In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Time of photographs: April 19th, 7:00-8:00 (ish).

Washington Heights is a place of extremes.

Even the clouds are intense.

Life is nothing but abrasive.

Washington Heights is completely bereft of visionaries.

But resonates with the dead genius of the past.

Here we have been destroyed by music.

As our hearing thankfully goes, we watch the sky.

Nothing ever changes.

“I, too am obsessed with the George Washington Bridge, and have been ever since as stoned youths me and my friends cavorted in the park on the New Jersey side that is directly below the place where the roadway meets the land. We were convinced that the Bridge is the largest thing in the world. For a true enthusiast such as yourself, I strongly recommend a stroll across the span, and then a picnic lunch along the walking paths underneath. Disclaimer: individual results may vary; inebriants are recommended to enhance the forcefulness of the desired optical effects.”

– The Blind Architect, 2008.