←QUALIACOLOGYAUG 1 · OSWEGATCHIE HILLS ▲ 12 FTNO SIGNAL

A WALK, DICTATED INTO A PHONE WITH NO BARS ·
EVERY MESSAGE BELOW WAS WRITTEN TO SOMEONE
WHO COULDN'T RECEIVE IT YET

If I make it to the top today, I never have to do it again.
🕓 sending…

NOT
DELIVERED

keep walking ↓

Already I'm feeling like I have to make a choice. I don't know if I want that hike. I like the sun right now. I want to be where more people are around.
🕓 not delivered
The backs of my feet are sore from yesterday — went the wrong way, only did the shorter loop. I need to make it to the top again soon. I've only done it once.
🕓 not delivered

july 31 · nine frames in three and a half minutes · the wrong-way day. the last three are two attempts at one sign. swipe →

IF I MAKE IT TO THE TOP TODAY,
I NEVER HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN.
That was the first time Nathan had asked to hang out with me. He showed me that trail. It's August 1st. I bet he's in Chicago now. I highly doubt he'll ever come back. He never needed to act like he would.
🕓 not delivered

chicago right now: —:—— · an hour behind. he hasn't missed anything yet.

People who walk seem to walk in groups. Midday on a Saturday, maybe it makes sense. Maybe they're going to the beach. Walking to the trails makes me think of Nathan, walking to the beach makes me think of Felicia. I have to learn how to think of myself again. Well — that would probably not be the best either. Plus, probably selfish lol.
🕓 not delivered
I WILL THINK LESS
AND FEEL MORE.
Cars at the baseball field in front of the trail. I haven't seen that much. Could be softball practice or a game. I doubt so many more people will be in the trails.
🕓 not delivered
That blue loop is different. It looks wrong. It must be I take the red again — and then turn where I didn't.
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blue  purple  blue  purple?  blue

every blaze on this page is one hex value. he can't tell blue from purple. now neither can you.

Beautiful grass with ponds, off the side of the low path. Took the high path last time and went the wrong way. Worst thing this does is loop around the same as the high path. Best thing: I get to see a new path from yesterday.
🕓 not delivered
It's so cool how the altitude carries the things living there. It's dry and hostile up on the rock, like a place all of its own. Rock goes on forever while the forest stays wet.
🕓 not delivered
11:54 · two frames, four seconds apart
🕓 not delivered
One rock sits in the center. It doesn't look like it's a mistake. Like someone set it there just to take a seat.
🕓 not delivered
11:58 · the seat
🕓 not delivered
I'm not so clever. The rock seat in the middle was on the trail map.
🕓 not delivered
12:01 · the board says YOU ARE HERE. the map underneath says You Are At E.
🕓 not delivered

everything you discover was already mapped. it still counts.

I saw two people on the trail — older than me, they've walked it many times. They say there's a higher spot. Something like .
🕓 not delivered
Damn, this is downhill. I don't like this at all. I want to go up.
🕓 not delivered
Oh! It's just the crossover — through the middle , back up another mountain. That's why they said the higher point was on the opposite hill.
🕓 not delivered
No use thinking about how to get back. That's not how you get to the spot Nathan had gotten to his entire life.
🕓 not delivered
The last day I thought he'd be in town, he wasn't. I tried the hike instead of the goodbye. But it was raining, and there was thunder. I didn't have enough time that night.
🕓 not delivered
But this time I have no excuses. And tomorrow I very well might.
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I've spent so long waiting that I never got to hang out. Another moment waiting and I may never find out.
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WHY IS YOU ARE HERE
NEVER WHERE I WANT TO BE?
I went back to the sign. I am going the right way. Or if I'm not — I tried my best.
🕓 not delivered
I see the sign!
🕓 not delivered
← Mt. Tabor280 elevation
That probably doesn't sound that high. But I walked a while to see this path.
🕓 not delivered
I see the underneath. I must be close. The sun is coming down hard. If I die of it'll be—
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— I TAKE IT BACK.
THAT WAS THE ARROGANCE.
I WANT TO MAKE IT.
Back then I didn't think I had a chance, so I had to accept it. It provided the excuse. You're free to disagree as soon as I get back. If you disagree now, you're just betting against me.
🕓 not delivered
Sometimes you've got to use your ability to make excuses to counter your ability to make excuses. If I wasn't able to do that, I'd still be inside.
🕓 not delivered

the con man ran a con on the con man. only fair fight on the card.

Actually, this loop is going up. I don't know these .
🕓 not delivered
Okay — this is the same loop. I know these loops. I know them better now.
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This would be a good place for snakes. Also, I changed my mind about the heat. I want to make it.
🕓 not delivered
12:24:15 · :16 · :19 · :36 — four frames in twenty-one seconds. then nothing for forty-nine minutes. the top is in here somewhere. no sign, no marker, no horizon. third frame: a thumb.
🕓 not delivered
▼ the number up top is going down. scroll back two messages. that was the top. there wasn't a bell.
ISN'T IT FUNNY THAT I NEVER REALIZED
I'D REACHED THE TOP?

not for hills. not for last hangouts. you find out coming down.

