Friday, April 13, 2012

Calatrava: Dallas's Bridge To...Nowhere?

Overlook Skyline

Dallas has a secret. And, like anyone with a secret, it causes an inferiority complex. But if you want to understand Dallas you need to understand Dallas wants to be a midwest New York City, a place where the jet-setters and Gliterrati come to wine and dine all the while dressed in cowboys boots and Stetson hats. And over the years this pretty much has become Dallas's identity, leaving her with an overpowering urge to live up to that image of a "world class city".

Hey, try liking yourself if you want to be a destination city! (And also try not being so corrupt by pushing shady real estate deals and influence peddling - but that's another story).

In order to become world class Dallas needs world class players. Enter Santiago Calatrava, world renowned bridge designer and architect. One need only check his work on the rebuilding of the world trade center complex at ground zero in New York (especially the transportation hub) to see his talent. Ah, but poor Dallas - so many dreams and so few dollars! (Perhaps this explains the Dallas phenomena of $30,000 millionaires).

A blurb from WFAA explains:

The world-famous architect behind Dallas’ new bridge says his work in Dallas is not yet done.

Santiago Calatrava has already finished designing a second bridge over the Trinity River to complement the soaring single white arch of his new Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge spanning the Trinity River.

Now, he says he hopes to design a third bridge, as originally planned — back when dreams and budgets seemed to be bigger.

"It is necessary, I think, to do at least a third piece, who will, of course, compliment [the other bridges]," the Spanish architect told News 8 on Saturday. "They have to be like sisters speaking with each other!"

As thousands marvel this weekend at the new bridge linking downtown Dallas with West Dallas, few remember the original vision hatched nearly 15 years ago.

The Hunt Bridge extending Woodall Rodgers Freeway was supposed to be the first of five Calatrava-designed bridges spanning the Trinity River.

New bridge is second from the top

Rising costs and other delays kept shrinking the project. When city leaders broke ground on the Hunt Bridge in 2005, Calatrava's role had been reduced to three bridges.

Even then, city leaders boasted that Dallas would be the only city in the world with three signature Calatrava-designed bridges.

But in the years that followed, planners scaled back even further, admitting that taxpayers can only afford two of his creations.

"I feel like it was a very expensive bridge," complained Dallas resident Carolyn Buss, marveling at at the gleaming white cables while standing on its road deck and snapping photos during a three-day celebration to mark the span's completion. "I think it's pretty spectacular, but Dallas could certainly have used the money to put into the schools."

The $182 million Hunt bridge cost millions more than a typical design. Calatrava's fees were $6.3 million — nearly three times the standard design cost.

Opening Train 1930
Some of these bridges have been around a while

Will we see another bridge? Who knows. What is known that replacing the bridges with Calatrava designs is far and away more expensive than a conventional replacement. But what price vanity! Even private donors have contributed millions to make this happen. If only they felt so strongly about the school system south of the Trinity. But then, some of ancient Rome’s greatest feats of engineering were done during her decline - to prove she wasn't in decline!

But the bridge has been completed leaving taxpayers on the hook for better or for worse. But while this could turn out to be an unhappy marriage community leaders are desperate to paint this bridge as a necessary expense to lure new businesses to the south side of the city into the area of Dallas now known as La Bajada (the lower depths), also the site of the infamous West Dallas slums of the 20's and 30's (the stomping grounds of Bonnie and Clyde).

As I documented in my Bonnie and Clyde post, the social and economic disdain for this part of the city runs deep by Dallas proper where towering skyscrapers stand in the background of towering poverty. The divide of the Trinity River viaduct is not only physical but psychological. The soul-less Victory Park built by Ross Perot, Jr. with its flashy W Hotel and cold, calculated concrete is more the project Dallas leaders wish to show off.

ClydesParents
House of Clyde Barrow's parents where Clyde would drive by and throw a bottle out with a message on where to meet. There's talk of tearing this down. WHY??? It should be refurbished and reused. I don't care what they might sell out of there, I would go in just for the sense of history, of "if only the walls could speak".

