the house with the engine in it

weeks ago, i was here without a camera and when i saw what was inside this building, my heart jumped.
i’m not sure what it means….
not that that matters, except it makes me wonder about this fascination with decay and if it’s becoming stronger as i…decay.

just in case you’re one of those who believe “you’re not getting older, you’re getting better,” well, good – oh, uh…BETTER for you.
yesterday, i had a conversation with my 84 year-old, original equipment-father – the one i became friends with in the past fifteen years – ….and chatting with him definitely had touches of the divine interlaced in it, from the lost-in-space sentences to the “grasping-at-straws” attempts at remembering where our conversation came from and was going to, of course dictated by the now-apparent, stream-of-consciousness ramblings from a man whose voice sounds hauntingly like my own.
memo to any piano or safe:
you know where and when to fall.
i’ll meet you there.

but i stray…needing to stay on some kind of point, returning to the day – that sunny day last monday – when i began to click away out here, paying particular attention to the doors and windows, so much in fact that when i got home i understood that these……

…..images are not lost on me…..i mean, of course, that’s what i believe, otherwise, why should i need to frame them as carefully as i do? what’s the point?

why do points of exit and entry, of coming and going mean as much to me as a chapel does to a christian?
and at the same time, being devoid of framing, keying to extraordinary expanse works as well and maybe even better than focal points and the ever-familiar, leading me to believe that this is but an exercise, a place to put words between photos; maybe telling me i am filling space as pointlessly here as the seat from where i type, where my internal whirlygigs and glitchy sputterings continually debate across a table of babble.

and because of this, i poured over my photos and began a new photobucket album and entitled it, “WINDOWS,”-
the windows are the eyes of the soul, or some-other-such wise-assness.
i look at them as arrival and departure at the same time.
“hello, i must be going….,” maybe to or from “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension….
where else?

but i digress…..

today i’m shooting more out here, in the land of the grifting lizards, almost a week since taking the house-engine photos.
there’s loads of them in my photobucket pics under “earth reclamation project.”
this afternoon, i had my first meeting with that eduardo ciannelli-sounding lizard guy (who looks like omar sharif), since my arrival from down under.
he was sitting in a black dodge mini-van and was the only other vehicle in the parking lot aside from my stationwagon today, this windy and rainy and stormy saturday.
when i walked up to the vehicle, he opened the driver’s side window.
i commented, “really? a dodge minivan?”
his reply was a curt, “i knew you were gonna say that.”
rather than go tit-for-tat, i replied, “of course.”
to which he said, “thank you for keeping it short and sweet.”
“pretty funny seeing you in that house in sydney harbor….i really got a kick out of it after the momentary shock of seeing you. i was thinking of telling bob and the girls while we passed by, but let it go…,” i said.
“you’re not thinking about what you’re telling me right now, my friend,” he said, “maybe you might want to retreat into the rain and wind of this day. with this, i will leave you,” and he rolled up his window and started up the van, popped it into reverse and backed up and away, a slight whining sound from the engine as it caught up with the transmission a little later than it should, possibly a reason damlier-benz ran for their lives a few years ago, no doubt a lesson learned even for the smartest of the smart in finding out there’s a world out there that’s chock-full of surprises…..ask chrysler corporation.
i stopped the car just before it was passing me. i hit it with an open palm on the passenger window. the window slid down.
“you never called me ‘my friend’ before. what do you mean by that?”
“i don’t know. i learned it from you,” and off he went.

…but back to the beginning;
maxx and i began this past beautiful monday on the beach of fort tilden where we played fetch with a tree branch at high-tide.
three tosses into the big-wave, churning waters and maxx was bathed.
we looked for the big tire and walked to the marsh of the great blue heron and circled back through the paths where i stopped and bore witness to the spring.

i photographed this branch last year, the year before and the year before that.
i’m sure of it.
i’ve been doing this a while.
some of these paths have become more than acquaintances to me. i have left bits of my soul and sanity here and there among the living and the dead, on the side of the paths, in the trails and here and there in bits of everything, everywhere.
on this day, i would return to a path i hadn’t been on in almost four years, the last time i had my “fuck cancer” cap on my head, the day it was lost in the brambles and branches where maxx and i wandered behind the battery harris east and west sixteen-inch gun placements….,
i knew that on this day that i belonged somewhere else.

i went to the parking lot, jumped in the car and went to photograph the engine house.

i’m as scatterbrained as i’m weak-kneed.
there’s a world of promise for this deterioration to further tomorrow.
ahh, tomorrow.

walking along the length of this engine, from the magneto located at the front to the rear where you can see the exhaust stack (that looks like a giant version of a big-rig’s exhaust – see it extending up and out of the ceiling in back of the above photo) – is over twenty feet long.
the magneto, which turns the engine’s power into electricity is five feet across;

this, in turn, powers everything that’s connected to it, or at least, this is how it looks in that room. it’s what i believe.
like everything everywhere else, it’s all connected.
when me and my friend were walking in australia in search of sydney rock oysters, we walked through weekend crowds streaming past us heading in the opposite direction. in perfect, clear words, these words rang in our ears from someone passing in the opposite direction – “it’s all connected.”
just like that.
it’s become the catch-all phrase replacing, “you know, organically….” as our phrase to end all phrases with.

besides, i think that’s the undeniable, universal truth that’s on the mind and lips of everyone, everywhere now and it’s scaring the bejesus out of some people.
the exceptional.
the ones who just don’t get it and the others who refuse to admit it.
not that it matters, because it doesn’t, really.

that big-ass engine really mattered, once.
and so did everything connected to it.

now it seems to matter to me and maxx this springlike monday, a week ago tomorrow……

About stephen trimboli

var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www."); document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E")); try { var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-6706300-2"); pageTracker._trackPageview(); } catch(err) {}
This entry was posted in Random Stuff. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to the house with the engine in it

  1. Kevin Jones says:

    Hey Steve –

    Great post – musings – pictures.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *