It's buried deep within the human psyche now but there were two types of power in the Ancient Days of our fragile formation. The most obvious was the military - but that was for external security. For internal security, life was held in the communal granaries. Back then, famine meant something and was a true threat to survival. I can still recall the oppressive fear of food shortages hanging over us like a dark cloud of doom.
But then even as now the common man did not feel life was owed him and it was sort of understood control of the granaries belonged to the powers-that-be who were somehow more qualified for control and thus more deserving of the grain. We hoped to be deserving of the life-giving grain and if it came our way we rejoiced in how the gods had smiled upon us. If not, then we had not earned the right to live. This superstition holds true to this today and is the only thing keeping money-ism alive.
I was never one much for photographic exhibits, ignorantly thinking "Anyone can take a picture". But deep down a voice said to me: "But the pictures express you" and I feared them like all self-expression. A show by Frank Gohlke changed all that for me. He was a grain elevator fan, just like I have always been. But it was one photo in particular that struck me like lightening:
This hits me on so many levels, taking me to the edge of the world, reminding me of my small town, west Texas roots. Nothing like a west Texas storm to take you over the rainbow. This picture captured a moment in time for me and I didn't care if I ever left. So with these thoughts both modern and ancient in my mind I trekked to Fort Worth where I remembered seeing grain elevators - something I always duly note.
In the distance I saw the mighty elevators standing tall, preserving life within its towering chambers:
I drew closer but it became apparent I would need to circle round to get close.
There we go, closer to the foot of the great beast. I wanted to capture it in the late afternoon sun, just as I remember the Afghan cliffs of yore with their hanging shadows.
Looking up, I felt the power and eternal fragility of man.
Train tracks ran along the backside to distribute the grain across the land.
Clearly it had seen better days, but was still an operational facility. I'd kill for a tour!
A final shot in the timeless sun before I departed.
The legendary Southwestern Petroleum Building, inspiration for my Alpha Centauri Outpost blog. Fort Worth has vast swaths of decayed buildings and land like this. It fascinates me like all ruins do. I passed it on my way to the next granary.
The next granary had been abandoned long ago, yet it stood in the shadow of downtown Fort Worth.
Alone, decayed and unwanted. What future does it have?
These elevators had lost their majesty, life long since passed.
This shot haunts me as I imagined the hustle and bustle of yesteryear, now sentenced to eternal silence.
A "road" continued behind it and I couldn't imagine where in the hell it might lead. I stopped for a final shot.
The road took me to the edge of an overpass. You can see my proximity to downtown Fort Worth. After I took this pic, a woman standing on a hill in the clump of trees to the right very forcefully told me to leave because I was on private property. That got my dander up and I pointed out to her I was parked on a public road - however pathetic it may be - and I pointed to the street sign. It was also obvious to me she was homeless and she said something along the lines it was her private campground and I needed to leave. I could have fought her on this but she felt so threatened by me and my authoritarian camera I obliged her and gave her her space. Was a bit of a bizarre role reversal for me.
I drove out past the trees towards downtown for a distance shot.
Then I turned directly around in the same spot and took this pic of downtown.
There are lots more shots on my Flickr account. I may be adding to this set over time as I find more grain elevators, our one-time storehouses for survival.
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