But this is where it gets delicious, when vanity meets reality. In order to prove her good intentions, the city of Dallas must now embrace La Bajada with its largest collection of shotgun houses in the country. Pretty funny, huh? The bridge connects to Singleton Avenue which houses a mishmash of empty warehouses, automotive businesses, industrial sites, mom and pop stores and the occasional 1930's house for rent. Yup, Big D needed a $180,000,000 bridge for that!

After doing my Bonnie and Clyde research, I fell in love with the La Bajada area. I only wish I had the money to be a player in its development. In downtown Forth Worth sits Sundance Square playing off a very tangential connection to Butch Cassidy. La Bajada has real history to be preserved along with a character that would be tragically ruined by a string of Starbucks and Chilies and 7-11's. A very scary proposition for an image conscious city, i.e. one without self-confidence.

More on this later.

The bridge itself - even if a scaled down version that might end up being an incongruous anomaly among older style bridges - is stunning. A photographers' magnet, the internet is littered with countless pictures from all different angles. I myself was lured in late during the construction, allowing shots that would be unable to be taken after opening to traffic.


The arch can be seen for miles, this video taken far out on I-30

Art Con
Driving in through the streets I noticed this ironic juxtaposition

Levee
From behind the levees that separate Dallas from La Bajada.

Calatrava Skyline Zoom
The Continental Ave bridge obscures the base in this pic

Photographers1 Crop
The swooping, white arches made for a scenic background

Calatrava Arch2

Depending on your angle, the cables twist into different geometric formations

Calatrava Cables

Calatrava Arch Zoom

Calatrava Bridge2

Calatrava Side2

Photographers3
I was practically stumbling over other photographers the entire time

Calatrava Bridge South West
As the sun lowered, it seemed to paint the white coated structures a new color

Calatrava Bridge South Crop

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Annoyed by the zooming traffic close by, crawling around the other photographers and the hectic feeling that entailed I decided to come back that night to a more serene time: 2 AM

The night light caused the bridge to resume its white color in glorious fashion.

Calatrava Night Crop

Calatrava Night CropTop

Calatrava Night Bent

Calatrava Night Girders

And, since no one was looking, I decided to take a little stroll!

Calatrava Night Arch Skyline
After just hopping over the concrete barrier

Calatrava Night Arch Crop

Calatrava Night Trespassing
Edging closer

Calatrava Night Trespassing Cable Base
Approaching the first cables

Take a ride across the bridge into the city...



As you may have noticed, most of these pics use downtown Dallas as the backdrop. That's because where the bridge comes from is much more glamorous than were it leads to. From the La Bajada perspective the bridge is more of a somewhat inexplicable looming presence.

Calatrava Night Beckley

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I also made a trek down to the opening day festivities where day long celebrations took place including an appearance by designer Calatrava and singer Lyle Lovett. (Lyle was on the north end of the bridge, the south end got oversized puppets).

Opening Viaduct
The bridge was in magnificent form as I spied the trucks and booths set up for visitors

Opening Viaduct Skyline
A simple cloud can change its entire character

Opening Wiggle
Sign reminded us we were on a suspension bridge

Opening Crowd
Hay mucha gente aqui!

Was a gorgeous day. A blind man snapping his camera at random would find stunning shots.

Opening Cables Sky 3

Opening Arch Side Up

Opening Cables Sky Crop

A family friendly event, several thousand came out to see the new toy.

Opening Arch Drawing

A small taste of the celebration:




Opening Corn Dogs

Opening Crowd 2

Opening Photos
I was not the only one taking pics!

Opening Media
And of course the media was there in full force

The day was getting late...

Opening Crowd Sunset

...I exited towards Singleton Blvd - and that's where the story picks up again.

Opening Singleton Sign

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So where exactly does this bridge lead to coming off the Woodall Rogers corridor, one of the busiest traffic spots in Dallas? Well, if you believe the sign, it leads to La Bajada freshly whitewashed as Trinity Groves!

Sign

Per their website:

Trinity Groves Vision:

Our vision is to bring together the local community and businesses in West Dallas by providing a unique one of a kind experience that will make Trinity Groves a primary entertainment destination in Dallas.

Our attractions will include a park, art museum, “off-broadway” theater, bowling alley, art studios, boutiques and a ‘Restaurant Incubator Concept” which will include some of the most successful chefs and restaurateurs in Dallas.


