Base Camp is where visitors go to relax, unwind, and get familiar with an anthology of earlier material.

Night Melting – A Meditation


Photo by Paulo Barcellos Jr. –

New York. Beautiful. Powerful. Rooted in vision. Granite foundations. Settlement and port for the expeditionary who seeks comfort in the wake of distress and discovery of the unknown. Who advances in spite of it, because nothing matters to him more than time spent in new and unfolding terrain. The world is too interesting not to explore. It lies beneath his feet, awaiting his next step.

Lies beneath his feet. He smirks at the irony as he marches into it, toward another perspective, trampling on the falsehoods that hold things up. An owl sits on his shoulder and screams like a banshee. The sky undulates and melts like a black candle that drips to the ground and coagulates over holes made by buckshot fired from heaven. Love heavenly love. God’s deadliest weapon.

He grabs his pillow and lays his hand on it gently. He places his head on it, smiles and pulls the trigger. Blood spatters on the glass and into the heavens, onto the stars and planets in the far distance, dripping away, falling into the cold bottomless space in long shiny crimson threads. Something rumbles below. Lightning erupts. Rips the darkness in two and the black abyssal sheet is yanked apart and a white light bursts through it and floods the field and singes his sight until all he can do is stumble around like a deer caught in the beams of a juggernaut speeding down the highway at one hundred miles an hour, honking its horn and stopping for nothing as it roars and revs and growls through the light and smashes into him with vengeance unleashed from the depths of despair. The rage of a life spent in the eye of the hunter, in the shadow of people’s polite smiles and pretensions, does not negotiate its advance. It rips through the flesh and shatters bone and ligament. The light goes out and the night bursts back, splashed across the field, morphs again, dripping, dripping down to a ground torched and prepared for divine impregnation.

Something begins to stir and grow. A series of fresh bones and ligaments and thick arteries and interwoven veins and capillaries flowing with red and yellow juices assemble into form. A monument of lives and dreams sophisticated and mechanic that rumbles without pause. The city of New York emerges from the curd to fill his vision.

He steps right in. Takes a deep breath and spreads his arms. Life bursts through a billion openings, casting long shadows down the bustling roads, up the towering walls of this beautiful, powerful and magnificent hell. New York. City of dreams. State of wonder.