Daytrip to Jersey:

I pulled over on a winding suburban street that was utterly without distinction, an aluminum sided domicile depot--one of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of tree-lined wastelands in this country today. I took a snapshot of a 25 mph Speed Limit sign. It was white with the usual authoritative black lettering, and affixed to a green metal post. Behind it was a wooden telephone pole and behind that a hunched Cypress tree. I tried to capture the progression from the man-made to the natural. Nearby was a chain link fence threaded with a hideous, shiny green vinyl. Who thinks up this kind of stuff? Imagine, there are whole factories devoted to creating this vinyl, just like there are factories that mass produce tiny Ziploc baggies with cartoon marijuana plants printed across them. I snuck a couple of shots of a group of pre-teen girls riding scooters and talking to one another on Nextel walkie-talkies. "What the fuck?-Over. What the fuck?-Over," they said when they saw me taking pictures. I was thrown off by their toughness. I assumed I'd be calling all the shots today. They wore their outfits of puffy pastel colored jackets, skin tight jeans and Capri pants from Old Navy and the Gap like they were Prada and Gucci. I ducked back into my ride as they ran over to report me to the thirty something mother keeping watch on a porch. Her arms were folded, her face smooth and pleasant. I think it’s safe to say she doesn't know anyone who died from a gun shot or drugs.

I drove as fast as I could, disappearing into the graffiti adorned Palisades.

High above the city.

High above the lonely spaces.

I slipped through the door

I slipped through the scene

You pretended to be sleeping as I rummaged frantically through the drawer.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked without seeing

“…don't bring that stuff to bed…you've got to fall with a clear head…”





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