They have some pretty visions laid out on the website but will they ever be reality? If so, the area has a long ways to go.
Sign 2
A Peek behind the sign reveals the hollowed out shell of a warehouse

Arch Singleton
Entering onto Singleton

Arch Warehouse
Bridge doesn't look as impressive from this angle

Perhaps my little video of coming off the bridge can show it best:



In June of last year, the Dallas Observer did a full feature article on the coming of the bridge and what it might mean to development in the area. The article highlighted the concerns of La Bajada resident Felix Losada. His take on being in one of the hottest spots in DFW:

Losada doesn't care much about bridges, and he hasn't been downtown in years. He cares even less about his property value unless its increase would mean moving. This is why for the past year and a half he has attended every planning meeting about the fate of his neighborhood and has become one of La Bajada's most outspoken advocates for a zoning restriction that would preserve the area for single-family homes.

"If they come here, the value of the land is going to skyrocket," he says, "they" being developers with plans for high-rise apartments. "I've seen too many changes, too much water going under the bridge."

So this time, he's doing his best to shore up his property against the threat of a rapid tax increase, which could reshape his flood-prone neighborhood even more than the many deluges it's seen throughout the years.

Shotguns
La Bajada dwellings

Some of the Powers That Be are talking the talk:

City Manager Mary Suhm sees the Trinity riverfront area becoming the city's "front door instead of the alley." Hope for the neighborhood's future comes from a new approach to development led by community-minded urban planners whose goal is to meld neighborhood preservation and development.

They're busy sketching a future in which people like Losada aren't priced out of their homes but are instead part of a livable, walkable neighborhood that stitches people of all incomes into a community. Of course, how that all works out will depend partly on how developers implement the West Dallas plan.


Dog House
Some colorful, funky businesses already exist

The bridge to nowhere is also a tale of two developers.

Much of the outcome rests on developers. The developer whose name is most commonly heard in La Bajada is Larry "Butch" McGregor. He and his partners in West Dallas Investments own more than 60 acres of land, including several buildings along Singleton Avenue painted in bold and neon colors.

McGregor, like many West Dallas residents, wants to attract grocery stores, dry cleaners, coffee shops, restaurants and all the makings of an active, busy neighborhood full of pedestrians. His company's profits depend on it.

In his purchases of West Dallas land, he has stayed away from La Bajada. Mostly. Several properties came along with other land acquisitions as a package deal. Then, there were a few instances in which he asked whether the property owners adjacent to what he owned would be interested in selling. Once, he even offered to build a woman a nicer home right across the street.

She turned him down. "She grew up there. Her kids grew up there, and her grandkids," McGregor says. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "The house needs to be torn down. It's pitiful."

"I keep hearing that they want to save the La Bajada neighborhood in its entirety. You know, sometimes you ask for things that you may or may not really want," McGregor says. "Do you want to keep the drug houses? Do you want to keep it the way it is with no grocery stores, no neighborhood services? So, when you say you want to keep it in its entirety, you have to be very careful."


Rays
Is there a place for Rays in the grand design?

McGregor claims that rising property values are a good thing. One thing many people don't realize when they brag about Texas having no income tax is that the government still gets funded somehow! They do this through property taxes, meaning they can take a good chunk out of your income and having one's taxes double can cause serious problems. The area wants a Neighborhood Stabilization overlay to prevent this from happening. That is anathema to developers like McGregor.

Another player is Monte Anderson:

Monte Anderson, another area developer who is also a real estate broker and the owner of the Belmont Hotel and Smoke restaurant in Oak Cliff, also takes a long-term approach. "My mission is to build better communities...for seven generations," Anderson says. "What I build is for my great-granddaughter's grandkids."

The Belmont Hotel (just down the road from Clyde Barrow's grave) was an awesome salvation project and the adjoining Smoke restaurant is one hopping joint. Anderson also owns The Texas Theater - where Oswald was captured - and that too is wonderfully preserved.

