Cities Of The Dead: Campo Santo - St. Roch Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans

 Perhaps the most unique cemetery in New Orleans. Sadly, the qualities that back up that claim are now off-limits to the public. Vandalism, disrespectful tourists, and the elements have resulted in the chapel and it's amazing offering room being closed to visitors. It remains a picturesque cemetery in a historic neighborhood, and the story of St. Roch Cemetery is such a powerful one, that there is an annual pilgrimage on Easter to all of the stations of the cross that encircle the cemetery. Patrons used to crawl on their knees to the chapel from the front gates to mimic Christ's suffering. Which such self-sacrifice and devotion, the grounds embody a unique spiritualism that touches the hardest of hearts.

No Presumptions

 First, I'm not making any presumptions in this post; it's as much a mystery to me as going to bed with no pain, and waking up with crippling pain. Second, this is something I've always experienced to varying degrees, and I am going to assume if it is something other than coincidence, it's frequency or revelation is directly in conjunction with my level of distraction; meaning - stress about work, family, money, or just a need to think about other things. With all of that in a sort of muted state at the moment, my mind has time to wander, or focus on the events around me. Quite possibly, this means absolutely nothing and is an absolutely normal part of anyone's day to day. I am outlining these here because they feel abnormal to me. So... hopefully that exposition enough and I'll just get into it. 

I am going to describe three events, I don't know what it determines, if anything at all, about me. These three moment happened within a 2-day time span.

Moment One: After having dropped off my son at work, I sat in a line of traffic close to City Park. It was afternoon, so foot and bicycle traffic in the area was heavy. I watched a group of teen men running in a pack towards the intersection in front of me. They tend to be a group of 12-20, traveling in a wide-ellipse that spanned the curb, the bike lane, and the right edge of the car lane. This wasn't the first time I've seen this group, I've often passed them as they run around the park in their matching shorts and often bare-chest, my assumption always being that they belonged to a high school in the area and this was one of their tasks. I've never paid particular attention to anyone one of them; I've only been concerned with not making an evening newscast for having run one of them down. Today however, as I sat half-focused on the cars around me and whether or not they began to creep forward, I took note of one particular teen in the middle of the group. I don't exactly no why, I even questioned myself in the moment, wondering if perhaps he was familiar, but all of those thoughts were muted by blaring foresight that when this particular teen rounded the corner from Harrison to Orleans, he was going to slip in mud, catch himself and then proceed on; then just as quickly the thought was gone. As I watched the group approach the corner, my lane of cars began to move; my intended path was straight, taking me past the group. I was quickly approaching the corner and I wondered for a spilt second who would make it there corner first. The two cars directly in front of me were turning right, and the driver leading our group hesitated, likely out of uncertainty where the teens intended to run. This pause in forward progression allowed me to watch with particular clarity as the events I imagined happened just as I had described to the very teenager I had focused on. This is the most specific example of the three moments, precisely pinpointing the one young man out of many.

Moment Two: I was warming up the car before taking my son to work. Backed into the drive-way, with a view of our neighbors house across the street, and their trash can that had been emptied earlier in the day. Suddenly, they pulled into their drive way and exited the car. I am going to refer them as wife and husband, I don't know anything about them, not even their names and haven't said word one to either of them since I moved in. Wife and husband meet on the drivers side of the car and exchange words, and she proceeds into the house, and the husband retrieves the errant trash can. I watch her unlock the door, disappear inside and close the door. I immediately thought to myself, "she locked him out". I watched the husband first fight the unwieldy can up the drive around the CRV and secure it in place. He crossed the front yard and waked up the steps to the front porch, turns the know and lurches forward with the certainty that he's going to enter the residence, only to find himself rebuffed by an immovable force. The door is locked, and he knocks angrily. 

Moment Three: It's late evening, 10 or 10:30, I am sitting in an empty parking lot directly across the street from my son's job. I am there to pick him up and bring him home. It's another cold night, and I sit in my car listening to Portishead, making sure it's warm and comfortable for myself and my son. I watch a group of six; four adults, two children in the restaurant, they are the only patrons as the staff begins their closing process. The group is in a high booth, directly in my line of sight, but far enough away that I am not able to discern how many people until they start to exit. I see two of the men seek out what I assume was a restroom, while the children frolic in the now chair-less surroundings. The group reunites and exits the restaurant and proceed towards a car, somewhere in my vicinity. I knew it wasn't in the same parking lot as myself, so I wondered for a second where they were going, "perhaps they walked here?" Just as they disappeared out of my periphery, I thought to myself, "one of them forgot something". Perhaps 30 second passed, when all of a sudden, one of the men I had seen earlier bounds across the street in front of me towards the restaurant and enters the unlocked door. I see him make his way to the booth and disappear for a moment behind it's high back plates. He then emerges with a coat, and exits the restaurant.

I guess there's any number of explanations. Coincidence to psychic to manifestation. I also wonder if I am picking up on behavior clues? No one explanation seems to fit all three occurrences. I did not think about something being left in the restaurant until they left, so I couldn't have manifested that. Behavior clue wouldn't suggest someone was going to slip and I could barely see the group in the restaurant due to the high booth back. That leaves coincidence or psychic. I don't lean toward the unexplainable, so I am sticking with coincidence... albeit, a series of odd coincidences.