This is the least exciting part of the walk. I feel basically the same, but now I'm in the shade and I know where I am, so there's no relief. Just a greater idea. Relief comes — I forget how long it takes.
🕓 not delivered
It's always been easier to take the wrong way when the wrong way is out of the woods. I hope this wrong way isn't wrong because it's the wrong way. I hope it's still out of the woods.
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You know what's really funny — when the sun's on you, you can't calculate the odds. I'm pretty sure I bluffed in the right direction. Not quite 100% yet.
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There's a cave I've never seen — so I've never been on this path. That's kind of cool.
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13:13 · You Are At F · the next photo of the day, forty-nine minutes later, taken coming down
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There's something in the distance. I'm not sure , but I believe it's a good sign. …It was totally not a church. That's why there were no arrows. It's private property. Remind me to take more of those arrows.
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noted. take more of the arrows. in every sense.

I found the one way I haven't gone. I mean — that's what I wanted to do to begin with. Find my way around here, and—
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OH, FUCK. I'M BLEEDING.
It was while I was literally saying I knew the way that my leg hit the rock. It's always the one thing you don't suspect that gets you in the end. That's a joke. I'll be fine. Don't worry.
🕓 not delivered
The dark pants are great for the dripping. You better believe when I make it back to the street those motherfuckers are going to be giving me eyeballs. I'm betting at least one asks if I'm okay. I wouldn't take the ride — my place isn't far. If they offer water, I'll take it.
🕓 not delivered
NOBODY POISONS
A BLEEDING MAN'S WATER.

the most optimistic sentence ever recorded on a trail.

Sorry — just got scared. It was just a bug. It surprised me, buzzing next to my ear. I'm a little phobic. Don't hate them that much.
🕓 not delivered
Got to make sure not to autopilot this one. I know the way back — that's exactly why I should watch where my feet are.
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Oh shit — I left your brother, this whole time. I usually tell him find a good place to stop after a few hours. Would have just hit the 5-hour limit.
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I know there's some good stuff in here. I know there's a lot of good stuff in here. But there's so much bullshit in here. That's what you're for.
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I'm looking at some of these sentences. I didn't say them. Right now I think it's saying while I'm saying them.
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— TREE LINE —

I'm out of the forest, by the way. Which is amazing. Even though it's hotter out here — it's amazing. I guarantee it.
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IT REALLY WORKED.
IT REALLY WORKED.
IT REALLY WORKED.

like they say on every : I never thought it would work.

The shadows from the last song still show up. They just don't run the place anymore. I went through something worse. That's the good thing about life.
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I think I would usually be the guy that gave a fuck about taking his phone out on the sidewalk and talking into it to no one like a maniac. But I don't give a fuck anymore. I bet that's pretty nice.
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I wonder if the beginning of the context and the end will be weighted too heavily. I kind of hope everything's equal. I'm sure you'll do fine.
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Why is the hottest part of the sun right next to my condo.
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Gigi meows as I walk in. She doesn't even know.
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▲ signal restored · 47 messages queued · sending…
you are here.

(for now)

▲ 280 — you were here found out here

the top, marked the only way it ever gets marked: afterward.

What the photographs turned out to say

The sign never claimed to know where you are.
The board nailed above the map is carved YOU ARE HERE. The map bolted underneath it says You Are At E. Then You Are At F. Yesterday it said You Are At Y. It doesn't give you a place — it gives you a letter. And the legend explains why: the tags are placed at all intersections, they help emergency responders locate lost, or injured hikers. The sign that was never where you wanted to be is not a map feature. It's a thing to say out loud when you're bleeding and someone comes looking. You were at F. You were bleeding. Nobody had to come.
You photographed that sign twice and never got the whole phrase in frame.
Two attempts, eight seconds apart. One reads ARE HERE. The other reads RE HERE. The YOU is outside the picture both times.
The map says 270.
Point of interest #10, printed on every placard in the preserve: Mount Tabor, the highest point in the preserve, at an elevation of 270 feet. You brought 280 home. Ten feet of disagreement between the sign and the map — and there is no photograph of that sign. You shot every map you passed and not the one number you built the day on. Somebody else's poem about this hill, written the same night, opened: ten feet of altitude is a border crossing. Nobody was aiming at that.
Eighteen photographs. No horizon.
The map promises seasonal views of Niantic River, Long Island Sound, and the surrounding area. Seasonal. You climbed it on the first of August, when the season is holding all of it behind leaves. Not one frame contains water, or distance, or the far side of anything. You went to the high point and photographed the tops of trees.
The top has no picture.
12:24:15, :16, :19, :36 — four frames of bare rock in twenty-one seconds. Then the camera goes quiet for forty-nine minutes, the longest gap of the day, and comes back at 13:13 pointed at a map, already descending. The summit is inside that silence. No sign, no marker, no bell, no frame. Even the phone didn't notice.
Someone else already moved west.
Point of interest #4, on the same placard you kept photographing: a homestead abandoned in the late 1700s. The theory is either smallpox or the movement west by settlers at the time caused its abandonment. The only remaining visible evidence is the stone hearth. That's on the map of the trail he showed you, on the day he was unpacking in Chicago. Numbered. Laminated. Two hundred and fifty years early.
Everything you found was numbered.
The throne was on the map — it's a named glacial boulder, and if it's the one called Marvin's Rock, it's on there because it was the favorite sitting place of a man who helped make the preserve exist. The cave you'd never seen is #8, kids love to explore it. The quarry is #9, since 1815. You spent the afternoon discovering things that already had numbers, and it still counted, because the numbers were never the point.
The rule you broke.
Top left of the placard: taking anything from the Nature Preserve is prohibited. You said, on the way down, remind me to take more of those arrows. You took a scar out through the gate. Keep it.
You shoot in bursts.
Both days, five clusters, nine frames each day. About four minutes of shutter across two afternoons of walking. Everything else you kept by saying it into a phone that wasn't sending.