His preferred method of development is to consider the culture of an existing neighborhood and fill in the voids with new businesses and improved neighborhood spaces or "figure out what the missing parts are." His ideal neighborhood is a mix of cultures and incomes. "Any time you build a neighborhood with cul-de-sacs and all the same income level lives there, you've failed," Anderson says. This is why he favors slowing gentrification in La Bajada.

Repair Shops
Many automotive places line the street

Both developers pay lip service to keeping character and not creating a trendy, plasticized neighborhood for overpaid hipsters. When I read the article I wrote a long, impassioned email to developer Anderson, stressing the history and heritage of the area, especially Bonnie and Clyde. One house supposedly still contains a bullet shot from Clyde's gun when a deputy was killed. You can't buy stuff like that!

Not unexpectedly I did not hear back. I am a history buff and I do believe in the preservation of such. But I could see how someone - a blind man - could see that as an obstacle. But to me it is an opportunity, a golden gift on which to capitalize. There's a story to be told here, one of human endurance and human tragedy. What could be more engaging than that? Would you want to hear the story of plasticine Plano??

Wimpys 1
I'll gladly pay you Tuesday...

Nothing can replace the feeling of driving through living history. Developers worry about money, they have to. But this I can tell you, anything done with integrity is a place where people naturally flock. You don't need fucking marketing groups or polls taken, the organic excitement will do the work for you.

Take a drive down Singelton to see it for yourself



I was thinking of this when I saw this signage out front of a warehouse. I thought, "No new building would create something so funky, they'd be wanting to 'maximixe efficiency of the acreage' - or at least what passes for that in their own mind."

500 Singleton

Then I saw this banner being putting up by a man and a woman and I just had to investigate. Is this part of the hoped for funkiness?

Flesh Warehouse Sign

Flesh World? Dead White Zombies? Curiosity got the best of me. I went inside to find UTD professer Thomas Riccio and collaborator Lori creating what is to become "the world’s most dangerous play". They gave me a tour of the place explaining it was once a custom iron workshop and then a sign shop covering 36,000 square feet. I love old industrial sites and it's the kind of place I love to explore.

Flesh Warehouse Stage
The hanging white backdrops were already there as the pair implemented one of my favorite practices: incorporating what's on hand.

Flesh Warehouse Inside
Hard at work preparing for the show

Flesh Warehouse Sink
The toiletries around this sink were left by a homeless man who was living onsite
(Yeah, I kind of had mixed feelings about running him off)

Doing an impromptu interview of the couple, the name Phil Romano came up more than once, who they told me gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to their project and any like it. Across the road in a purple colored warehouse a concert was being prepped for that night. Romano is a partner of developer McGregor, he of the Trinity Grove fame.

When I asked for a scoop on what the plans were they insisted no chains would be allowed, only "one off" places. One idea behind the performance art show is to draw in visitors who might not usually come to west Dallas, to plant seeds of positive inspiration and for everyone to see the vast potential.

Of course, beauty is in the eye of beholder - and there's the rub.

Don Julio

I would contend some mighty fine "one offs" like this already exist on Singleton. How soul sapping it would be were Don Julio's to be replaced by an Applebees! Implementing high density housing will take some ingenuity if not to attract those who feel hamstrung when further than a hundred yards from a Starbucks. Although there is a grand design on the table for West Dallas no one knows exactly how reality will dictate the end result.

Last February, the Observer gave an update on the "Trinity Groves restaurant-incubator concept".

It's a complicated business model, the way they explain it: investors paired with chefs (Stephan Pyles, Kent Rathbun, Nick Badovinus, Dean Fearing ... for starters) to create sellable, spreadable concepts. Some will be temporary eateries; others, permanent. "If I were younger, I'd do this all myself," says Romano, the man behind eatZi's, Fuddruckers, Nick & Sam's, Macaroni Grill and on and on. "I'd get the investor group and put people in each space. But we're gonna get real owners, a guy who's gonna be here bustin' his ass, not some absentee owner. ... We'll have Chinese, Italian, soul food, Indian, barbecue. And what comes with that are the people who do it, a diversity in cultures."

