storming the hurricane beach; lesson learned

sunday morning, i looked out my window and decided that i would be “one of those people” who have to do the unwise and go to the beach as tropical storm irene passes over the new york area.
going, i already acknowledge that i won’t be able to make it into fort tilden and at best, might make it to floyd bennett field to survey “glass-carnage” at the windows of recently-gutted “hangar one” where the banks of old glass panes on the huge, sliding doors are an antonioni movie waiting to happen.
this is an older photo of the hangar in question;

as not to bore my faithful readers – the two new ones and the creepy-desperate one who’s been stalking me (yes, i’m being stalked – and i’m serving notice to you dear, selfish, whiney, horrible reader who i probably know and more than likely, pity) – i’m not going to link this note with past references. i have an earlier note – started three days before the storm – and will incorporate that because it’s got loads of incidental crap and – by the way – has to do with more said, “weasel-behavior” from other vermin-like humans, prior to the stalker described above.
there’s been a spate of this going on in and around my little orbit of friends and loved ones – they and i are being subjected to what i call “random acts of despicability” – yes, more than likely not a word till now, but give it time… – and i’m wondering if it has to do with this culture, the ever-increasingly-desperate world, a virus of pathetic stupidity or simply luck-of-the-draw out there on the fine, green-felt tables located all over the big casino, trillions of miles west of “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension” or whatever….
(well, i gotta link some things.)

but i digress…off on a tangent.

tangent – noun – 1. george hamilton

i kid, i kid….but seriously;
as i drove up to the small entrance road to floyd bennett field, i saw park-police cars ahead barricading the road. a quick U-turn later, i followed cars heading to the gil hodges-marine parkway bridge which was open, so i stuck the e-z pass onto the windshield and hoped for the best.

such joy! the scanners were off – free ride to fort tilden.
to my right, the road to breezy point and the fisherman’s parking lot was barricaded by more police cars (NYC type), so i turned left and drove to my, “secret-default-one parking area,” a just-made-up name of a place i’ve used a few times when i needed to.
i parked, threw on the blue “georgetown” hoody, pulled out the wfmu record-bag full of supplies, tossing it over my shoulder, secured the camera in a belt-holster on my hip and with a big, excited dog on a long leash in my hand, ducked in through a side entrance of the fort and felt the negative ions feed me.
if you don’t know, that’s a good thing, hence the link.
this is the first photo i took;

my journey felt promising.
i would remember to exercise caution on my hike, acknowledging the small gulf between foolish and stupid.
i am foolish.
i try to keep stupid down to a minimum.

i snapped away, working toward the dunes, hoping to remain under the park-police radar. making it onto the beach, i noticed two other bands of adventurers in the distance. we shared the conspiratorial joy of being here.
i just know it.
we acknowledged each other with furtive waves and head bobs. we made it here and it was every beach adventurer for himself.
the tide was low but the waves churned.
i found myself photographing the one, little tern (lower-left-corner) at this bay again and again.
it walked unimpressed, busy about its business –

the beach at low-tide offers an expansive look, and the wind bit into our skin as we walked westward against the eastern howl.
i DID note that this was not an unforgettable experience. there was no drama or small buildings being thrown around here, but it was a force to be reckoned with.
i’m a believer that everything is a force to be reckoned with.

i believe that a broken shoelace can start a war…
that one person’s decision to do something good could affect an entire planet…for a moment.
and little more.
humanity is flighty and will, in the end, do something far stupider than go to the beach during a hurricane, but will inevitably continue to survive just like other species will and do…just like that tern; but maybe us, like them, are nothing more than lucky.
ahhh, luck.
so much the object of my thought.
so much the hotwire to my childhood and my first walk into the void. the still-comfort of that place that humms and whistles at times, assuring me of….nothing.
because there is always nothing.
it’s where i come from and it’s a pretty amazing place.
it’s the space between the roll of the dice.
it the distance between the cause and the effect.

i didn’t need assurances of the miraculousness of this moment.

just like things that have an overwhelming occupation of being yellow, were being yellow this day.
i walked from beach to dune to beach.
i clicked and clicked and clicked.

i photographed interstellar maps for the first time in a while. i knew that i had to and it had nothing to do with my friend – the one who talks like eduardo ciannelli and looks like omar sharif – who may or may not have been in the fishermans parking lot, just west of here…

http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l213/sbluemon/earth%20reclamation%20project/SAM_3862.jpg

it might have to do with my future journey, or maybe it was telling me where i came from.
maybe i’ll find my friend there, maybe not.
i photographed distant places and electronic images, seared onto the pallet of sand.
the black and greys that comprise the “faxes” i see, are made of iron that whips in the air here.
you can look it up.
or you can reach back here and read about it, the day i came here and the entire beach was black.

i would walk and shoot and walk some more. there’s loads of pics in photobucketland.
we would, after about two hours, decide to go home.
i took a path that lead to a path that lead to the path i took when i got here.
as i approached the area where i took that first photo of the wind’s havoc on signs and barriers, i saw this;

i can go on about whether this was a hurricane or not, or whether anything matters about anything.
and that previous note i wanted to incorporate into this?
why bother?
maybe later.

About stephen trimboli

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