The sky is blue. The water, blue. The haze, the mountains, the feeling that creeps into your mind and soul as you crunch quietly along the roadside: blue.
But the paint... everywhere, the paint. Where the sun hasn't dulled and destroyed it, hints of homemaking remain. The flaps and scratches in one layer reveal the brilliant jewel tones of another. Crisscrossing over all of it, new graffiti; rude sayings and psychedelic art, scrawled childlike genitalia and truly mind-bending masterpieces. I crouch on the edge of the expanse of death, in front of a cleverly painted drainage pipe elephant, shading my eyes and considering the small piece of metal peeking over its top edge. It gives the pachyderm an inquisitive eyebrow, as if it's saying, "so are you gonna grow a pair, or what?" I look over my shoulder towards the sunny, dust-blurred neighborhood down the unpaved road behind me, and try to work up a bit of courage.
I guess I should explain. I'm standing in a destroyed section of Salton City, and even though there is no movement, no life, and the sun is high overhead, I'm a bit chilled at the thought of walking into the standing bones of these abandoned homes.
There are signs of people having been here. Recently, even. In the shadows of doorways, gaping wide as though caught in screams of agony, piles of scrap and garbage point to squatters, partiers, drug users.
Fuck. It's just so hot. The sun is relentless, but I know better than to go too far into the shaded wreckage around me. I don't have anyone watching my back; I don't want to leave the safety of the open dusty roads around me, empty as they are. I am already an anomaly here. I dare to break the silence and the path of the stifling wind as I pick my way around needles, broken glass, chunks of concrete, and desiccated piles of... something. I cannot find a photosphere or street view in the place that I am currently frozen. And why would there be one? There's no street here; no address to find. (This is the closest I can come to the area that I explored, but it's not quite in the center of the desolation.)
Your nose will twitch at the smell of decay, and the heat bouncing up from the milky white bones covering the ground is oppressive. Watching gulls waddle over a seemingly endless field of desiccated husks, you wonder how anyone could ever live or play or love here again.
The reality is, they won't.
To catch you up: I've written about the tragedy of Salton before, with a focus on the beach of bones. The haze of death and stench looms behind my back as I wander through what's left of picture perfect Stepford decadence. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I know for certain that walking into any of these homes, as fascinating and as eerily beautiful as they are, is a dangerous, stupid thing to do.
I strain on tiptoes to peek through a window that doesn't have any glass shards left around the sill.
You can't make photos like this up. (Okay, you can — but I'm not carrying a creepy mannequin face around just hoping that I'll find a conveniently located pentagram in the center of a sun-baked crater comprising the detritus of existence. I am not that dedicated, and I also don't want to be blacklisted by every flight security agency on the planet.) I know that someone left this here with the express purpose of eliciting a response like this out of me, but that doesn't mean I can shake the nope fuck nope nopeNOPE feeling as I walk carefully and as quietly as I can along the row of collapsing porches and slumping roofs.
I hate empty chairs in empty rooms. Each window is like a vent that allows the scorching air to move in channels, and every now and again it creaks. I think. I don't know. I hate this. But imagining sitting in this chair and watching the moon rise over the fatal fog on the lake becomes a terrifying, momentary fantasy. I break my own rule and step further into this living room. It's missing two walls, so I'm not really in it, anyways.
Tracing the hypnotic stripes painted on the ply here, where no one will ever see them, I turn and have an instant panic attack as I find the rest of the murdered mannequin in my peripheral vision.
Whoever put her here triangulated her placement with mathematical precision. She's visible from every opening — sight lines run from every corner of the surrounded overgrown property. She's fucking watching me wherever I go, and she doesn't even have a head; well played, to the mysterious asshole who masterminded this stunt. You got me.
Framed by stacks of burned tires and a childish scrawling of blood red letters spelling out R E D R U M, I can't help but notice how clean she is.
Everything here has a thin layer of dust and concrete gravel and wrappers and stench, but the watcher is wiped down. While most of me has decided this is absolutely the perfect time to go, the photographer in my heart feels a thrill at how perfectly posed she stands and the complimentary colours and the diffused light and my luck in that she is the only thing here without a drop of paint, old or new. I've officially had enough of this place because it's weird and vaguely threatening, but I've found that photo that reinforces why I dig in caves,climb trees, poke through dead towns, and stand in poison mud. For a place so thoroughly marked by human hands and the ravages of nature, she stands outside time and consequence.