Diversity is a good thing in my book, but I can still imagine the unease of the present residents. Next come apartments and then must come grocery stores and shops to cater to them. And I also understand the feelings of one resident who said that by building the bridge the city was "putting the cart before the horse." As a photographer I love the new bridge but I do not fully enjoy it because everytime I see it I also see this:

Pinkston

Pinkston Back

This is L.G. Pinkston High School, not far down the road near Fish Trap cemetery (since renamed) where Bonnie Parker was originally buried. According to Wiki the school opened in 1914. Believe it or not, it's actually in somewhat better condition than when I first saw it in 2010 (Guess every hundred years they try to fix it up). You want your kid going to this place??

It's easy to spot the hypocrites. They're the ones always talking about "sending messages" to kids (as opposed to just treating them right in the first place and thinking about the message that sends). So I ask you: what kind of message does it send when this is your high school and twenty miles up the road someone else attends a nice, shiny school with the latest and greatest toys and technology?

A $182,000,000 bridge? How about a $182,000,000 school first? Build from the ground up, then add your fancy restaurants and what have you on top later. After all, as any good developer can tell you, a building is only as good as the foundation upon which it rests.

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
is known as the Great Divide.
Where the women are kin;
and the men are men,
and they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.
- Bonnie Parker, 1934

Click here to see the entire photo collection

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Oh, What Men Dare Do


"Oh, what men dare do, what men may do, what men daily do,
not knowing what they do."

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I am alone now, the sole survivor. I guess God is not through torturing me yet. But since I am fated to die shipwrecked and misbegotten on this wretched island imprisoned by boundless sea, I shall write this as my final testament against both Man and God - and may both burn in hell!

I do not share this story as a lesson to be learned. I do not believe any such story exists. What can I write that can give a man a good heart? What words can I say that imbue a man with character? What truth can I speak of the human condition that is not already known?

If you ask me, Man will never give up his wayward ways until he sees ultimate destruction. And if there are any survivors, God help them the most.

I was a nobody on the ship that was a somebody. The best of the best came to board her and live the life of indulgence. To keep the party going was considered both divine and inevitable. So possessed were we by this shipboard religion it came to be thought no decision made could wreck us or harm us in any way. The ship was that good.


But we forgot about the madness within as we bragged about our imperviousness to the outside world. I was the personal lackey to the last captain - the Mad Captain - and I witnessed the outrages, the insanity and the tears firsthand. I am not a wordsmith, I cannot convey to you the twisting, vexing, burning feelings of torment one feels as one watches helplessly mute while his ship is torn to pieces and finally sunk.

If anyone reads this - and I doubt God will ever allow that - the reader may ask why I did not speak up, to make them understand, to show them the truth of their actions. First, let me tell you, the truth was not the ship's destination. It was an enemy slandered and vilified, it was treasonous and unreasonable, the Great Devil. I know not what god they worshiped, but it was not the truth.

But I did speak out. But I was not a voice who counted. As a mere lackey, to their minds I could not possibly know anything of value. Turns out in the end, that's only reason I survived the purges. Nobody cared what side I was on, they just wanted their damn coffee. Yes, I was on the side of truth and that's how I ended up alone and stranded on this island in the middle of nowhere.


Irony is, I had no real position aboard the ship. I was not an engineer, nor a party-maker, or doctor or bartender or sex provider or anything else deemed of value. When asked what I wanted to do all I could think to answer was to write. For that they made me their bitch. But I never wanted aboard their stupid ship: service was mandatory.

I have different feelings now as I sit under this palm tree far removed from the madness. But I had a cool, murderous intent simmering in me while mired in the fray. I hated all the torrid toys: the Mad Captain, his Minions both blind and foul, the never questioning workers who loathed life too much to realize they may work for naught, the angry passions of the partiers cutting off debate and the fog that invaded our minds like a fever in the night.

Absent that fog, I can almost forgive them now. Almost - because I know what could have been. We could have been glorious, a testament to the power of the shining light. But we turned our backs on freedom's hope of the open seas. Some blamed our demise solely on the Mad Captain but there was more to it than that. Much more.


He wasn't the first Mad Captain but his timing was the least fortuitous of any, exactly the wrong man at the worst possible time. How exactly does a ship allow a Mad Captain to guide her, you ask? Why does God unleash these maniacs among us to bear? These answers I do not know.

