Whistle Blower by Rail Junk on Flickr.
Caught out the wrong train from town, riding dangerously low in the well teetering on a thin metal ledge, feet resting on crossbars inches above the blurry ground track rails, veering. East along unfamiliar miles of off-white and grey buff slabbed trackside freeway walls containing commuted interstates and in-service lightrails, under too many overpasses, too many bridges, past half-lit buildings, stadiums, offices, residences, until street numbered highway signs grew past one hundred, two hundred and light pollution decreased for stars to appear through the thinning fog, yet too much velocity, too momentous a ride to jump from while barreling past grandiose monolithic mountain edges holding scenic fifty foot cascadian waterfalls that poured down heavily on rocks in creeks running to the vast river northern boundary spanning across to reach Washington where trains,sizing like toys, mirrored our own path, leading with bright headlights that shone through the healthy coniferous green rising steep up enormous rock structures, until finally we slowed to a halt where the was blankets of snow laying on the desert ground, where drought tolerant cacti stabbed thorns into my hands upon landing, where the air was cold and thin and the sky, now crisp and clear, displayed unbelievable planetary arced magnificent perspectives of the universe full of ancient and far stars that seemed to pass with precise calculations discerning space and time, and as the tracks curved, rotated brilliantly above my eyes, and the earth there smelled of pungent manure, but there was nothing around except for the lone paralleling highway and a rattled cattle fence built from logs containing a rustic pueblo-like house- using a wood burning stove for heat, the smoke escaping idyllically through the stumpy chimney- that looked borrowed from a Nowhere, New Mexico landscape painting.
There are no mistakes when riding trains, only adventures.
Already Made 12/12 — “Are we super competent or are they just super incompetent?”
The Wreck of the Mary Deare (Curtis Publishing, 1956). Autographed Hard Cover Book
The unwritten rule of tonnage, illustrated.
…what we’re really having a debate about is whether or not we’re going to have a free press left or not. If there are no Snowdens, if there are no Mannings, if there are no Assanges, there will be no free press. And if the press—and let’s not forget that Snowden gave this to The Guardian. This was filtered through a press organization in a classic sort of way whistleblowers provide public information about unconstitutional, criminal activity by their government to the public. So the notion that he’s just some individual standing up and releasing stuff over the Internet is false. But more importantly, what he has exposed essentially shows that anybody who reaches out to the press to expose fraud, crimes, unconstitutional activity, which this clearly appears to be, can be traced and shut down. And that’s what’s so frightening. So, we are at a situation now, and I speak as a former investigative reporter for The New York Times, by which any investigation into the inner workings of government has become impossible. That’s the real debate.
Convenient can storage in the Freedom Tunnel
Monte Cazazza made this sticker in 1979. I put it on my planner this year in an attempt to stay topical and relevant. by ryandais http://bit.ly/13Ay4nS
Marianne Vitale
Diamond Crossing, 2013
decommissioned manganese steel railroad tracks
Installation view at Zach Feuer Gallery, New York
it’s like The Matrix
These iOS Map Glitches Show The Warped Beauty Of Machine Error
