wind amplified in hollow echoes through tour headphones. yellow leaves softly falling to the ground. a corridor of photos. portraits. number. name. arrival. birth. death.
a corridor of faces. of eyes.
we trudge along in lines. stomach doing knots. knees weak. overwhelmed, shocked by history realized. experiment. punishment. perished. stripped.
something in my throat. scenery only relatable to a movie set.
i had school field trips to the hartland land fill. 14 year old polish students are obliged a field trip here. sideswept bangs, dark eyeshadow, spikey blond hair, long-sleeved billabong sweaters.
tom from bellevue, beck from (r)adelaide, me, and 2000 others following each other’s footsteps through camp #1.
opening in ceiling. black ceiling. i’ve been to a crematorium before, but it had a sitting room, and civility.
headphones off. slow steps. here. right here. she compares our lives, today, with their lives, that happened, right here. “you can say today that we lived comfortably…”
this barracks… 52 horses or 1000 people. smell of ages. leaning against the wall.
i’m cold. it was colder. i’m hungry. they were hungrier.
i just don’t want to see anymore.