Once upon a time the thought of a Mad Captain was unthinkable. First time it happened, when his madness was uncovered, he was driven from the seat of power in great publicity. The next time it happened, we put the Mad Captain on trial but we did not have the guts to convict. What if future Captains always turned out to be mad? Fear averted our eyes and eventually it was decided such madness we would have to live with - and that was the beginning of the religion of the Unsinkable Ship.

The real problem was we were living a lie hoping not to die. I myself heard the Mad Captain talking in his sleep, despising his fate. Even if he reconciled with the truth, nobody wanted to hear we must change to keep the ship afloat. It was madness to believe we could make the lie work and thus the Captain's madness made him popular in kind. Yes, we had degraded to the point of popular insanity.

Finally, he snapped under the strain.


Even now I feel a twinge of guilt revealing he snapped I was so brainwashed by venomous snakes inflicting their poisonous bite on any who dare speak a word of truth. "The ship is a corporation!" they foamed. "You must be a team player and get with the program." I don't have a problem with that - just so long as the program isn't to sink the fucking the ship!

So yes, that pathetic mongrel of a captain flipped his wig, lost his marbles, pulled the plug on reality - however you want to say it - and ordered the laborers to start pounding away on the deepest parts of the hull with sledgehammers. I think one could say he just wanted his torment to end. I saw both the issuing of the order and its execution with my own eyes and yet even I doubt these words I write. How could an atrocity of such magnitude ever come to be?

But like an emerging tidal wave the momentum of the upheaval exploded and mushroomed instead of withering in the sunlight. It was like I was on a ship full of robots, a secret switch flipped releasing a fervor to obey and condemn. It was as if eyes long searching for an answer had finally found one and seized upon it with terrier tenacity. "Who are these people?" I remember wondering as I saw these new, grim faces of determination.


Because I was nothing, could be nothing and would always be nothing, the Mad Captain spoke to me like he did no one else. I think he did this partially to lure me to doom knowing that if I did or did not share his words my fate was for the worse. But he also did it because he was lonely in his shame, for this was his reply when I asked about his curious order to pound on the hull.

"Because I wanted to give the most insane order possible and see if I could get away with it, that's why. It suits me, it does! It's rather nice, you know, to do what suits you without constraint. Too many years I lived my life in chains, bound by responsibilities and for what? I no longer know."

"But isn't responsibility the only way to keep our future?"

"That's for philosophers to decide. What I do know is what I like! I like what gets me off. And what gets me off is watching my minions obey my every word regardless of what they may think. Right now laborers are pounding the hull that will one day rupture and prove my power unquestionable! Glorious! Simply glorious to hear no question!"


Up till then I thought perhaps the Captain an ignorant man but no, he knew the damage he was doing. But having succumbed to his insecurities his life turned to addiction, shooting up the illusion of power into his veins. Underlings quickly divided into two camps: the Captain's "friends" were the ones who fed his addiction and his "enemies" ones who pointed out the error of his ways.

Of course, once word spread of the Captain's order a firestorm of controversy erupted causing many heated exchanges debating the wisdom of his command. How shocking to see so many angry souls actually supporting the Captain's word as almost a badge of honor. Did they not want to live? Or did they feel doomed anyway? Maybe they got some sort of vicarious thrill in imagining they shared the Captain’s power trip, I do not know.

In the end, maybe only one out of six voices remained absolutely opposed to the Captain's order. A third swore up and down the Captain was a genius beyond mere mortal understanding, insisting his command to pound the hull proved the veracity of the religion of our ship's invulnerability. Like preachers they were, never failing to interject this "truth" down every throat possible. Another half supported it to a lesser degree but really just wanted the debates to end.

No one wanted to depose the Captain, so much easier to suppose he was somehow correct. We tired of having to declare our Captains insane and it even came to be considered heartless not to let him have his way, like allowing a sick child to pleasure himself torturing animals. In the new structure of things, we walked with rigid steps, not daring to upset the holy order with an honest comment or a true feeling expressed.


