Times are desperate. We often hear talk of the “end of the world” as a moment, or an event, that occurs dramatically—the terminal point of humanity, life, the planet, the solar system etc. Yet both myths and cartoons teach us that the end of the world is not so much an event as it is a place—not that far, sometimes right around the corner. You exhaust the cycling backgrounds of everyday life; maybe you walk (or think) too much. Maybe you don’t go far at all, but inadvertently find yourself at the edge of your abilities while casually carrying out some mundane chore. Suddenly, you come across something definite that marks the end of the possibility for progress. Desperation, panic, calmness? Your choices are to turn back, or linger at the sublime point. Such stopping points, we surmise, might bring us also to the edge of our mental faculties. Is it a blockage, or an opportunity? There is an adage about a cornered rat fighting with a certain degree of excess, when there is no possibility of escaping. Desperate places call for desperate measures…
You can go hunting for it, alone or with a crew. Or you can just live your life. In the back of your mind, be on the lookout for your “dead end”. When you come to it, take some notes, draw it, photograph it, or record it. You can use the following questions to interrogate it, or you can mark it in whatever way you like. Or you can simply fall off the edge…
What is the dead end?
Does it have a name?
What is it like?
How does it make you feel?
Do you have the urge to do anything here?
Are there any remarkable sounds?
Any animals or plant life?
Does the time of day and year contribute to its character?
If you went further, would you risk injury or death, and if so, how?
Does it correspond with any personal circumstances or mental state?
If a stranger appeared, how would you interact with them?
Are there any signs of others having made the same discovery you have?
Do you feel the urge to mark your presence somehow, and if so, how?
How will it look in 6 months?
How will it look in 5000 years?
How would you describe it in a real estate advertisement?
Will you return here again?
Who will you bring here next time?
Responses
JA
What is the dead end?
A spot leading into a disused railway bridge crossing the river, now entirely blocked off. Tracks driving straight into a blank wall.
Does it have a name?
Maybe it’s “The Prelapsarian Loading Zone”. The adjoining bridge used to be the “Prince of Wales Bridge”.
What is it like?
Peaceful, slightly threatening. A thick stone wall on either side for sitting. Plywood board with graffiti. Shadows out of the sun. Lots of plants springing up between the tracks. A single old-time power pole broods over the scene.
How does it make you feel?
Very calm. I want to stay there. It is very enjoyable. Possibly a spot to die in.
Do you have the urge to do anything here?
I set up my field recording device and record the bird sounds. I add some graffiti to the plywood wall, including a slogan that just came to me, “I Love Dead Ends”. I draw a miniature door labeled “VIP Entrance”. I observe the islands nearby on the river. I approach the wall and look through various peepholes at the abandoned railway.
Are there any remarkable sounds?
Bird song, gull cries, insects. Occasional voices from the biking trail not far off. Not much else.
Field recording – sounds of the Prelapsarian Zone
Any animals or plant life?
Songbirds. I see an American goldfinch couple. Not too far off, an island inhabited entirely by gulls. And on the other side, an island with a barren tree, covered in cormorants.
Does the time of day and year contribute to its character?
I think this place may only exist during the summer and the fall. During winter, the snow obliterates most of its features. Although I suppose the wall remains, but with no context.
If you went further, would you risk injury or death, and if so, how?
The Prince of Wales Bridge has killed many people who wander on it, mostly from those who try to swim by diving off. It looks relatively dangerous, yes. I can see the state of the bridge through a compelling peephole.
Does it correspond with any personal circumstances or mental state?
Insofar as poetry thrives on dead ends, it is a certain psychological relief. A terminus that allows one to cease prowling for a while.
If a stranger appeared, how would you interact with them?
I would probably feel compelled to talk to them, but only here, and not on the trail. This is a gathering spot for outcasts at the end of time.
Are there any signs of others having made the same discovery you have?
Much interesting graffiti, including “Fear the Rails” on the way in, and “Nice spot for a drink”. Signs of drinking, boredom, and eccentric camaraderie. There is also a section of railway track that has been burned through, probably for no reason but to enjoy the spectacle.
How will it look in 6 months?
Darker, cooler, more exhausted. Less sun. More garbage.
How will it look in 5000 years?
Perhaps a bit of stone wall will remain. The wall will be gone, the bridge, the tracks will be covered in layers of mud, leaves.
How would you describe it in a real estate advertisement?
Terminal mental relaxation. Accumulated atmosphere. Abandoned, dangerous, but charming. Good for contemplative shadow hunters and birdwatchers.
Will you return here again?
Absolutely, it seems like a great place.
Who will you bring here next time?
Possibly my friend V, or L, or anyone who can walk for a while and can appreciate a solid ending.
SC
What is the dead end?
Asleep, under childhood’s treasured, dearest blanket. Suddenly? Blanket is transformed (via gentrifier-demiurge) into a pile of hard bricks. A sign is also placed nearby by said demiurge, driving home his obvious, depressing point.
Does it have a name?
Death from above.
What is it like?
Tarkovsky, in his screwball comedy debut
How does it make you feel?
A record needle, having finished one side, is putting itself back into the starting position.
Do you have the urge to do anything here?
Criminal acts of poetry, transmutation
Are there any remarkable sounds?
Cicada song in crescendo
Any animals or plant life?
Many insects, birds, yet all hidden from my eyes
Does the time of day and year contribute to its character?
Night makes DeadEnd more poetic, softer, stranger. In the harsh light of day, DeadEnd feels painful and banal, lacking kindness or the promise of rebirth.
If you went further, would you risk injury or death, and if so, how?
Perhaps. I could trip and fall, bleed out on sharp bricks, make the reds even redder. A mad hillbilly’s car could come rushing down Briarcliff Road, turning me into roadkill. And then, into a tasty roadkill stew. Reborn as a liquid? Sure, I’m game.
Does it correspond with any personal circumstances or mental state?
Despair and strangeness, coupled with a cartoonish, goofy humor? Yeah. I guess that’s me.
If a stranger appeared, how would you interact with them?
Give them a knowing sneer, a nod. Keep my distance.
Are there any signs of others having made the same discovery you have?
Not really, but I’m sure those Others are standing all ’round me, detectable by sense organs which currently I do not own. Or beneath me perhaps, far underground.
Do you feel the urge to mark your presence somehow, and if so, how?
I’d like to pee on the pile of bricks, like a badly-trained dog.
How will it look in 6 months?
It will be a gentrified tombworld, a place for the plastic white mice.
How will it look in 5000 years?
Lily pond cathedral. Kudzugod in dreamings.
How would you describe it in a real estate advertisement?
Bite while the iron is snot! Break tha dirty habit—“ActualExisting”- Become the counterfeit stone!
Will you return here again?
Probably.
Who will you bring here next time?
My pet intestinal weasel, fighting to get out.