Listening to: Smashing Pumpkins - "Starla"

Cities Of The Dead: Hook And Ladder Cemetery, Gretna

 In the heart of Old Gretna is Hook And Ladder Cemetery. I visit on a foggy morning, and I was reminded how picturesque and historic this cemetery is. I had not explored it's space in a number of years, despite it being so close to my work place. Gretna is on the "Westbank", across the Mississippi River and skirting parts of Algiers. Most people visiting New Orleans are unfamiliar with this historic small town a quick car ride away, but it offers Gretna Fest each October which has hosted everyone from KISS to The Wallflowers. 

Cities Of The Dead: Helping Hand Cemetery, Houltonville

 On the same day we visited Madisonville, we also went in search of a ghost... the town of Houltonville. Nestled between Madisonville and Mandeville, the town is now unincorporated Madisonville, but those in the know can experience it's past. Houltonville was an African-American community during Reconstruction-Era Louisiana. Now, it's an abandoned church; wreathed in swampy woods and a beacon of curiosity looking over a home that has been devoured by nature. A few yards away, Helping Hand Cemetery. Maintained only by those who have family buried there; and the families of those who founded Houltonville. They meet for an annual pilgrimage to clean up the grounds in time for All Souls Day, and offer reverence and respect for the dead.

Everything Changes...

 Funny, not funny, it's interesting that whenever I listen to Audra, I find myself in a mood to write. Bret Helm is one of the most under-appreciated, and superbly talented story tellers of my time. I have often wondered, does Bret write poetry, or prose? Concluding, that whatever he were to write would be a fascinating journey into a world rich with anecdotes, captured moments, and intrinsic connections with random people. If ever a song is written about body builders at a goth party, I will find myself transported to an incredible night. Whether you a part of that moment or not, you can't walk away from an Audra song without wondering, "who was heard in a dark room", "who possesses the eyes of that blue curtain on the second floor", "who is the subject of Wish No Harm"... snapshots from a life that an artist captured in words. It all feels real... especially when 'real' is omnipresent and the trappings of life are peeled away to expose the fragile and delicate nature of our survival.

I'm here, on a Friday night, exactly 4 weeks after working my last day with the former employer. Officially using my severance package as income at this point; and its finite nature is a ticking clock that weighs a thousand pounds and is strapped to my shoulders. I'm applying at roughly a dozen jobs a week that I especially qualified for, but as of yet, nothing but a handful of denials. Everyone I spent eight years with, and all of those I befriended and helped in my last five months have instantly become strangers to me. It's pretty depressing when you meet the real value of your friendship, it's a devastating blow to one's ego.

There are positives, I've relieved the added pressure of doing domestics from the rest of the household, but my favorite part is being to spend more time with my son. Obviously, I didn't have the worry of trying to travel as The South became The North for a week. Having to navigate the continuation of health coverage gave me reason to focus on getting some things taken care of. I've also had more time to look at our money; investments, insurance, taxes, etc. Normally that would have come at a stressful time or just been ignored, but time is all I have now. I also have filmed quite a bit... but not edited a damn thing, so all of that is still to come. 

I've realized that when I was at work, I so often thought about what I'd rather be doing. That's normal, I get it. But now that the time is all mine, it feels de-incentivized to do any of it. I realize that filming, buying music, doing me things were rewards to myself for being employed. Now I don't feel worthy of reward. Really digging in to those self-worth issues that I never address, and only occasionally realize. Being an employee of former employer defined my self-worth. I can't describe how disgusting that makes me feel about myself. What does that say about my family, my many thousands pieces of music, my Rozz Williams collection? It says my priorities are in a fucked state... still at nearly 50 years of age, my identity is dictated by working passionately for someone else that didn't care a whole heck of a lot about me. I don't feel like I had a choice, but I know that can't possibly be true, I just didn't see it. That's admittedly frightening.  

I'm someone that functions well when there is control. Not being in control - being in situations that are controlled. It takes a lot for me allow myself to not be cautious, it stands out as the one precise descriptor my dad ever labeled me with, "cautious". He said it only once; to me anyway, but I've never forgotten it. This world and helpfully pernicious people often have the switches that quickly flip caution to reckless, and you don't have to try very hard to find them. Leave your house, go to the place that still has activity when most sane people sleep and they are there. But my time there is an even less-defined phantom than my childhood. Often, when I am sitting still in a running car peering through fogging windows at blurring street lights, I find myself envious of those safe in sanitariums permanently lost in another place, infrequently tugged back into a functioning world with dotted i's and crossed t's. Caution isn't an option, you are just somewhere else. Anyone that knows me, has ever known me, a lack of control is not my forte'... it takes a lot, and has a lot to do with trust. Those aforementioned "helpful people" were given my keys and the journey we took was down a lot of one-way, dead-end streets, and it was awhile before I realized no one was driving the car.

Anyway, this post has derailed, I'm just caught up in the uncertainty of this situation. Having a bit of a pity party. Something will present itself, everyone is saying so. 

Listening to: Audra - 'Everything Changes'

Guilty Strangers ...?

 While at the post office this morning, an older (maybe 60-ish), African-American woman told me she loved my Guilty Strangers t-shirt. Immediately, my head flooded with stories in an effort to rationalize the comment. I could have asked, but...

Plausible Working Theory 1: She's a true crime buff and associated the shirt with a show or it evoked that imagery for her.

Plausible Working Theory 2: She has some really interesting stories of her own.

Implausible Working Theory 1: She's a master at the pick up lines and today, I was her prey.

Lesson of the day: Some times, not having answers can be more fun than having them. Unless you are the movie, 'Beast' - then, it's just insulting.