1987-2011 — Fire Island, Miles Houston and Michel Auder
Miles Houston and Michel Auder
Sam Green created the Landmarks foundation to conserve sacred sites and landscapes that were being threatened by economic expansion, desecration, pollution and neglect. He felt strongly that these places needed dedicated protection. I mean, Yoko wants her god damn Egyptian Collection to get serious--on loan. This is fucking Yoko Ono and we know that someday this shit is going to be priceless. This is happening. It happens all the time and now it was going to happen to Sam.
From the research I have done, Sam Green had a tendency to explore, "gather" and organize his foundation in a manner of sophisticated presentation. He cultivated groups of people around his vision to further his love for the search of something alone.
I feel this affect in every single object that sits and rots on that island--100 feet wide. So lets go back there in the winter while the cold keeps things still. No one is around.
I know a place where we can get dropped off. Remember, there is an private community called "Point of Woods". They are very private people. When you say "hello", be sure to say it like you are answering an old telephone, one without any caller ID or contact list. Don't say "hi" or "hey". The closed, locked gates are part of a fence that leak down the public beach into the water from one side of the island to the other. This is a reminder that you should be a member. You should have a key. It's possible to hike to the other side of this fence and walk around, but it will make our job tonight take too long. I'm paying this private water taxi $300 dollars to take us right up to the the Point of Woods dock and wait for us. The captain said he won't stay put but will troll around. He has his boy with him. He's teaching him. They're logging hours. Maybe he on his way to becoming a harbor pilot. That kid has a long way to go till he knows every single rock in that harbor by heart, let alone the entire eastern seaboard. You cannot map that in a couple of hours. . .yet.
So our limits will be set: Battery life, weather, our ride, our memory, Michel's fancy boots. I told him he was going to a party, so he better dress up. I remembered the way from going there several times during the summer. Through the P.O.W., then sand, ocean on right, more sand like a road for trucks, then left, holly leaves, one creepy house, then a hill, then you're in. It was going to be different this time. No one would be there. I'll bet the door is wide open.
The artesian well was not running but there was a sound. White noise confusion. I thought this whole thing ran because of underground pressure--there was no faucet. It's a silent fake well. The noise was coming from the shed at the side. I know some guy worked out of it--a grounds keeper of some sort. I think he crashed there too from time to time, so I called "hello". He left the radio on inside--a muffled AM talk show. There was a green night light coming from the window. We had Red and Blue with us. There was no answer. So we moved on. The path winds down, there is usually brush with ticks. There is an outhouse that has a little illuminated doorbell on it. Just the circle button gives light. This light was always very helpful to me, the size of a finger. Michel knew the way now. He cuts me off to see the the smallest of the 5 structures, the Garbo House, on the left, for "when Sam shows up". There is a light on inside there too. It was just the nightlight. The only thing interesting in there is a collection of airplane blankets and that is pretty fucking interesting. Stepping back and looking up, the Pin Oaks, not the Pine Oaks but (p-eee-n). I thought Michel's French accent was making it sound like that, but he was actually right, I was wrong. Pin Oaks exist and I think there is one in Chelsea with a little plaque on it. These trees are actually very strange. They create a canopy and when branches from one tree get closer to another they stop growing and form a void in the most even way--electro. The house was there.. This was the intention. To bring Michel back here, to film him encountering some kind of remains.
"What do you think Michel? Tell us about Sam Green."
I am not really into Sam G. that way. Was not impressed. He was a great host but i have no idea who the fuck was there. I don't remember anyone I did not care. Only the structures, nature, sea and my lover C, who brought me there in the first place. This was now trice. I remember July ’78. With Clarice, Sea plane. Rolled leg pants. Shoes hanging around the neck. High Heels in one hands, bag on a shoulder. Summer dress lifted above the knees. Wadding to the shore of the sunken forest where Sam Green's mysterious houses reside. Sam and Greta walking in Corsica, back entrances, side doors, secret elevators and the sunken forest, dunes, Aztec, Olmec, Gothic, ancient sites. Back to the sunken forest. Cartagena, Easter islands, Fire island, Corinthian Marbles. The darkness. Password. I hear the waves thumping on the ocean side. ferns, mosses, cattails, grooves of noisy bamboos. Sailors haven. Moon less, star full. Walking... boardwalk, sand walk. Miles you know the way. A 20 min trek with the crew/friends of four including the protagonist/model/me.The houses are still there a little more weathered and funkier (go back) But standing strong and romantic into the darkness among the pin oaks. And a sexy woman i met randomly inviting me to her home to smoke and have sex one early morning walk on the ocean side of the forest... was intoxicating.
The Water taxi is waiting miles. Thin sheets of ice are here.
I don't know this man. I know he is not doing well, but getting better under watchful care. My uncle was a police officer. He told me that people who are known to jump town or are hard to get a hold of are usually found dead, alone.
No incoming calls.
Don't worry he always does that.
He's probably in the Scottish Highlands.
I haven't seen him in a while.
He'll show up at some point.