The bog began to freeze
Where the sun came up this morning between two empty horse paddocks as the hunter’s rifle echoed far in the woods behind me.
A brief gold in the trees from the sun setting behind the grandstand as the grandstand’s shadow envelops the racetrack.
"The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving."
"This my excavation"
"Sky is womb and she’s the moon"
My debut EP is currently on the top of the trending chart over @ UndergroundMusic.fm!
I’m up there at the top with Seasick Mama too. Check out her stuff. It fucking rules.
Also, her drummer Will Fegan played on Wait Until Dark. You can check out his site @ willfegan.com.
Before they carved the New York State Thruway out of the mountains between NYC and the Catskills and before impersonal travel plazas warted up that Thruway - Before Disney World and Atlantic City became iconic destinations of the East Coast and well before we thought $3.47 was cheap gas - there was the Red Apple Rest on Route 17.
The Red Apple Rest was directly in the middle of a Yelpless road trip to the mountains from the city.
It was busy as a sea port. It was the South of the Border rest stop of New York with its detonation of billboards counting down the miles to its hot dogs, sodas, and bathrooms.
In 1965 the Rest served one million customers.
Comics such as Jerry Lewis and Milton Berle would trade punchlines there on their way to the Raleigh Hotel.
It was a destination within a destination.
Today the Red Apple Rest is an abandoned, rotting husk. An empty telephone booth leans against its locked doors.
Its roof has sunken in and its welcoming cherry and teal paint has faded.
The Red Apple Rest sign still hangs proudly though above a hand painted For Lease/For Sale sign.
In the cracked and empty parking lot you can hear the rush of the NYS Thruway while standing beneath the giant Apple Rest sign.
Grandma: You know that bullets are faster than your sword.
Me: It depends what movie you’re watching.
Grandma: I don’t know about that.
Me: I’m pretty fast.
Grandma: You need one of those Star Trek sabres that shoots things.
There is a man with a gun in the woods outside my house. He has been running through the forest ever since he robbed a bank and ditched his car earlier today. The car might be hidden in the woods nearby.
I am standing on my bed with four state troopers looking into the forest to see if we can spot any movement. The windows in my room have a good view of the corner of the forest the man is believed to be in.
The troopers are wearing flak vests and I am in gym shorts, holding my USMA sword. I warned the cops about the sword as they followed me upstairs to my room so they wouldn’t be alarmed.
I had been holding my United States Military sword because for an hour before the police arrived all I saw was a helicopter combing the woods with its spotlight. It was obvious something bad was happening in the forest.
The man standing next to me with his boots on my bed is holding a shotgun.
We’ve been told to stay inside. That since we’re the only house on the hill he could use us as hostages. My great danes think otherwise.
In the meantime, I’ll share a demo for a new Future Ancestor song I started last night.
We’ve been staring out the windows since 11pm. Somebody wants me.
Here’s to 5am, my USMA sword, black coffee, the dark forest, and the cops at the bottom of my hill with the spike strip stretched across the road.
"Neither one of us will make it down this hill alive."