Ski Arkham

photo (3)

Do you believe in fire or ice?  Too hot or too cold like two out of three bears mauling an eternal supply of gullible blonds out there depending on where in the world you have been lough these many months either hiding within some chamber waiting for warmer weather or outside in the tundra wearing nothing but a thong covering whatever you have.  

The deep intense cold of the Northeast of the United States of America or languishing in the now warm and clammy climate of the Canadian wilderness or wherever there is a purge of that arctic air and lack of places for polar bears to stand other than open water.  Hot dry Brazil formerly of the “rain forests,” or California where our nuts come from (Hollywood and actual nuts), or in the Northeast, that is the bitter galleries of stone and Eldridge families lurking in the Mountains of Madness (which so many propose are the Catskills and not the Presidential range) so described by H. P. Lovecraft, the Old Ones have unleashed the Ice Giants and the cold of a thousand graves you get to sample one-at-a-time.  A stinging cold that hurts the lungs, the air fucking hurts my face, if outside my fingers turned at once to wooden pegs having little to do with me…  Like Edward Scissorhands…  It was a cursed and cold time that in other ages, at other times in the history of our race, many of us, perhaps myself, would – or should, if you take that view of Mr. Lovecraft and his euthenical predilections, have perished.  Frozen, but now unlike the film, but quiet and blue as the grave.

photo (1)

Happily, we are part of a Petro-Chemical Age and all I needed to to to survive, that is to mimmic those African planes my ancestors the monkeys grew up on, was to but turn a dial and feel that warmth of those tropics, or savannas or Whereeverthefucks we sprang from.

Unhappily, this age is fast coming to an end.

While I, and a goodly majority of humanity, has been enjoying the comforts of the carbon footprint, have forgotten the Great Crash of 2008, the Long War, the Forgotten War, the Crash of 29, the various wars in between, and sundry other highlights of the Industrial Age, we perhaps are about to wake up from our slumber…  To see those spirits we refuse to look at.  Those forces greater than we can know and so, we invent a world in front of us, a close and safe world as a child pretends she is safe under the blanket from so many wolves or bears…. or actual monsters.


This blogger has enjoyed a break from thinking about the economy, the rot of our society and the political expressions of this rot, about the loss of environment and the missing vigor of the earth, and I have diverted my mind and writing to clearer happy thoughts.  I stay travel this Great And Storied Land – for pleasure during my spates of Funemployment and for work as part of the professional life I have attempted to resurrect since the Great Crash of 2008 and breathe life into… I have traveled to look and see and reflect on life and art and just try to forget those frightening things that appear under the surface.  I am not sure I have learned anything.  I don’t think I could even write a few pages of On The Road or Motorcycle Diaries (Fight Club… that’s another story, but I can’t talk about it here).

Bethatasitmay, it has been a fun ride, to state hop and Jet Set about until I now have a favorite airport (Key West) and hub (Charlotte) and least favorite flight patterns (Chicago to Dallas or anything heading into the wind).  I have burned up many an acre of what we still call “rain forest” and delved deep into the tar sands to maintain the life I have grown accustomed to in order to see the points on the American globe, toss out sporks and paper towels in areas and highways I have never seen and may never see again.  I always prioritized seeing other lands first, to see the jungles and farmlands and forgotten villages and I am glad I did that… but I am also sad that I never saw this country until it was almost too late…

If you believe in the hot… or the cold of this winter.

Soon, it won’t matter what you believe.  The mention of the bitter cold has become political, radically so.  You can’t say it is sunny without being far right or left, weather can’t be just fucking weather anymore, it must make you belong to a camp, a stupid and angry camp that believes in such-and-such and hates so-and-so.  However, soon, it won’t matter what you believe.  Human agency or G/g/_/o/d/s/es/ses W/w/ill we will have our winter be whatever is a-comin’ since we cannot stop that rain and neither can we quicken or slow the Long Emergency and those things we have avoided long enough that live in frightening places.

In winter I have taken up a sport.  I ski.  After 30/40/50 years or whatever it has been, I have learned to ski down steep hills and glaciers of ice and fun powder tops.  I have learned to enjoy the challenge, the fear, and the fun of this activity.  Will I again brave the snow and ice and the air that hurts, or will next year be warm and will I see mosquitoes in winter?

This is no longer politics.  H.P. Lovecraft wrote about monsters the like that roamed outside of our understanding.  They rules lands and dimensions we did not know existed.  They sat outside of our Left/Right, Up/Down Flatlander mentalities.  They were horror unexplainable and unmentionable.  We enter the time of the Old Ones.  These forces are today around us, in our faces, and like some colour out of time, we cannot see them… cannot know them, taste them, live them… But they will loom into view at this pace of the snail and the Chrism vial has been broken open and we cannot place these bitter and now profane fluids back where they belong.

For me, I will go ski the mountains of New England, a vacation in Arkham for as long as it is polite to do so.

photo (2)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s