Somehow, I imagine when the whole neighbourhood finally falls, she'll remain standing: a muzzy figure smudged by fog and silhouetted in the nuclear sunset. Definitely, definitely time to go.
These photos and words are my own work, inspired by travels all over this pretty blue marble of ours. I hope you like them. 🌶️
WOW! I have no words. The photos are absolutely amazing! The mannequin face is horrible. So creepy! Love the textures, the colours, you photograph perfectly well everything this place transmits. Love it, and definitely following you.
Wow... well done, Crimmi
Well done.
Wow. Last week @customnature had a contest called 'Homes' with 'abandoned shit', this would have fit right in! It's a concidence but that's why I also wrote about my experiences in an abandoned city (in Belgium) last week! I just don't have your very very thriller style of writing!
Loved every word of it. AND every picture! (Especially the one with the mirror... Gorgeous.)
That elephant thing looks so Lovecraft-ian ;)
Damn, woman. Just, damn.
waghhhh coming from a writer like you I am just 😳
What?! I don't even know what that means. You're an amazing writer. Don't you know that?
it means I get really in awe of wonderful writers who say nice things 😊
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in my opinion, in these places you can also see the beauty, but it's a pity that they were left by people)
I totally agree. It's shitty when people mark something up disrespectfully/illegally, but it's kind of incredible when you find a piece of art where you least expect it.
completely agree with thatagree completely with you)
I've been there. It was playing PUBG. Does that count?
Maybe. Was s h e there?
wow, you got to the intestines of danger (can be seen in the images), excellent and scary story
it wasn't necessarily in immediate danger ever; but I also am not going to go out of my way to step into a place where there are desperate people, unsafe structures, and any number of other things that could end me without anyone ever knowing. Calculated risks.
I'm glad =)
Personally, I found the necropants more than vaguely threatening, but less so than the jovial proprietor, and both more threatening than the glistening, clean, headless...
Ok, so this is pretty threatening too!
being just steps off the charnel shores with the awful heat and the terrible stench and oppressive quiet.... I don't know, it was a different type of threatening. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but being alone with a lot of expensive stuff where absolutely no one could see or hear me if something went wrong... Just better to stay safe enough to photograph another day.
I am glad you will survive to rock another day. We'll need you tomorrow!
Also, you should remember I was raised on a rock out in the ocean. How shall I properly enjoy Enslaved without your guidance?
hopefully we can be friends, I really like your writing
read your writing, remind me to my friend, I have friends, my friends have friends, tell me about his friend.
😁🙏
Thanks for update bro :) i m new here. Really like you blog...feel free to follow me..thanks
i've always thought that decadence and decay has it's own special beauty; the cycle of renewal and destruction juxtaposed with the peace of nature.
Awesome !!
Cool image @crimsonclad
Great shots and story to go with it. REDRUM REDRUM.
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STOPThat was awesome I do find urban decay interesting , now to go find out more about this place. I like the way you wrote about the pentagram mannequin head , for as I was reading I was wondering what it would look like and then when I saw the message I did exclaim out loud "Whoa!!!!!". It is an eerie image.
This gives me the urge to delve down into some forgotten places and become that mysterious asshole who masterminds little things to fuck with people.
It's a form of art, I find. I've done little things in forests and mountains to play with peoples minds in the past, and they can be fun little projects!
Definitely a good idea to avoid going through too many of those houses there, more dangerous than just about any cave, especially without anyone to watch your back.
Well, I've never seen the girl, but I've wobbled around that part of the world more than a few times. For my money, The Slabs up above Nyland is stranger than here. The Slabs is a living, breathing anarchy experiment with a standing population.
I wish there was a way to put some fresh water into the Sea and revitalize it. In the 1960s it was the water skiing capital of earth.
Terrific writing. I mean just terrific. Great photography. Everything needed for a wonderful post. Thank you.
fake news!!
Reminds me of a place I had to learn to escape from in a dream...or was it a nightmare? I can't tell if I ever got out.
The mannequin has been eyeballing me too.
Nice, looks like my kind of satanic drug fueled absurdist art party happened. Maybe I was there, I can't remember most nights, but that mannequin looks familiar.
Absolutely stunning photography. I’ve been scrolling up and down your post looking at the photos over and over again, peering through the doors/windows/mirrors to try to fathom the mystery of this place. Hypnotic writing too. One of my favourite posts to date on Steemit!
abandoned places offer the best way to express your feeling in my opinion. great post!