On my flight out of New York City, I was excited to pass directly over Washington Heights. If I wasn't on this plane, I thought, I would probably be running on the path along the river, which I could see hundreds of feet below me. I felt tiny and omnipotent, the way I imagine might happen in the minutes after death, when you take flight for a state that's not Florida.
I was looking forward to my annual trip now that winter had finally arrived in New York City. The shortness of the season in the global warming era (roughly March 1 to March 15) somehow makes it seem even more unbearable.
My flight to West Palm was mostly unremarkable except for the food consumed by the young person in the seat next to me. This food included: 1) a takeout container of ten or twelve gyoza dumplings; 2) a packet of smoked salmon opened and extracted with fingers and eaten with four slices of bread; 3) a second packet of smoked salmon eaten with four more slices of bread; and 4) a x-l container of sushi, and 5) another x-l container of sushi. (The flight was only ~2.5 hours.) I should say that I've enjoyed all of these foods at different points in my life but I wouldn't recommend bringing any of them on a crowded plane. I was so traumatized by the parade of fish that I barely noticed when the jerk in front of me reclined all the way back. As it usually does on flights these days (assuming you're in economy), society seemed to be on the brink of collapse.
I soon recovered, however, and except for a newly developed lifelong aversion to smoked salmon, I made it to West Palm unscathed. The weather in Florida was blessedly warm. Retirement in the "sunshine state" seemed increasingly palatable. The orange juice was so fresh and delicious.
It was very windy.
I made it to the beach, where I quietly proclaimed my status as an ironic supporter of non-war movements. Retreating to the cover of my beach towel, it seemed incomprehensible that we had arrived at this juncture. (Leaving "we" completely open to interpretation.)
The next morning, accompanied by my mother, brother, and niece, I hiked into the jungle, which was filled with butterflies.
I took a picture so I would remember the name of the most common variety, which can be found in the lower-left corner.
Spring had officially arrived in Florida.
I saw this sign and wished that it had been installed on my flight with some minor edits. "NO EATING OF FISH PERMITTED AND ESPECIALLY NOT SMOKED SALMON IF YOU PLAN TO EAT TWO PACKS OF IT WITH YOUR FINGERS AND WIPE OFF THE OIL ON THE BACK OF THE SEAT IN FRONT OF YOU :("
A purple flower seemed oblivious to the political realities.
Some of the trees had yet to leaf out, which gave them a haunted quality.
As I did every year walking through the forest in Florida, I imagined a post-apocalyptic life spent running from zombies. The simplicity of such a life continued to hold much allure.
Still, it would be difficult to get anywhere through the mangrove trees.
The Walking Dead, I remembered, had rather quickly gone from being the best show on television to the worst. Lately I had been ff-ing (x3) through most of it.
But things weren't so bad. At least I could still pretend to be living in a dense, inhospitable landscape filled with Republicans trying to pass anti-gay "religious freedom" bills flesh-eating zombies.
Soon Florida would be gone, awash in the rising ocean, but that was still a few years away; for now, I was determined to enjoy the magical light, which makes anything seem possible.
« Die Sache Metropolis (Let's All Dance Like Kate Bush) | Main | The Snow Is a Good Reminder that Even the Worst Weather Might Eventually End »
03/11/2017
ORDER HERE
A RADICAL NEW MYTH ABOUT SEX, FAITH, AND THOSE OF US WHO WILL NEVER DIE
A young boy wanders into the woods of Harlem and witnesses the abduction of his sister by a glowing creature. Forty years later, now working as a New York City homicide detective, Gus is assigned to a case in which he unexpectedly succumbs to a vision that Helen is still alive. To find her, he embarks on an uorthodox investigation that leads to an ancient civilization of gods and the people determined to bring them back.
In this colossal new novel from the author of The Metropolis Case, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice collides with a new religion founded by three corporate office workers, creating something beautiful, illogical, and overwhelming. Part sex manifesto, part religious text, part Manhattan noir—with a dose of deadly serious, internet inspired satire—#gods is a sprawling inquest into the nature of faith and resistance in the modern world. With each turn of the page, #gods will leave you increasingly reborn.
Praise for #gods
“#gods is a mystery, an excavation of myths, an index of modern life, a gay coming-of-age story, an office satire, a lyrical fever dream, a conspiracy. One of the most ambitious novels in recent memory—and a wild, possibly transformative addition to the canon of gay literature—it contains multitudes, and seethes with brilliance.” —Mark Doten, author of The Infernal
“Matthew Gallaway’s #gods is a novel so brilliant, so funny, so full of strange and marvelous things, I couldn’t stop writing OMG WTF I <3 THIS SO MUCH in its margins. It’s rare to find a novel that so dazzlingly reinvigorates age-old meditations on faith and f&!*ing, art and eros. Luminous, enterprising, and sublimely cheeky, #gods tells the story, the myth, the dream of the human soul in all its glorious complexity.” —Suzanne Morrison, author of Yoga Bitch
“Matthew Gallaway’s storytelling manages to be both dreamy and serious; lean and luxurious. His words carry an incantatory power of mythic storytelling where beauty and savagery wrap around each other like bright threads in a gorgeous tapestry.” —Natasha Vargas-Cooper, author of Mad Men Unbuttoned: A Romp Through 1960s America
“If the ancient gods were just like us, only more so, then the same could be said for this strange, wonderful book, in which the mundane sorrows and small triumphs of very ordinary lives glow ever so slightly around the edges, sometimes quite literally. At once an oddly romantic send-up of dead-end office culture and an offbeat supernatural procedural, #gods is terrifically weird, melancholy, sexy, and charming.” —Jacob Bacharach, author of The Bend of the World
'It’s to the credit of Matthew Gallaway’s enchanting, often funny first novel that it doesn’t require a corresponding degree of obsession from readers, but may leave them similarly transported: the book is so well written — there’s hardly a lazy sentence here — and filled with such memorable lead and supporting players that it quickly absorbs you into its worlds.'
-- The New York Times
Music: Death Culture at Sea and Saturnine
Listen or download songs and records from my indie-rock past with Saturnine here and Death Culture at Sea here.
Music Video: Remembrance of Things Past
Watch the rock opera Remembrance of Things Past written and performed by Saturnine and Frances Gibson, starring Bennett Madison and Sheila McClear.
Video: The Chaos Detective
The Chaos Detective is a series about a man searching for 'identity' as he completes assignments from a mysterious organization. Watch the first episode (five parts) on YouTube.