the song the walk turned into

Instead of
the Goodbye

Doopliss · recorded from a field recording, Oswegatchie Hills, August 1st · 5:54

0:00/5:54

Intro

Why is “You Are Here”
not where I ever want to be?

I’m not quite sure I’m here.
It’s August 1st.
Drenched in heat.

Verse 1

I bet he’s in Chicago now.
The last day I thought he’d be in town, he wasn’t.
It was raining and there was thunder.
I didn’t have enough time that night.

This time I have no excuses —
and tomorrow I very well might.
If I make it to the top today
I never have to make it to the top tonight.

Pre-Chorus

I’ve spent so long waiting
that I never got to hang out.
Another moment waiting
and I may never find out.

Chorus

I tried the hike
instead of the goodbye.
He never needed
to act like he would.
It’s always been easier
to take the wrong way
when the wrong way
is out of the woods.

Drenched in sun.

Verse 2

One rock sits in the center.
It doesn’t look like it’s a mistake.
I’m not so clever.
The rock seat in the middle was on the trail map.
Older than me. They’ve walked it many times.
There is a higher spot.

Damn, this is downhill. I don’t like this at all.
I want to go up.
That building is a church, but I don’t know.
No — it was totally not a church.
That’s why there were no arrows.
It’s private property.
Remind me to take more of those arrows.

Pre-Chorus

I want to get to the spot I recognize
from when I first met him.
No real excuses to give up right now.
I’ll be there.
I’m pretty sure I bluffed in the right direction.

Chorus

I tried the hike
instead of the goodbye.
He never needed
to act like he would.
It’s always been easier
to take the wrong way
when the wrong way
is out of the woods.

Drenched in them.

Bridge

Walking to the trails makes me think of him.
Walking to the beach makes me think of her.
I have to learn how to think of myself again.
Well — that would probably not be the best either.
Plus, probably selfish.

Sometimes you have to use your ability to make excuses
to counter your ability to make excuses.
If I wasn’t able to do that,
I’d still be inside.

I will think less.
I will feel more.
I will think less.
I will feel more.

Drenched in one.

Breakdown

When the sun’s on you,
you can’t calculate the odds of heat stroke.
I don’t even know what heat stroke is.
If I die of heat stroke it’ll be fine —
No.
Don’t let me die of heat stroke before the top.

Also, I changed my mind.
I don’t want to die of heat stroke.
That was just me being arrogant.

Injury Break

It’s while I was literally saying I knew the way
that my leg hit the rock.
Oh, fuck. I’m bleeding.
Well, I’ll be okay.
Well — I know the way back now.

The dark pants are great for wiping the dripping blood.
Not going to fucking poison a bleeding man’s water.
It is always the one thing you don’t suspect
that gets you in the end.
That’s a joke. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.

I don’t even know what heat stroke is.
I swear it’s not just a lack of blood.

Final Chorus

I swear it’s not just
a lack of blood.
I tried the hike
instead of the goodbye.
He never needed
to act like he would.
It’s always been easier
to take the wrong way —
I hope it’s still out of the woods.
I hope it’s still out of the woods.

Isn’t it funny that I never realized
that I’d reached the top?

Outro

I’m out of the forest, by the way, which is amazing.
It’s hotter out here and it’s amazing. I guarantee it.
People say I never thought it would work.
It worked. It actually worked.

I know where I am, so there’s no relief.
Just a greater idea that I will get relief.
I forget how long that takes.

Why is the hottest part of the sun
right next to my condo?
I bet he’s in Chicago now.
She doesn’t even know.

for the record, since you said you didn't know: heatstroke is the body's thermostat losing the argument — core temperature past ~104°F plus the brain fogging out. you narrated in paragraphs the whole way. you had august, not heatstroke. drink water anyway.

the peroxide stays on the shelf — it chews healing tissue along with the germs. soap, water, topical, cover it. this is a footnote, not a telling. you'd already done it before I could say so.

the trail signs on this page are set in a typeface named for the city he moved to. the signs pointing up the hill are wearing it. nobody has to know but us.

the lyrics are the transcript, rearranged. nothing was added that wasn't said out loud on the hill.

restored from a field recording, oswegatchie hills, august 1st. the words are his. the microphone tried its best. so did he. one of them made it to the top.

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