Versus

annarexia:

unsolvedmysteries:

legrandbleu

“The Great Northern Tunnel is one mile long, 28 feet high, 30 feet wide, and 125 feet beneath downtown. Its southern portal is next to King Street Station, its northern portal below Pike Place Market. It was made with James “Empire Builder” Hill’s capital and the raw muscle of 350 forgotten men. During the construction, which began in 1903, the miners came across a prehistoric forest. At the center of this long-dead forest, they found a completely preserved tree, which, when exposed to the light of day, vaporized like a vampire into a pile of dust and pulp. Above the southern portal’s keystone is the year of the tunnel’s completion: “1904.” Early in the morning, I found myself standing beneath that date with Luke, my Virgil in punk clothes. We drifted into the tunnel without a thought.

Each crunching step diminished the light behind us; utter blackness was slowly approaching. The tracks were dumb and cold. After walking for about 10 minutes, it occurred to me that if a train were to come through, I would be in a spot of trouble. The problem with the freedom that results from an absence of money, the freedom of limitless time, is that the future loses its power. What only ever matters is the now, the present, the primal moment. Now all of a sudden, the future made an appearance in the dark, and it looked quite deadly. My imagination saw the lights of a freight train approaching me at a murderous speed. I saw its wheels crushing my body, crunching my bones. I envisioned the newspaper headline: “Zimbabwean Drifter Killed in Tunnel.” I saw a thousand rats feasting on my bloody remains.

Panicking, I asked Luke, who was ahead of me, what to do if the train entered the tunnel. “Hope for the best,” I heard. I looked back and saw that the light at the point where we’d entered was almost gone. But I could not abandon the mission at this point. I was so close to absolute darkness. And besides, going forward was now as good as going back. The best thing to do if a train came through, I figured, was to run to one side of the tunnel and crouch down like some terrified animal as its massive bulk roared past. I pictured this happening again and again on that mile-long walk.

Finally we reached the death that I was promised. It exists in the middle of that tunnel. It is the point where the light from behind and the light ahead completely vanish. You can’t see the end of your nose. You can’t see your hands. You have almost no idea what your feet are doing. Your body is gone, and all there is is your consciousness. It is the sensation of immateriality itself, which is a kind of transcendence. You feel not so much like you’re dead, but surprised by the bareness of your being. You sense it in the area of your chest. It seems to flicker there, it seems so frail, it seems that even a light breeze could blow it out. We stopped walking.”

-Charles Mudede, The Stranger

flourhoneymilk:

(via davidhorvitz)

ironlionzion:

annarexia:

digitalbath:

blushing:

unsolvedmysteries:

goldern oak (via coolhandluke)

mary-joy, we should have a cool room like this in our house (with pillars) ;)

unsolvedmysteries:

thestuffido

unsolvedmysteries:

kaipaan:

(via jumbledemotion)

BOB DYLAN, A CAT, AND TEA ALL IN ONE PICTURE?
it doesn’t get any better than this

Then the service cuts out and the phone beeps and it’s quiet again. not even crickets tonight. just stars like the glowing toenails of celestial swimmers. When I call Erin back, we end the conversation and I stare at the “all-american city” as it appears on the horizon to be burning. and in relative terms it may be. but it is with peace that i turn my back and head toward the front door.