me and maxx went to fort tilden today. i needed to let maxx run but more importantly, i wanted to take that long walk and photograph riis park. my musings in the previous note seemed to have gotten the better of me. i don’t feel the file or google-found-images adequately told the story i was trying to tell.
i was so prepared to tweak my previous story, i brought a compact-spiral notebook that fit into one of the pockets of coat i was wearing today.
it’s pen-length (there’s a pen in the spiral to prove it) and 3/4’s of that wide and like it says, “fat.” someday i’m going to load that up with things that are on my mind.
not only was i going to write more details into that last entry, i want to expound on other pieces of the puzzle that my life with the con-artist lizards i’ve come to know.
i was going to make notes about all of these other things that don’t come to mind when you need them to, like now….for the life of me, i had so much to think and write about while i was walking out there, but…….
in another pocket was the camera for, as i said, i felt i didn’t have control of the visual aspect of the situation the last time out. in another pocket was my phone and still another pocket was a large bottle of water and a bunch of mother hubbard’s bite-sized dog biscuits.
this coat has a bunch of pockets and i used most of them today.
which reminds me (though i don’t know how) –
FROM THE GLOSSARY –
Constructivism – A theoretical perspective that proposes that learners construct a body of knowledge from their experiences – knowledge that may or may not be an accurate representation of external reality. Adherents to this perspective are called constructivists.
i’m guessing that there’s either “a lesson about” or “an example of” what “constructivism” is in my ramblings here, most likely in those moments that drift in from the recesses of time.
i guess that’ll be the sentence i’m supposed to use the word in.
as i began my journey from the parking lot a couple of miles west of where i took most of today’s photographs – that place where i either begin or end my days chatting with one grifting lizard from mars or another – maxx and i walked at the ocean’s low-tide edge and while my dog was consumed with catching a gull, i became consumed with death.
i imagined dropping dead as i walked.
i didn’t have the inclination to take out my fat little notebook and make notes.
you can’t drop dead and walk and take notes all at the same time, even if you’re just thinking about dropping dead. at least, at that moment, i couldn’t.
in my mind, i stepped forward with my right leg and instead of my left leg following, i imagined my right leg folding forward, knee to sand, with the rest of my body falling in the direction of the right knee; arms and hands, limp and already dead as me, lost appendages at my sides hitting the sand ahead of my chest. i end face-in-the-sand, a line in the sand.
i wondered why this series of images – these stark, stop-motion photographic flashes in my mind – came at the moment they did. i wondered if it had to do with the commercial i watched last night, after the obama speech, where a fifty-three-year-old guy talks about his heart attack and lipitor. i just put the link to the word “lipitor.” that commercial is on the lipitor web page. the 53 year-old-guy is named Steve A.
i chose to not hit the “play” button.
i’m getting away from the point.
the thought of death for me was not about me. i wondered what would happen to maxx.
it was about maxx. at least i think it was about maxx and the moment.
would maxx just keep chasing gulls?
i wondered, but dismissed the question, if that commercial had anything to do with it or if the fast approaching anniversary of my brother’s passing was the death-trump card.
next week it’ll be 19 years since his luck on this plane of existence ran out. as i write this, for all i know, a few of his electrons and neurons and strings and strands might be playing havoc on the eighth electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension. i hope so.
maybe death, for me, is the fear i have of the loss of hope or the sadness i feel at situations that i can’t fix. maybe that’s a form of death. death itself is a place often enough visited.
understanding that folding “just-like-that” is an idealized way to go (doing something i love – nothing) and not having to sweat all of this living i’m currently caught up in…..yes, maybe i wasn’t thinking about dying as much as i was wishing about dying…..that black and white, noir-tinged ironic….”scene”
who knows what i mean? i sure don’t.
as i continued this walk, passing horseshoe crabs who may or may not be alive, these thoughts moved away and i shivered that kind of release of the “bad air” and ushered in “good air”. i was at the decaying – in a good way – jacob riis beach.
mister riis was a “muckraker”.
i remembered that fact from grammar school.
maybe from where i stand, if you can look into the past, you would see the missiles in the distance at the left corner of the photo.
maybe i would be running next to this railing when the wood was still shiny and painted in some all-american enamel, the sound of my sneaker soles thwapping on the pavement.
or peering out at the sea, my arms rested on the missing rail, my feet resting on the straight-as-an-arrow bottom rung, the past melding to this moment right here, right now ——-
and this parking lot would be filled with two-ton, two-toned behemoths of steel and chrome
after a long day like this, wondering how i’ll get out of the mess i’m in, i’d get this kind of headache –