Of course, a hull can take a lot of pounding before it breaks and as time passed without a leak the voice of the Preachers of Pounding grew in esteem and volume. Like medieval bishops patrolling for witches no one could defy them without suffering the consequences of ex-communication and loss of station. They gloated how wrong naysayers were to doubt the Great Captain and that it was only mad extremists who called for a halt who caused all the problems and ill will of the day.

I thought to myself, "Oh, what men dare do!" Clever men who could "prove" the lie were hailed as heroes. I was an Absolutist but since I was of such low order it was considered merely as a point of mockery and derision, as if I were a dullard who knew not of what he spoke. But others who disagreed but were considered important were stripped of their power and in the eyes of the silly public they became losers who simply "did not get it."

On a subconcious level we knew what would happen. But only in a fantasy way was it allowed to be expressed. Films like "Hull Eaters Among Us!", "The Drowning Games", and yes, even "Mad Captain" were made as sort of a false, cathartic self-assurance those were paths we'd never travel down. How very odd to watch my shipmates laugh and joke upon our impending doom, calling these films "fun" to watch, blessing themselves into thinking we were safe.

I must rest for a bit. My teeth clench and my stomach knots in fury as I recall those times. I wish I could forget them and to have come ashore in honest innocence. This day - this amazing day on good earth with the palms oozing serenity and the sea breeze reminding me of its ancient past and limitless future regardless of the decisions of Man - kisses me in delight. Or is that mockery? Mockery of paradise lost.

Naviti Island palm trees, Fiji

You might think perhaps, dear reader, that once a hole sprung a deadly leak that minds would sober up, come to their senses and demand a return to normalcy. At first, many were fooled into thinking that did happen. An uproar did occur - many complained of being deceived - and a new Exec was named to take over ship operations. He decried the pounding but despised the idea of joining the Absolutists who called any pounding of the hull unacceptable. The Exec complained that such a position was too divisive.

Turns out the Exec had the devil's own tongue.

As music soothes the savage beast so did the song from the Exec's mouth quiet the detractors of the hull puncturing. He assured them the leak would pose no problem, he agreed it must be sealed and yet that the ripping of the hull should continue. In this way he hoped to bring all sides together, to protect the Mad Captain and appease both who wanted to save and destroy the ship. Needless to say, tempers only flared as reality played out.

That was a very lonely time for me. Most of my allies abandoned me, placing blind hope in the Exec to make things right. After the defections only a few of us Absolutists remained and if we dared speak up we were attacked from both sides, labeled radicals out of touch with reality. But all I asked anyone to consider was the ship sinking lower each day.


"It can't be fixed over night! You ask too much!" a former compatriot railed at me when confessing my fears. One by one souls were consumed by the demon lie. I looked to the Sky for help but none came forth. I could speak out and die - or stay aboard and die. For this I was born? To be thrust into a world without sanctuary? Where does the madness end?

In the final days I alternated between rage and resignation. On one hand the insanity was just too unbelievable to be true and I thought myself perhaps wrong. But other times - especially when I heard the stories of drownings on the lower levels - I knew it to be all too real. It was a time of such great horror I remember every day as black and my eyes darkened when looking upon my fellow man.

When the tipping point had been reached and all hope of salvation vanished, the fogged minds cleared only to be consumed by panic. Useless efforts were attempted to fix the hull but they only drowned in the trying. Some feared judgement, claiming the ship was meant to rupture, that the will of man had had no hand in its fate. Mostly I just remember the seized faces with hollow eyes always looking past me - and past the present.


Reviled as a "defeatist" for leaving in the rubber raft, longing eyes wished to join me but feared the savage rebukes. Peer pressure is a fatal condition. Still, my destination was unknown and finding this island an act of providence. Now I'm left to wonder: why did I bother? What is left to live for?

Again I look to the Sky. What sort of God allows this to happen? How is it mad men rule, upending the truth? Is it to prove life has no point? Is clinging to reason its own reward? If so, I cannot see how even as my senses rejoice in the splendor of this charming isle. But I have to remind myself I'm still trapped in a world of sinking destruction. Who knows, maybe once all the grand ships of the world have sunk, we few survivors can band together starting anew.

Let us hope in that time we fear the lie as our enemy, driving it out among us and hail the truth as our savior. The truth, of course, being love.