playing mad catch up, I thought I'd post as much as possible, but with skipping a bit between the fourth and fifth photo. In between that was when I went into The Barrens. That train going by plays a part in things. I'm walking due west on Ashland Avenue, looking north. Any other photo of the creek I have taken has been looking south from the el platform. In one photo, you can see the el at the station. The concrete pillars and roadway belong to Interstate 55, which will take you to Peoria and then St. Louis. I really do think that the sharp angles and textures came out great, I didn't crop anything here. Some great views of the bridge overlooking the creek. Look through the bridge at the abandoned factory and the broken window. What's in there? The last photo is taken from the same position as the open window one, I just pivoted west to show the direction my train will eventually come from. The Sears Tower is visible in a few of the photos, and you can even see the ozone. At least, if they come out clear on the blog. Ah, to visit the bottom of Bubbly Creek, as jagged as the angles in the photos, the rotted bones of the century-old carcasses like my own body, right hip bone jammed into my left elbow socket haphazardly, the cracked cartilage of broken bones and holes from screws and plates that never stayed put. (You can see those fellows in the photo by Martel to the right, under Hourman, who gets an hour of power from taking a Miraclo pill, just as I can maybe get sixty minutes in before I break apart into a hunched monster. Its a full moon tonight, and I used to be able to snarl like a werewolf in between keystrokes. I'm something out of a silent movie now, a dead-eyed Conrad Veidt, silent like the things beneath Bubbly Creek, surrounded by water that is hallowed and holy...Wayne


Charles Gramlich said...

You gave me a lot of visuals here. I see you coming apart. Elbows here. Knees there. Shoulders hunching as the muscles contract, relax, contract. Teeth babbling on their own, clacking against an empty mandible. Fingers tapping, always tap tapping. Writing screams as pieces of Wayne slick/slide over the floor. Searching for home, for Bubbly Creek.

James Robert Smith said...

When Mankind is not even a memory in the heads of the rats and cats and dogs and pigeons who will inherit the Earth, I wonder how long it will take Nature to peel the poisons out of Bubbly Creek and bury them?