the gristle of history
There's been a lot of fires set in recent months – all by the same person, no doubt. One of our local firebugs has developed a taste for abandonment, burning down the memories I'd rather nature be left to rot and rust. This was one of my favorites, found with my wife on the week before our wedding, and revisited countless times since. It was featured in my book, Dereliction Is Better than Fiction, where I shared my photos/prose and called it Cryer's Paradise. That name comes from an old Ron Hynes song, but now all her weeping is over. She's dead and gone, like Mr. Hynes himself, just ash and cinder, blown by with the dust of last year's crops. It's a shame to see time cut to the chase, because with sturdy walls and a metal roof, there was a lot of crumbling coming. But despite the bastard arsonist, there's still love lingering, grisly beauty in the gristle of history smoldering. Here's to what's hanging on.
the gristle of history
There's been a lot of fires set in recent months – all by the same person, no doubt. One of our local firebugs has developed a taste for abandonment, burning down the memories I'd rather nature be left to rot and rust. This was one of my favorites, found with my wife on the week before our wedding, and revisited countless times since. It was featured in my book, Dereliction Is Better than Fiction, where I shared my photos/prose and called it Cryer's Paradise. That name comes from an old Ron Hynes song, but now all her weeping is over. She's dead and gone, like Mr. Hynes himself, just ash and cinder, blown by with the dust of last year's crops. It's a shame to see time cut to the chase, because with sturdy walls and a metal roof, there was a lot of crumbling coming. But despite the bastard arsonist, there's still love lingering, grisly beauty in the gristle of history smoldering. Here's to what's hanging on.