darkness, starkness….

it wasn’t the plan.
i mean, i sat here with the decision (set in some kind of stone) to continue the last note.
i owed something laced with vodka, gasoline and brand-loyalty to a post, but brought maxx out to floyd bennett and fort tilden at midnight with my camera and tripod to photograph in the dark instead, so i have these pictures……
with maxx strolling freely, yours truly fell, time and again, in the darkness over rocks, low-lying wooden posts and baling wire that holds the big, red plastic whoozitzes together across some of the restricted runway accesses.
i learned the hard way, something i understand as, “my process.”
i bought a stereo when i was 20 and didn’t look at the instructions.
in the history of my relationship with a VCR, i never learned to set the clock.
it would stand to reason that i would be lying on an airstrip in the dark this night wondering whether or not i just broke my ankle.
btw/ i didn’t break my ankle.
last year i got in my car and headed across country without a map.
west is that way, right?

with darkness of night and the same in my head…..i didn’t think of this song,
darkness, darkness
, until i began writing.
i may have written about this before, probably mentioning how they stole the show i went to at the fillmore east featuring traffic as headliner in 1969 or so.
….but this trip into the night wasn’t about music.
i’m out here for a slew of reasons but discussing them here would make my head ache all the more…all the way down to the soles of my shoes. most of my footwear is worn, way-thin.
i’d just as well take take photos and leave it at that.

i visited a bunch of places, set the aperture to wide and clicked away.
the moon was fairly bright.
i started on the beach at fort tilden and we walked about a half-mile listening to the slap of waves on the shore at high tide and taking photos.

as of this writing, i received a text from my friend with nothing in it.
i wonder if my dearest of friends has run out of words.
all she did was, “send” and i am eternally grateful for that.
this is a sidenote.
my friend is the ultimate sidenote.
i can see her as the addendum, “the rider,” the final comment to the remainder of my days here.
not looming, but whispering like butterfly-wing beats, songbirds passing messages out here in the green and the sparkle of way-stations leading to “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension,” my direction “west” when i’m gassing up the toyota stationwagon to eternity and then-some.


About stephen trimboli

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