Hell is commonly depicted as a lake of fire teeming with the damned, the craggy shores being filled with scenes of souls being tortured. While this mise-en-scene may be appealing as a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, the real Hell would never offer its denizens the solace of suffering en masse. In fact, lifetime journeys across bleak unchanging vistas separate any two penitents. Each of the damned suffers among waking nightmares of his own making knowing that he will never unto eternity glimpse another soul.
A veritable army of daemon-slaves has been raised to administer this cursed realm. Each of these, too, is separated from his nearest cohort by unimaginable distances. So it was that these blight-lorries, the likes of which is pictured below, were built and set into motion by the very breath of Lucifer Morningstar himself. Eternally these cross the plains of Hades in mute, leering caravans. They will visit each demon, bearing torture implements as well as tea and a decent selection of books on tape.
October light sweeps through a derelict theater
Police arrested a suspected serial killer last week in Gary, Indiana.
The accused led officers to several abandoned homes where he concealed his murder victims.
The bodies of three women were recovered from this house on the south side of town just days before our visit.
All entrances were newly boarded up, and yellow crime scene tape remnants still clung to the trees.
A friend said to me the other day, “why don’t you take any pretty pictures?” There is beauty in all.
Ticket booth for abandoned amusement park, northern Ohio.
I’m coming to see the Methodist church in Gary, Indiana in a way not unlike a child might view its grandparent. Likely, your grandfather or -mother were already old when you first became aware of them. By the time you were in your teens or twenties, they were getting really old. And then you may have realized that they wouldn’t be around much longer. So it is with this church. We’ve been watching the decay progress for about six years now, but change is hard to see when it’s incremental. When a section of the roof fell in a few weeks ago, the change was stark.
The collapse does serve a purpose, vis-a-vis urbex: it is a memento mori of sorts, and a spur to to explore as much as one can, because it’s all coming down one way or another. And ours is not to question or get attached to ruins, but to document and create from them.
For some scenes from this church in recent years prior to the roof cave in, click here.
Someone will be with you shortly.
The biggest challenge of photographing at the abandoned amusement park was the fact that it was so terribly overgrown it was hard to see anything for all greenery running rampant. Hiding in the goldenrod I found some cars from the Tumblebug ride.
It was a struggle to frame one of these properly, but I did what I could.