Fail and fade away

Nearly a week has gone by and I still cannot think of the words to say. Countless times I have started to write, then deleted, re-wrote and deleted again.

You see, this is the curse of having a public blog. I am actually very uncomfortable keeping this thing but I think pushing yourself to do things that are frightening is a part of life. And maybe (maybe) this will teach me some discretion.



I have both so much and absolutely nothing to say about this building. Clarification: I cannot say most of what I am thinking, and that is unfortunate. The ideas are banging at the inside of my skull and the visceral portion of the journey is prickling at my skin. I feel bound, tied with my own ethics and fighting with the idea of trust and what is right/wrong.

Here is the key element that moves me about this power generating station: over the last 18 months a slow drama has unfolded. Inadvertently, Trav and I have found ourselves in a series mystery, piecing together the history, rise, and downfall of the power plants of the city. We never went into this with any sort of intent; it literally just happened. And little by little the story unfolded in a way that was random as coming across a piece of paper in a folder tucked away in a box in a building that had seemingly no relation to the present. I have mentioned before (jokingly) that exploring these buildings is like a computer game in that you have to pay attention to every detail and every piece of junk around you. You never know what might be useful in solving a problem... later.

The journey started with one power plant. Then there was another. And another. And another. And each time we opened a door and saw new sights, new clues came tumbling at our feet. These were hints, references and puzzle pieces to a story that seemed vaguely familiar like a past life. In a flash of understanding I began to truly see: they are all connected. And while this fact is so painfully obvious to anyone who is paying attention to The System it was lost on me for the longest time. I know that they are all links in a chain of a larger parent company, but they are connected.

And for some reason seeing the bigger picture was a pivotal moment. The crowning instant was finding photos of the initial demolition of West Harbor's smokestacks tucked away in an envelope...

... under a pile of books...

... under a hard hat...

... in a dark corner office between endless banks of switches and dials.

What were the chances I would climb those stairs, step back there, move the hat, move the books, and open the envelope? But I did! And I will remember that moment for the rest of my life!



With shaking hands we put the photos back in their rightful place. In the envelope. Under the books. Under the hat. I felt like we had defiled a grave, but maybe there is no reason to think that it was just a romantic analogy. It was reality. We had, in fact, discovered documentation of a dead entity at the very moment of her fall from grace. Whether or not the building actually cares matters very little to me; I was embarrassed and sad for her to be digging up evidence of an awkward moment.

Ethics be damned. Any reason for which I feel guilt is balanced, here and now, by this strangely important realization. I can't forget it no matter how hard I try.