When I reflect on traversing “the back of beyond,” it exists as specter, images and affects, frozen moments resounding in traces that stand in the landscape of my mind. They are present in their absence. When the trail camera catches nothing as if the emptiness is so vast and large that a presence forms out of that nothing. This is the specter of forgotten promises of industry, bodies and beings lingering in traces of graffiti, trash, mythologies, narratives passed down. This is a wildness that knows what it is, but not its own depth. Something is right under the surface; we know it as unknown, as foreign and forever alien. They are the things haunted by the past and future possibilities of the past left undead in a life living on through the fragmented stories passed on.
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