Journal

I found a small shrine yesterday, down by the Hudson overlooking the railroad tracks. The trail runs maybe forty feet above the tracks, with a pretty steep drop—there’s an iron fence along it to keep you from trespassing/breaking your neck.

There’s also, as is customary with iron fences, a gap where those who are intent on trespassing/breaking their necks can try their luck. I went through it and noticed a narrow path along the cliff, leading to a small, graffitied ledge.

At first, the only notable thing seemed to be the graffiti, but when I edged past the ledge, I realized that there was a little cave behind it, in which someone had placed a tiny blue ceramic ram and a rock with “Peace” painted on it. I scootched a little closer, keeping an eye on where I was stepping—slip, and it wouldn’t be a fun ride down. Whoever picked this spot picked it well.

I sat there for about twenty minutes. It’s one of the most peaceful spots I’ve found in a while, despite the occasional train down below.

Went back through the fence and an elderly man was pulling up his trousers, staring at me with the dumb, frozen expression of the perpetually oblivious. He’d been urinating on the trail, not even realizing I was about thirty feet away. Wasn’t wearing a mask, either.

Went back to my apartment a few nights ago to get some of my stuff. No lights, no people—they’d shut off the power and heat and kicked everyone out. I felt a little like I was sneaking into Chernobyl: geared up with a mask and gloves, unsure of what I’d find.

The apartment was a mess, worse than I’d left it—tarps and materials everywhere, furniture moved around. It is a damned eerie thing to walk into what would normally be “home”, wearing protective gear and navigating by the flashlight on your phone, hearing nothing and no one. No signs of life, and an oddness about the air. Hard to place…sort of a dry, chemical odor, but more, I’d say, the absence of anything else. Maybe this is what buildings smell like when nobody else is around.

I wandered through the place, feeling like a ghost. There won’t be any life in here for the foreseeable future. I’m staying with a friend; everyone else was resettled by the Red Cross, or their renters’ insurance, or whoever was willing to take them. I don’t how many people have been in here since I moved out. Builders and maintenance people, certainly; maybe the fire department, or building inspectors. Who knows.

What we’re looking at here is the roof of my apartment building. A wolf of a wind attempted to blow my house down—and failed, fortunately—so it had to settle for the roof instead.

The Poughkeepsie Journal says this happened last Sunday night. I can tell you it happened around 10:45 Monday morning, because there is a message from me in Vassar’s Web Development Slack channel around that time that says something along the lines of “holy WTF, I think my roof is gone.” I’d just seen it go by.

I’d been hearing the wind all night, and around ten that morning—just as I was starting to think it was giving up—it picked up significantly: hurling itself against the building at intervals, spitting and howling. I noticed, with some alarm, that the building was starting to shake, and the bits and pieces flying past the window were getting bigger.

I was wondering if I should head for the basement…and I remember a shuddering thud, as though something huge had struck the building. And then a vast black structure tumbled by the window, crumpling onto the ground outside and flattening my neighbor’s fence.

The building is currently evacuated—heat and power shut off, the doors locked and alarmed. Some residents are being put up by the Red Cross, and some of us opted for whatever our renters’ insurance would cover. I’m crashing with my friend Sarah, having spent the past seven days frantically finishing one the more work-intensive Vassar sites I’ve built in a while. It’s been a week.

I broke my ironclad rule of no coffee after 3pm. Last cup was about seven hours ago, and I could probably use another one now, but I’ve settled for Tom Waits, “Goin’ Out West.” At the right volume, and combined with the melatonin-shattering properties of a computer screen at full brightness, it’s a reasonable substitute for around 100mg of caffeine.

There’s a cold, sharp smell of smoke in the air outside—something I haven’t smelled since winter—and Waits is just now getting to the best part…or at least the most relevant part, given recent circumstances:

I’m gonna drive all night
Take some speed
I’m gonna wait for the sun
To shine down on me
I cut a hole in my roof
In the shape of a heart

The wind was going all night, and it’s still going—not raging now, so much as drunkenly stumbling around, banging into things as the light starts to show. There’s something squeaking out there—a porch swing or something, I haven’t heard it before. I’m tempted to go out and investigate, but I can’t find the energy…and anyway, there’s stuff to be done.

Apple Music, for reasons of its own, is serving up Tom Waits croaking something about a downtown train—wait, did he write this song? Jesus…he did! I only knew the Rod Stewart version—and I’m seeing now that Stewart’s cover came out four years later. That was the only one the local stations ever played. Not surprising, maybe. Stewart had the voice for songs like this. Waits sounds like a grizzly bear; not a voice crafted for sensitive ballads.

Anyway, I was wandering through my photos earlier and I ran across this one: the last thing I’d see every morning before heading into my office, at least if the sky was clear and the wind was right. Vassar may be a “left-wing Ivy-League whorehouse,” as our Westboro friends phrased it, but we still retain some nominal measure of national pride. I’ve heard there are a few people in campus who know a thing or two about American history, and they would no doubt be happy to explain how the traditional American values currently bandied about by various conservative ogres began as—and continue to be—radically liberal ideas. Religious freedom? Choosing one’s leadership? Human rights? Imagine what King George might have said about that on Fox And Friends.

I miss that flag. Guessing it’s in a different position on that pole right now.