Tuesday, 17 June 2003 | Creatures

Shortly before I left North Carolina last night, I went for a walk through the soggy woods, where I was surrounded by busy living creatures—not unlike New York, but completely unlike New York. The frogs were the noisiest, producing a surging buzz and the sound of guitar strings being plucked; the ones on the path that I saw were the size of a fingernail. I tried to take the noises apart; I think I heard an owl, the hollow knock of woodpeckers, definitely some noisy singing birds, and the sound of twigs snapping underneath weight. Thick, green leaves (like I imagine Vietnam to have), lightning bugs, black armored beetles underneath heavy logs, and invisible, sticky spider webs on my skin that made me paranoid.

...

Wilmington, Delaware looks something like a wasteland from the tracks. Lots of shot-out windows and caving-in buildings—buildings without four walls, even—and industrial plains of ripped-up earth, plains which are peopled by smoky metal monsters that loom over the dusty gravel, large and leggy. In the distance, you can see tall, mirrored buildings that point to the areas of prosperity, the areas of disparity; on nice days, the sun shines on them and makes them glow like the promised land.

The old buildings are always more intriguing to me, no matter how ignored and poorly cared for; undoubtedly, it's the lack of attention that attracts me, the detail and colors and girth, and the forces that wore away the bricks and wood, ate away at the paint. It's overcast today; there aren't any people in the streets of Wilmington, and there are no glowing buildings, at least not from my perspective on the train.